12 June 2005
Howdy, folks! My name is Clorox Laptop!
I finally have been given an apodo – a nickname. I survived one Campeche, one Veracruz and three Yucatecan field seasons with my only apodo being güero – the light-haired guy. But in discussion with people this week about how to pronounce my name(the “Cr” is even more difficult for Latinos than for gringos) ,
they decided that Crorey is pronounced “Clory”.
And the way to remember that is that it sounds like Cloro (AKA Clorox) .
Jeanette, the project co-director, was talking to me a few days ago, and in a stern voice, said, “Lapton, this is how it is supposed to be!” I didn’t even blink – my name has been pronounced so many ways, I just respond to whatever. But the second time she said it, Matt heard it and burst out laughing.
So Clorox Laptop it is.
Apodos are ubiquitous. Some of the names are derived from the original. Don Tirso, one of the workers, has his name shortened(?)
to Ticho. Valentin is Ting. Oscar is Oca (foreshortened
by his niece) . Others
are because of physical appearance or some past action. Gerson, one of the Guatemalan archaeologists,
is named Venado – Stag. Pretty sad: he
got his apodo because in the next village over, another guy is also named
Gerson, nicknamed Venado. So obviously
when a new Gerson shows up on the scene, he will have to be known as Venado,
too.
Then nothing. We are still in the middle of bureaucratic purgatory, where nobody will even try to get us to the field. And we have no sway with the government at all – we are a small project whose director is not in the field.
Matt finally signed the convenio yesterday, and the director signed it as well. That means that we could go to the field as early as Monday. And that is exactly what some on the project will do. For the Trinidad people, though, it means we will be talking to the alcalde again, this time in front of an audencia.
Our story, O Best Beloved, begins with the conflict. Wednesday, after I got everyone started with the clearing at the southern edge of the road, Matt grabbed me to go and talk to Don Juan, the irascible man with usufruct rights to Trinidad’s site center. He has been described as difficult, grumpy, grouchy, rude, angry, mean, and surly. He was worse. He never once looked up, never shook hands, and snarled his answers. His wife was nice, but he started off with “No.” And it got uglier from there.
Matt: Don Juan, we’d like to start work at Trinidad today.
DJ: No.
Matt: Why not?
DJ: Because I don’t want you to.
Matt: We talked to the alcalde – we have his permission.
DJ: I don’t want trouble. You made all kinds of trouble last year. Why don’t you leave my land alone? There are lots of other mounds in the monte – go study them instead!
Matt: I’d really like to settle this between us, without involving IDAEH and the alcalde, both of whom gave us permission to work at the site. I don’t want trouble, either.
DJ: Go study other places. I don’t want trouble.
…and so on. Finally, Matt gave up and we went to the alcalde’s office. The land doesn’t belong to DJ, but to the town – he gets to work it as long as everyone is OK with him using it. As soon as there is conflict, then he gets his land reassigned. The alcalde had said that before. So we went to make some conflict.
And the alcalde is in Canada.
The vice-alcalde, taking on the responsibilities of the alcalde while the alcalde is out of town, was in Sta. Elena(the standard excuse when we are
being avoided – I am pretty sure he was hiding under the desk) . So it would have to wait until the next day.
The next day we talked to the vice-alcalde for five minutes(who had
since emerged from under the desk) , and he set up an audencia
with us for Monday. Matt will still be
in Guatemala City, so I will be in charge of representing the archaeologists at
the meeting. We will go in front of the
whole local political hierarchy and listen to the lies that Don Juan will tell
about the project. I’ll be taking a
respected member of the community, the aforementioned Papatulo, as character
witness for the defense. It’ll be fine. The assembled persons already know the kinds
of lies he tells, and will not be surprised to hear whatever he says.
So we took Matt to the airport to catch a flight to the capital, and did some shopping while we were there. And began the downhill slide with the vehicle.
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My poor Blazer. It was never made to be driven on Petén roads. It is an automatic, and is a wonderful in-the-city car. Not intended for rugged use. It is getting rugged use here. Monday on the way to drop Christina at Motul, I have my head on a swivel for livestock. I have learned to keep one eye out for chickens, another out for pigs, a third for cattle, and a fourth for horses. The fifth is for drinking once I run the gauntlet safely. Some drivers skip steps one through four, and start off with a fifth. But the roads are wide, there are few vehicles, and there is almost always a way to avoid oncoming traffic, even when it weaves slightly.
But it was a horse that nearly got me; I almost decapitated one. I’m particularly on my guard against the horses, which tend to get spooked or sometimes just stand in the way. They are simply not terribly predictable creatures. So I was suspiciously watching this one horse as we were approaching pretty fast. He shook his head. I saw something out of my peripheral vision, and as my mind was trying to make sense of it, Benito yelled from the back seat “¡LASSO!”
I slapped on the brakes and skidded to a stop just as the rope used to tie up the horse went over the hood of the car and came to rest on the windshield wipers. Someone had tied up the horse, and left enough slack for the dang critter to cross the road. Had I hit it full speed, the horse would be dead of a snapped neck and my car would have been wrecked, and all the passengers garroted by a horse-mounted clothesline.
Further problems resulted later that day when I decided to let the senior project member learn to drive. Automatic transmission, easy drive, wide road, what can go wrong? Wrong question. We approached one of the two speed bumps in town, and he accelerated. I asked him to slow down, which he did, but also turned off the road(like everyone else does)
to go around the bump.
What he did not do was turn back onto the road. We went into the ditch, ¡PUM! and came out the other side ¡PAM! before he turned the wheel back onto the road. It was like a Latin version of a Batman TV show climax(just missing
the BIFF! and SOCK!) ,
and Tirso was the only one that was calm at this point. I took back the wheel before he could approach
the next speed bump where the kids were playing.
In a perhaps not entirely unrelated incident, in Flores while dropping Matt off, I noticed a leak of fluid seeping out of my driveshaft. The car felt and sounded fine(roads in Flores
are better than elsewhere in Petén – you can actually hear the motor over the
road noise) and so I drove to the gas station. The attendant pronounced it safe to drive
back home, which I did, so I could pick up people from the field. I also took it by our friend in town who is a
mechanic. His prognosis was the same –
it would drive back to a mechanic shop in San Benito, and we would fix it from
there.
It was then that I pointed out the other problem – the steering column has been getting progressively looser, making the wheel move laterally in the hands while steering. He took off the vinyl cover on the horn and saw the star-drive screws holding the assemblage in place. A few minutes of whispered conversation later, they began working to extract the screws. Everyone claimed he was an amazing mechanic, so I left it with him. I heard some banging, and was concerned, but didn’t supervise. I just couldn’t watch while he took a hammer to the guts of my steering wheel, so I walked away.
Half an hour later, he still had not succeeded in removing the plate. After pronouncing it fixable by the same friend – he couldn’t get the plate off -Tono went with me on Friday to the mechanic’s shop. The mechanic replaced the o-ring on the driveshaft that had cracked(and told
me to keep it in case we needed it later) . The parts store sold him one that was too
small on the outer dimension, so he shimmed it out using a cut-off hacksaw
blade. Petenero adaptability is pretty
amazing.
While he and Tono were going off to get the O-ring, the other guy watched me flint knap for a while(I spent about six hours knapping that day, and
have blisters to prove it) , then asked: “Did you have somebody
in the US work on this problem with the steering column?”
I explained that it had not been a problem until this week, so no. He said that I must have. I responded that I would not be likely to have fixed a problem I didn’t have. His response? “Well, somebody beat it with a hammer long enough to where we can’t get the center post to turn loose.”
Ahh. Tono, I explained. “Tono? What was he doing fixing your car? He knows nothing about cars!” The end result is that I learned what I already knew: no hammers as part of car repair. And ask Tono for advice, but don’t let him touch.
The column wiggle thing is not dangerous, and is the result of a problem with the gear shift, not the steering column itself. A retaining ring will fix it, but none is available right now. The mechanic will be back in touch when he finds one(or a viable substitute made of old beer cans
and a piece of string) .
And I was presented with a bill.
Three guys, all putting in a full day’s work on my car, including parts,
costs Q120. 15 dollars.
I gave him thirty.
On Sundays we have to leave the camp by noon so that the owner can use it. It is, after all, his vacation home, and that was the one condition he stipulated for its rental. And after the week we had, we figured it was OK to sleep in AC for one night. So we all piled into the much-abused Blazer and headed into Flores for the night...
…Only to find that there were periodic power outages in Flores. And, therefore, no AC to be had. The rooms were hot, the streets were hot, the tiendas and restaurants were hot, and we had visions of cool rooms dancing in our heads. The let down was painful.
Even after power came back on, we couldn’t get the AC to actually pump cool air out. After switching rooms(which
came as a bit of a surprise to Ingrid, who was in the shower at the time) ,
we went out to get dinner, leaving the room to cool, AC on full blast. Dinner was nice, and when we came back to our
nice, icy cold room….
…it was hotter than it was before we turned on the AC. We had inadvertently turned the knob the wrong way. And it took until 6:30 this morning to properly cool the room. I woke up at 4:30 still drenched in sweat.
But the room is cool now, and I have been spending much-needed time in a cool spot writing. The feeling is delicious. And I don’t have to look out for horses while I am doing it.
Cloro Laptop
Howdy, folks! My name is Clorox Laptop!
I finally have been given an apodo – a nickname. I survived one Campeche, one Veracruz and three Yucatecan field seasons with my only apodo being güero – the light-haired guy. But in discussion with people this week about how to pronounce my name
Jeanette, the project co-director, was talking to me a few days ago, and in a stern voice, said, “Lapton, this is how it is supposed to be!” I didn’t even blink – my name has been pronounced so many ways, I just respond to whatever. But the second time she said it, Matt heard it and burst out laughing.
So Clorox Laptop it is.
Apodos are ubiquitous. Some of the names are derived from the original. Don Tirso, one of the workers, has his name shortened
The week has been
frighteningly non-productive. I led the
machete crew for Monday through Wednesday, which meant I did very little else,
except sleep. Between the 45o
temperatures and the hard work of a variety to which I am unaccustomed, I
pretty much ate, slept and chopped.
Then nothing. We are still in the middle of bureaucratic purgatory, where nobody will even try to get us to the field. And we have no sway with the government at all – we are a small project whose director is not in the field.
Matt finally signed the convenio yesterday, and the director signed it as well. That means that we could go to the field as early as Monday. And that is exactly what some on the project will do. For the Trinidad people, though, it means we will be talking to the alcalde again, this time in front of an audencia.
Our story, O Best Beloved, begins with the conflict. Wednesday, after I got everyone started with the clearing at the southern edge of the road, Matt grabbed me to go and talk to Don Juan, the irascible man with usufruct rights to Trinidad’s site center. He has been described as difficult, grumpy, grouchy, rude, angry, mean, and surly. He was worse. He never once looked up, never shook hands, and snarled his answers. His wife was nice, but he started off with “No.” And it got uglier from there.
Matt: Don Juan, we’d like to start work at Trinidad today.
DJ: No.
Matt: Why not?
DJ: Because I don’t want you to.
Matt: We talked to the alcalde – we have his permission.
DJ: I don’t want trouble. You made all kinds of trouble last year. Why don’t you leave my land alone? There are lots of other mounds in the monte – go study them instead!
Matt: I’d really like to settle this between us, without involving IDAEH and the alcalde, both of whom gave us permission to work at the site. I don’t want trouble, either.
DJ: Go study other places. I don’t want trouble.
…and so on. Finally, Matt gave up and we went to the alcalde’s office. The land doesn’t belong to DJ, but to the town – he gets to work it as long as everyone is OK with him using it. As soon as there is conflict, then he gets his land reassigned. The alcalde had said that before. So we went to make some conflict.
And the alcalde is in Canada.
The vice-alcalde, taking on the responsibilities of the alcalde while the alcalde is out of town, was in Sta. Elena
The next day we talked to the vice-alcalde for five minutes
So we took Matt to the airport to catch a flight to the capital, and did some shopping while we were there. And began the downhill slide with the vehicle.
My poor Blazer. It was never made to be driven on Petén roads. It is an automatic, and is a wonderful in-the-city car. Not intended for rugged use. It is getting rugged use here. Monday on the way to drop Christina at Motul, I have my head on a swivel for livestock. I have learned to keep one eye out for chickens, another out for pigs, a third for cattle, and a fourth for horses. The fifth is for drinking once I run the gauntlet safely. Some drivers skip steps one through four, and start off with a fifth. But the roads are wide, there are few vehicles, and there is almost always a way to avoid oncoming traffic, even when it weaves slightly.
But it was a horse that nearly got me; I almost decapitated one. I’m particularly on my guard against the horses, which tend to get spooked or sometimes just stand in the way. They are simply not terribly predictable creatures. So I was suspiciously watching this one horse as we were approaching pretty fast. He shook his head. I saw something out of my peripheral vision, and as my mind was trying to make sense of it, Benito yelled from the back seat “¡LASSO!”
I slapped on the brakes and skidded to a stop just as the rope used to tie up the horse went over the hood of the car and came to rest on the windshield wipers. Someone had tied up the horse, and left enough slack for the dang critter to cross the road. Had I hit it full speed, the horse would be dead of a snapped neck and my car would have been wrecked, and all the passengers garroted by a horse-mounted clothesline.
Further problems resulted later that day when I decided to let the senior project member learn to drive. Automatic transmission, easy drive, wide road, what can go wrong? Wrong question. We approached one of the two speed bumps in town, and he accelerated. I asked him to slow down, which he did, but also turned off the road
What he did not do was turn back onto the road. We went into the ditch, ¡PUM! and came out the other side ¡PAM! before he turned the wheel back onto the road. It was like a Latin version of a Batman TV show climax
In a perhaps not entirely unrelated incident, in Flores while dropping Matt off, I noticed a leak of fluid seeping out of my driveshaft. The car felt and sounded fine
It was then that I pointed out the other problem – the steering column has been getting progressively looser, making the wheel move laterally in the hands while steering. He took off the vinyl cover on the horn and saw the star-drive screws holding the assemblage in place. A few minutes of whispered conversation later, they began working to extract the screws. Everyone claimed he was an amazing mechanic, so I left it with him. I heard some banging, and was concerned, but didn’t supervise. I just couldn’t watch while he took a hammer to the guts of my steering wheel, so I walked away.
Half an hour later, he still had not succeeded in removing the plate. After pronouncing it fixable by the same friend – he couldn’t get the plate off -Tono went with me on Friday to the mechanic’s shop. The mechanic replaced the o-ring on the driveshaft that had cracked
While he and Tono were going off to get the O-ring, the other guy watched me flint knap for a while
I explained that it had not been a problem until this week, so no. He said that I must have. I responded that I would not be likely to have fixed a problem I didn’t have. His response? “Well, somebody beat it with a hammer long enough to where we can’t get the center post to turn loose.”
Ahh. Tono, I explained. “Tono? What was he doing fixing your car? He knows nothing about cars!” The end result is that I learned what I already knew: no hammers as part of car repair. And ask Tono for advice, but don’t let him touch.
The column wiggle thing is not dangerous, and is the result of a problem with the gear shift, not the steering column itself. A retaining ring will fix it, but none is available right now. The mechanic will be back in touch when he finds one
I gave him thirty.
On Sundays we have to leave the camp by noon so that the owner can use it. It is, after all, his vacation home, and that was the one condition he stipulated for its rental. And after the week we had, we figured it was OK to sleep in AC for one night. So we all piled into the much-abused Blazer and headed into Flores for the night...
…Only to find that there were periodic power outages in Flores. And, therefore, no AC to be had. The rooms were hot, the streets were hot, the tiendas and restaurants were hot, and we had visions of cool rooms dancing in our heads. The let down was painful.
Even after power came back on, we couldn’t get the AC to actually pump cool air out. After switching rooms
…it was hotter than it was before we turned on the AC. We had inadvertently turned the knob the wrong way. And it took until 6:30 this morning to properly cool the room. I woke up at 4:30 still drenched in sweat.
But the room is cool now, and I have been spending much-needed time in a cool spot writing. The feeling is delicious. And I don’t have to look out for horses while I am doing it.
Cloro Laptop
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