20 September
I have to admit that it is hard to write about the struggles of life in Guatemala, when there are real struggles going on in New Orleans and along the Gulf Coast. Even so, things are going on that need to be addressed.
My family is fine. All my friends, including Redius, a guy that worked with me at Earth Search and who stayed in New Orleans through the storm, are safe and sound. Some made it out of New Orleans with very little of their possessions, and others are looking at a long period of clean-up of houses and apartments. But they are safe. Stuff can be repurchased.
Gianmarco went back in to see his house. What greeted him was revolting. Mud, filth, mildew and mold and buckled floorboards were awaiting his arrival. He grabbed some things and went back to SC. Another friend of mine went back and found a body in his front yard. Each story I hear is more horrific than the previous one. And it will get even worse. Gianmarco mentioned that the fronts of buildings are marked to indicate whether anyone was found inside when they broke in – a sort of grim goy Passover.
According to all reports, my house suffered no harm. While I am relieved that the damage to my own recently renovated home is minimal, I feel guilty even worrying about that when other people are looking for kin. When(if)
I go back to New Orleans, I figure it will be a cinch to get a job with a
carpenter on a part-time basis, making a good living while using the rest of my
time to write the dissertation.
The rebuilding is going to take time, and it is going to be a tough road. But I have no doubt that it will be rebuilt, and New Orleans will be beautiful again.
Meanwhile, back in Guatemala, life has been pretty crazy. After finishing packing the artifacts in the apartment, I went on an overnight bus to Flores to retrieve the car, picked up Christina and came back. We packed up the personal stuff and cleaned the apartment once Matt returned, and put everything on a flete and drove back to Petén.
Originally, we had asked for permission to move artifacts from Antigua to Petén, and to move the lithics back from Petén, all in the same trip. The return trip was turned down. They do not want artifacts from the same project in different locations. Understandable, I suppose, but it sure makes things more difficult for me, when I already set up a lab here in Antigua in anticipation of working here for the fall. Matt originally thought that we could request permission for a separate move later, and maybe get it. Now, after talking with our contact in IDAEH, he is not so sure. Seems that the bureaucrats in charge are continuing to work as hard as possible to make life more difficult for this project.
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The trip started off well. We had the paperwork faxed over to us by IDAEH at 10:00 am, exactly 1-1/2 hours after it was promised, so we were off to a predictably early start. Then we went to Fredy and Antonia’s house in the capital to pick up some furnishings that they wanted to send to the lab house. Still, we left the capital at noon on a trip that even worst-case scenarios had us arriving in Sta. Elena around 9:00 pm.
What we didn’t count on was that the drivers of the truck would make life more difficult. About three hours from our destination, they slowed down to about 30 mph, on a road that can safely be traveled at 60. There was nothing wrong with the truck, and we have no idea why they did it. Only two options have occurred to us: to put off unloading until the morning, or to save gas. Either way, they failed. They even took a wrong turn(these guys drive this trip regularly – it had to be intentional)
and headed us off in the wrong direction for a half hour. By the time we finally got to the lab house,
it was 10:30.
They were surprised that we were not happy about the trip. We unloaded the truck, finishing around midnight, and sent them packing, so to speak. After a couple of alcoholic beverages, we headed to bed ourselves.
The next day was spent putting tables and shelves together, along with organizing the artifacts and cleaning the lab house, which has been recently completed and never lived in. And the next morning I grabbed Benito, one of our friends who has helped us for years(and who had
never been to Antigua) , and drove back to Antigua, stopping at
Quirigua (a stunning small Maya site with huge stelae) ,
two roadside fruit stands (grapes and pineapples were
purchased) and at a roadside police stand.
Shakedown.
The cop asked me for my car papers. I handed over the title and the papers issued at the border. He then waited expectantly. I asked if there was anything else he needed. The rest of my car papers included my passport and my circulation card. After Benito explained to me a couple of things that he was asking for, he decided to divide and conquer. Went back to the police vehicle with him while Benito was shaken down by the other cop.
Yep, the policeman in Zacapa was as sorry as he could be that he had to write me a ticket for driving without a “circulation card” which allows me to drive in Guatemala. When I protested that no such card was issued at the border, where the bureaucracy functions solely to provide tourists with as many stumbling blocks as possible, the cop quickly changed tactics.
“You have no front license plate.” Almost a conversational tone.
No, I explained, they don’t issue front plates in Louisiana. If I were to have a front tag, that would be illegal.
“But here, it is required to have a front plate. I am going to have to write a ticket for the infraction.”
At this point, there was no question about what was going on. He did not want to write the ticket, because there would be no money in that for him. He wanted the money up front. And I did not want to give it to him. In my best Spanish of the year(my Indignant Spanish is quite fluent) I asked him why
he would do this. In a country where
everyone wants the tourists to come back, why is he picking on me? I am visiting a friend, we were in Petén, he
is riding back to Antigua with me, we visited Quirigua, and now you want to
write me a ticket for doing nothing illegal?
I was persuasive, I was indignant, I was convincing. And still he kept coming with the
ticket.
He even went so far as to tell me that it was his responsibility to write the ticket, because the jobs of the police are to protect, serve, guide, assist, and….
I politely exploded. “And exactly which of these things are you currently doing?” I asked. “Are you protecting the cars with front plates from those without? Or are you serving me by giving me a ticket for being a tourist in your country? When I got to the border,” I declared, “the officials gave me all the paperwork I needed to drive in the country, and told me ‘Welcome to Guatemala’. And you want to undo this by harassing me while I am traveling legally through your country?” I still can’t believe I actually said that.
Meanwhile, Benito was getting grilled, too.
“Show me your cedula.” A cedula is a personal photo ID card that everyone has to carry – used to cash checks, get employment, whatever. Benito handed it over, and was immediately challenged. “It looks nothing like you,” he was told.
After being satisfied that the picture on the cedula was, in fact, José Benedicto Alonzo Gutierrez, the cop started in on asking about me. Where are you going together? What does he do? How long have you worked together?
When it was obvious he was getting nowhere with that line of questioning, the fishing expedition continued. He asked about the cooler in the back seat. “You wouldn’t happen to be carrying venison in the cooler, would you?”
“Cokes only,” Benito said. “Why would we carry venison? It is illegal. He is a foreigner, and would get caught. I am a national, and it is illegal for me to transport venison.”
Officer Olby was making sure, and it was about four or five hours later that Alice(remember
Alice?) ….
Another Zacapa police pickup truck pulled up, and the cop grilling me held up one finger, and went over to talk to the boss.
When he came back, he handed me my passport, driver’s license, title, car papers, and smiled and said “We are here to serve you. Please have a safe trip.”
I said thanks, and offered him a coke, which he accepted(and for which the boss lifted
a single eyebrow) and we drove on, without paying the first
quetzal in bribe money. We laughed the
rest of the way to Antigua.
Quirigua is amazing. I have included some pictures, but you really have to visit it to understand what an astonishing place it is. The site is small, and the architecture is unimpressive, but the carved stone monuments are enormous and stunningly carved. Truly worth the visit.
Back in Antigua, Benito and I finished the cleaning of the apartment and dealt with the final accounting with the landlady, who charged for every dishtowel that has gone missing in the past three years of renting the apartment. And, since I had not been there for the initial accounting, I could provide no defense.
We then moved Matt’s car. Matt had driven it to the mechanic’s shop to have it repaired, and was paying Q10 per day to park it there. The mechanic would start it once a week or so to keep it running, but there were less expensive options available until Matt could see it. As I have mentioned before, the deal with his car has been an issue all year. He left it behind when he last came to the US, which meant that he did not renew the paperwork every 30 days like you have to. At that point you are in a Catch-22. To get it renewed, it has to be renewed. The paperwork has to be in order to get it to the border, and you have to get it to the border to take care of the paperwork. And all that has to be done before you can sell it. After hiring several people to get the stuff done, the field season came and went without resolving the car issue, and now he just wants to unload the behemoth Toyota Land Cruiser for whatever he can get, to fund the rest of his time in Guatemala.
So I am driving an unregistered vehicle to its new home, while being followed in my car by an unlicensed(and decidedly unskilled) driver. The fact that I escaped with only one long
scrape down the side of the vehicle is pretty amazing.
“¡Dale, dale, dale!”
The official cry of the copilot in Guatemala is heard all over Antigua. “Dale”(dah’-leh) , literally
translates as “Give (to) it”, or
idiomatically, “Hit it!” Guys who help
you park your car (for a fee) and watch
it (fee-bly) while you are inside and
maybe wash it (more fee-ble) fill the
air with cries of “Dale”. And, oddly
enough, there is no antonym to the word.
No matter what you are currently doing with your vehicle, the response
is inevitably “Hit it!” Which,
sometimes, you do.
Matt and I have discussed this tendency among Guatemalans to the amusement of us both. We finally decided that the main reason that the Guatemalans do not have an Air Force of any consequence is that the copilot would only give the one command. Like pulling out of a parking lot, like parallel parking, like driving in traffic, even like negotiating a blind curve, a Guatemalan copilot would be responsible for giving the single command. “¡Dale!”
And, come to think about it, the “damn the mines, full speed ahead” attitude is pervasive here.
I have to admit that it is hard to write about the struggles of life in Guatemala, when there are real struggles going on in New Orleans and along the Gulf Coast. Even so, things are going on that need to be addressed.
My family is fine. All my friends, including Redius, a guy that worked with me at Earth Search and who stayed in New Orleans through the storm, are safe and sound. Some made it out of New Orleans with very little of their possessions, and others are looking at a long period of clean-up of houses and apartments. But they are safe. Stuff can be repurchased.
Gianmarco went back in to see his house. What greeted him was revolting. Mud, filth, mildew and mold and buckled floorboards were awaiting his arrival. He grabbed some things and went back to SC. Another friend of mine went back and found a body in his front yard. Each story I hear is more horrific than the previous one. And it will get even worse. Gianmarco mentioned that the fronts of buildings are marked to indicate whether anyone was found inside when they broke in – a sort of grim goy Passover.
According to all reports, my house suffered no harm. While I am relieved that the damage to my own recently renovated home is minimal, I feel guilty even worrying about that when other people are looking for kin. When
The rebuilding is going to take time, and it is going to be a tough road. But I have no doubt that it will be rebuilt, and New Orleans will be beautiful again.
Meanwhile, back in Guatemala, life has been pretty crazy. After finishing packing the artifacts in the apartment, I went on an overnight bus to Flores to retrieve the car, picked up Christina and came back. We packed up the personal stuff and cleaned the apartment once Matt returned, and put everything on a flete and drove back to Petén.
Originally, we had asked for permission to move artifacts from Antigua to Petén, and to move the lithics back from Petén, all in the same trip. The return trip was turned down. They do not want artifacts from the same project in different locations. Understandable, I suppose, but it sure makes things more difficult for me, when I already set up a lab here in Antigua in anticipation of working here for the fall. Matt originally thought that we could request permission for a separate move later, and maybe get it. Now, after talking with our contact in IDAEH, he is not so sure. Seems that the bureaucrats in charge are continuing to work as hard as possible to make life more difficult for this project.
The trip started off well. We had the paperwork faxed over to us by IDAEH at 10:00 am, exactly 1-1/2 hours after it was promised, so we were off to a predictably early start. Then we went to Fredy and Antonia’s house in the capital to pick up some furnishings that they wanted to send to the lab house. Still, we left the capital at noon on a trip that even worst-case scenarios had us arriving in Sta. Elena around 9:00 pm.
What we didn’t count on was that the drivers of the truck would make life more difficult. About three hours from our destination, they slowed down to about 30 mph, on a road that can safely be traveled at 60. There was nothing wrong with the truck, and we have no idea why they did it. Only two options have occurred to us: to put off unloading until the morning, or to save gas. Either way, they failed. They even took a wrong turn
They were surprised that we were not happy about the trip. We unloaded the truck, finishing around midnight, and sent them packing, so to speak. After a couple of alcoholic beverages, we headed to bed ourselves.
The next day was spent putting tables and shelves together, along with organizing the artifacts and cleaning the lab house, which has been recently completed and never lived in. And the next morning I grabbed Benito, one of our friends who has helped us for years
Shakedown.
The cop asked me for my car papers. I handed over the title and the papers issued at the border. He then waited expectantly. I asked if there was anything else he needed. The rest of my car papers included my passport and my circulation card. After Benito explained to me a couple of things that he was asking for, he decided to divide and conquer. Went back to the police vehicle with him while Benito was shaken down by the other cop.
Yep, the policeman in Zacapa was as sorry as he could be that he had to write me a ticket for driving without a “circulation card” which allows me to drive in Guatemala. When I protested that no such card was issued at the border, where the bureaucracy functions solely to provide tourists with as many stumbling blocks as possible, the cop quickly changed tactics.
“You have no front license plate.” Almost a conversational tone.
No, I explained, they don’t issue front plates in Louisiana. If I were to have a front tag, that would be illegal.
“But here, it is required to have a front plate. I am going to have to write a ticket for the infraction.”
At this point, there was no question about what was going on. He did not want to write the ticket, because there would be no money in that for him. He wanted the money up front. And I did not want to give it to him. In my best Spanish of the year
He even went so far as to tell me that it was his responsibility to write the ticket, because the jobs of the police are to protect, serve, guide, assist, and….
I politely exploded. “And exactly which of these things are you currently doing?” I asked. “Are you protecting the cars with front plates from those without? Or are you serving me by giving me a ticket for being a tourist in your country? When I got to the border,” I declared, “the officials gave me all the paperwork I needed to drive in the country, and told me ‘Welcome to Guatemala’. And you want to undo this by harassing me while I am traveling legally through your country?” I still can’t believe I actually said that.
Meanwhile, Benito was getting grilled, too.
“Show me your cedula.” A cedula is a personal photo ID card that everyone has to carry – used to cash checks, get employment, whatever. Benito handed it over, and was immediately challenged. “It looks nothing like you,” he was told.
After being satisfied that the picture on the cedula was, in fact, José Benedicto Alonzo Gutierrez, the cop started in on asking about me. Where are you going together? What does he do? How long have you worked together?
When it was obvious he was getting nowhere with that line of questioning, the fishing expedition continued. He asked about the cooler in the back seat. “You wouldn’t happen to be carrying venison in the cooler, would you?”
“Cokes only,” Benito said. “Why would we carry venison? It is illegal. He is a foreigner, and would get caught. I am a national, and it is illegal for me to transport venison.”
Officer Olby was making sure, and it was about four or five hours later that Alice
Another Zacapa police pickup truck pulled up, and the cop grilling me held up one finger, and went over to talk to the boss.
When he came back, he handed me my passport, driver’s license, title, car papers, and smiled and said “We are here to serve you. Please have a safe trip.”
I said thanks, and offered him a coke, which he accepted
Quirigua is amazing. I have included some pictures, but you really have to visit it to understand what an astonishing place it is. The site is small, and the architecture is unimpressive, but the carved stone monuments are enormous and stunningly carved. Truly worth the visit.
Back in Antigua, Benito and I finished the cleaning of the apartment and dealt with the final accounting with the landlady, who charged for every dishtowel that has gone missing in the past three years of renting the apartment. And, since I had not been there for the initial accounting, I could provide no defense.
We then moved Matt’s car. Matt had driven it to the mechanic’s shop to have it repaired, and was paying Q10 per day to park it there. The mechanic would start it once a week or so to keep it running, but there were less expensive options available until Matt could see it. As I have mentioned before, the deal with his car has been an issue all year. He left it behind when he last came to the US, which meant that he did not renew the paperwork every 30 days like you have to. At that point you are in a Catch-22. To get it renewed, it has to be renewed. The paperwork has to be in order to get it to the border, and you have to get it to the border to take care of the paperwork. And all that has to be done before you can sell it. After hiring several people to get the stuff done, the field season came and went without resolving the car issue, and now he just wants to unload the behemoth Toyota Land Cruiser for whatever he can get, to fund the rest of his time in Guatemala.
So I am driving an unregistered vehicle to its new home, while being followed in my car by an unlicensed
“¡Dale, dale, dale!”
The official cry of the copilot in Guatemala is heard all over Antigua. “Dale”
Matt and I have discussed this tendency among Guatemalans to the amusement of us both. We finally decided that the main reason that the Guatemalans do not have an Air Force of any consequence is that the copilot would only give the one command. Like pulling out of a parking lot, like parallel parking, like driving in traffic, even like negotiating a blind curve, a Guatemalan copilot would be responsible for giving the single command. “¡Dale!”
And, come to think about it, the “damn the mines, full speed ahead” attitude is pervasive here.
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