Nica Nica Nicaragua!

And finally here I am in Nicaragua, I have been here for the past two weeks now and have absolutely loved it! For many years I had dreamed of coming to the exotic and rarely mentioned country and so far it has been everything and more than I expected it to be! I began my exploration in the colonial city of Granada. I had been told in Antigua, Guatemala to expect a similar city. Although I knew this meant it would be very beautiful, I also feared that it might mean the city would be overrun with Westerners speaking English everywhere and tourist shops, tour operators, tourist prices as is Antigua. However I was delighted to discover a very different kind of colonial city. One that is more authentically Nicaraguan.

Granada is ALIVE and in the best possible way. The streets are packed with families and family businesses all constantly interacting, trading and laughing together. There seems to be a very strong sense of community. The numerous market stalls (indoor and outdoor) just outside our hostel were so colourful and bustling, with fresh smells (of both the delicious and the grim varieties) filling the Granadan air. The people look strong and resilient and I found them to be nothing but curious and friendly (if a little difficult to understand in accent.) They dress more modern than the rest of Central America and walk with a tougher swagger. I appreciated this. We spent our few days there walking about the pretty streets and visiting the Lago de Nicaragua where the city is based. Pretty vistas surround Granada - hills and volcanoes alike. There is a good sense of burgeoning art, supported by the awesome building Casa de los Tres Mundos - an arts and culture centre very much carving its way as the heart of the city.

Nearby is the town filled with famous artesania markets called Masaya. One day we took a bus there and walked around all the impressive handicrafts and creative fashions. It is a market for locals rather than tourists. Had I more space in my heaving backpack, no doubt I would have invested in the Nicaraguan produce here. Overall, I really liked Granada and it was a spectacular introduction for me to Nicaragua which is already proving to be a gritty, authentic vision of Central America.

Volcano eruptions, tropical storms, floods, mudslides, SINKHOLES

Mudslide in San Pedro

It has been a tumultuous past couple of weeks for Guatemala. First Volcano Pacaya, near to the famous, colonial and very touristy city of Antigua unexpectedly erupted killing a journalist and another local. This spread volcanic ash throughout the country reaching Guatemala city and even as far as Lanquin, the home of Semuc Champey. Then a tropical storm hit killing 152 Guatemalans and 100 people were left missing from the landslides. From my experience this entailed three days of utterly unrelenting, heavy and cold rain. I was studying Spanish in San Pedro by Lago Atitlan at the time and can report that every street and was transformed in to a river and every back alley (for San Pedro has many) became a stream. We all spent three days completely drenched and there was no escaping the cold, wet rain. Once the rain let up, we found out that several areas of Guatemala had been affected badly. Floods were common throughout the country and particularly near the capital city where an enormous and unbelievable sinkhole opened as the floor of the city collapsed upon itselfi. Looking like a photoshopped image or indeed a black hole to the underground from a comic book adapted action hero film from Hollywood, the sinkhole has evoked strong reactions from across the globe as to how it could possibly have happened and what loopholes or shortcuts must have been exploited for the city floor to have caved in so violently.

Sinkhole in Guatemala city

More locally, around the lake, the torrential rain resulted in mudslides from the surrounding hills and volcanoes. Houses and business were destroyed as mud seaped thickly in and people were swept with the mud. Some locals suffered the impact of the mudslides more than others and in San Pedro where 25 houses were destroyed, one family were particularly torn apart. The mother and father suffered bad injuries but their young daughter was completely lost to the mudslide and was most likely swept in to the lake. Once the rain had stopped, all the local communities rushed to help. At the site of severe damage in San Pedro, local Guatemaltecas, expats and travellers alike were digging at the sight looking for the body of the girl for the past week. People have also begun digging out the mud from the houses to make them livable again. In the meantime, the displaced Guatemalans are being housed in municipal buildings, churches and schools. The local community have pulled together to provide clothes, food and other amenities for the families. It is really quite touching. Although I spoke to an English girl who has been living in San Pedro for the past two months and is one of the forerunners of the aid project and she tells me that people suspect that the officials and admin have sadly been stealing some of the donated goods from the now homeless people.

Destroyed Spanish school

In Spanish class I discussed a lot of these issues with my teacher. She is local, 24yrs old and has a wicked sense of humour. I learnt most of what I know about local Guatemalan life from my conversations with her. Her uneducated father was made to leave school at 11 by his parents to help provide for his several siblings and as such has been working in the mountain plantations (mainly the coffee fincas) his entire life. He earns, on average, between 40-45Quetzales a day (less than 4quid) and works 6days a week. Her mother spends her time doing work in the home, which is far more strenuous than it sounds. She makes fresh tortillas, salsa, refried beans everyday and cooks the meals, cleans the house and twice weekly will wash the household´s laundry by hand. This is normal life for Guatemaltecas. My teacher is educated and holds a good position for a local San Pedran as she teaches to foreigners. Also the school I was attending was a Cooperative of Spanish schools (and a bit more expensive than other schools in the area) which means that all the money goes to the teachers and their community projects, rather than to a company. The community projects involve sponsoring local poor families by providing weekly groceries, helping to build new homes for families who live in unlivable housing conditions and sponsoring physical education and art teachers for the local schools so the children can have access to a more well-rounded education than they would be able to otherwise. The school also runs a scheme where the students can volunteer at a local Home for the Handicapped which I helped out at too. I learnt however that the school´s future is being threatened as this year it has so far only been able to raise in donations a fifth of the necessary funds required to keep it open.

Mud-filled houses

San Pedro is a fun village for tourists. There is an abundance of schools, hostels, cafes, bars and other activities available for quite cheap. Plus, it is by the magnificent lago atitlan which itself is surrounded by three glorious volcanoes. However the past couple of weeks of consecutive disasters that have ridden Guatemala has overshadowed the country with not only a dark sense of foreboding but a strong and overwhelming energy that things are not quite right. If Guatemala and her people had not been so poverty-stricken to begin with, perhaps these disasters would not have blighted the country so badly. It has definitely been a strange time in my travels as now more than ever, it has been brought home to me that I am very lucky to have been born British and thereby privileged.

Delfino Cortez is a very gentle, very happy and very elderly (in his late seventies) local Guatemalteca who works in the big gardens of my spanish school for six days of the week. He does a beautiful and attentive job of the lush and grand gardens, and all of it is tended to only by himself and without help. He has the kindest face and during breaks of my classes he would seize the opportunity to speak to me and practise his little English and attempt to learn more. The first day I spoke to him he asked me if I was from the States. I told him I was from England which is even further away. He looked at me incredulously and exclaimed that it must be extremely expensive to fly over from there. I told him that I worked very hard just so I could afford it. He replied that in Guatemala everyone works very hard, every day, for most of the week but they still don´t make enough money to take the bus to the neighbouring town. He smiled and shrugged and continued tending to the jamaica rose bush... I think I wept a little inside.

Volcanic ash in Guatemala city

Peace and help for Guatemala,
A x

Mexico´s rootz

San Juan Chamula market day

SO yesterday I went to visit two Indigenous villages outside San Cristobal; San Juan Chamula and Zinacantan. It was one of my most interesting days in Mexico yet. As I arrived in San Juan Chamula the first thing I noticed were the vans of Coca-Cola parked near the entrance. Very indigenous, I thought suspiciously. And then walking around, I saw lots of Indigenous people (Indigenas they are respectfully called here) sitting around all drinking Coca-Cola or some other big brand fizzy drink. I later discovered that these people drink the carbonated sodas so as to BURP better so they can burp out any evil spirits and purify themselves! They apparently used to use a local-made fizzy drink made from maize (a cornerstone of their lives, they even believe people are made from it) but with the introduction of Coca-cola which was cheaper, easier and tastier, they switched. I felt somewhat disturbed by this but it was later explained to me that the people of Chamula´s existence as an autonomous community is dependent on the fact that they are able to coopt modernity in to their traditional ways of life, without sacrificing their beliefs. This is why they allow tourists in to their self-governed municipality, to make money from them.

Both San Juan Chamula and Zinacantan are made up of the Indigenous Tzotzil people, who descend directly from the ancient Maya people. The Chamulan people in particularly were very interesting to me. Their way of life is exemplary in many ways. The community is run as a big family organism with all the work shared amongst the people who work as a cooperative. Family comes first. And next is their religion. They can easily be considered Catholics as they have what appears to be crucifixs adorning the town, they pray in a church and they have Christian saints. However whilst they may call themselves Catholics, their concept of Christianity is somewhat skewed. Their crucifix with its rounded ends represent past, present and future. And whilst Christianity and modern day religions are focused on the past, What God Did, What Jesus Said etc, Mayan religion and indeed the religion of these Indigenous is focused on the present and future. Agriculture and family. They have several gods, not just one. And instead of preaching, the religious leaders simply make offerings for the future of the towns. Conceptually these people´s religion is very different from Catholicism. They could not see the Father, Son and the Holy Spirit as the Holy Trinity or God. If they saw a group of trees and you told them it was a forest they would not understand, they would call it trees. Because there is no forest without the trees. When the Spaniards invaded and attempted to convert these Mayan people, to me, all it seems that they were able to do was infiltrate the language of the Mayan religion so it coopts Biblical names. They pray to the Sun, not to Jesus and yet they call the sun Jesus! They believe the dead ALL go to the underworld and yet the Catholics took Underworld to mean Hell (as distinct from Heaven) and so they call the Mayan underworld ´Hell´ and now it seems the Mayans have the same Christian concepts of death. And they pray in the church because it is simply a communal area where they can worship. The Material life is not important to the Mayans, how things look or what things are called. These are superficial labels and appearances. They understand that life is deeper than this and it is what you think and know and do.

Making tortillas

The church in San Juan Chamula was incredible. Instead of pews, they had pine needles carpeting the floor to provide padding for the kneeling people. The Chamulan people were there praying on their knees in their familial groups, lighting hundreds of candles (their offering to the Gods), chanting in their archaic Tzotzil prayer language and drinking Coke/ Fanta/ Sprite and burping out their sins. Truly surreal! The church too, is a harsh mix of Catholic relics and saints combined with vivid colourful Mexican decor and a potent smell of burning incense. I also saw a couple of men wearing the traditional thick, furry, black wool poncho (distinct only of the San Juan Chamulan people) tidying up the mess of left over coke bottle caps and candle wax. I assumed they were the church´s cleaners however was soon corrected and told they are the highest religious leaders in the town, chosen for their family, religious and work commitments and value. I was very surprised by this and could not imagine a Christian, Jewish or Muslim religious leader cleaning up after his worshipping people.

The San Juan Chamulan people are also astute in their business and (to a lesser degree their political) acumen. As I wondered out of the church I was approached by two different women attempting to sell me handicrafts, a norm here in Chiapàs state. After I purchased a few cheap bracelets from one she then asked for another 5 pesos for a tortilla. The second woman asked me for the same price if I wished to take a photo of her daughter. They know how susceptible us embarrassing Westerners are to an opportunity to take a photo of some of the ¨culture¨ we are experiencing. And covering the roof of the local Community political building were egg shells and other bits of rubbish. Apparently San Juan Chamula had had an election on Sunday and 40,000 of the 50,000 inhabitants had turned out at the incredibly large market square to elect their latest leader. This is done by parading the candidates on the balcony of the building and letting the people applaud for their choice. However when they are not so keen on a particular candidate they throw things, eggs being the item of choice apparently.

Finally, I wanted to take a million photos of the strange, colourful people and their customs as I encountered yesterday in San Juan Chamula but also in Zinacantan where the men traditionally wear hot pink tunics, not unlike those seen adorning the tacky/wealthy in London´s clubs in the West End. However they believe that if you take photos of them, you are stealing some of their spirit. Which, I have to say there is potentially much truth in. After all the best memories are remembered. And for too many tourists, photos are simply proof and validation of their trips. And why should someone be allowed to feel more of a cultured individual by taking a photo of someone else who IS a more cultured individual? Besides that, it is incredibly disrespectful to treat these people as spectacles...

My couchsurfer host, Julio Olvera

So that was my day, much food for mine thought. Exploring Malaysia´s Orang Asli next on my agenda? Potentially. Today I had my last Spanish classes as tomorrow I am off to Palenque for more Maya ruins but more incredible than any I´ve seen before as these are deep set in the ferociously lush Mexican jungle! But for now I shall leave you with the Three principles (LIES) of Mexicans (men, that is):

1. I will pay you back tomorrow, I promise!
2. This is the last drink!
3. I only want to put the ¨end¨ in, that´s all!

These were taught to me by the gallant gentlemen Julio and Marco of San Cristobal. Chido!

xxx

Back to Mexico in San Cristobal de las Casas

View over San Cristobal de las Casas

My entire travelling trip thus far, peeps I be meeting always harp on about San Cristobal. For the past five days I´ve been discovering why. A charming cobbled-streeted town with many European influences and yet the largest number of indigenous Mexicans in any city, set in the middle of the mountains of Chiapas, San Cristobal is gorgeous. Once again I have stayed in a place longer than expected as I have chosen to take a couple of Spanish classes here to brush up on my slowly expanding vocabulary and to even begin to get some grip on my grammar.

San Cristobal streets in the evening

After nearly a month along the Oaxacan coast, I had become something of a well, tramp. It took me a day to adjust to civilisation again. I walked around my hostel barefoot, unwashed, very brown and wearing little. It soon became clear that San Cristobal is a far too proper place for this behaviour of the wild. Litered with great cafes, restaurants and bars... Teeming with foreign residents (mainly French and Italian) but this European bourgeoisie is mixed in with fiercely independent Indigenous communities, all with strong identities. Walking around this city is so easy, with artesan markets and handsome churches everywhere. And wherever you walk part of the experience is being approached by Indigenous women selling handicrafts for shockingly cheap prices. Alongside this are adorable children with sad eyes selling chewing gum and various other artefacts. I struggle to handle this. My Mexican friend, Julio, a wonderful San Cristobal resident and my personal tour guide and companion here tells me not to buy from the children as it encourages their parents´ exploitation of them.

We go often to a bar here called Revolucion! that seems to have a different incredible live band playing every night. Usually Cuban or reggae influenced. I love it and want to import more of this music in to London! It is a Zapatista sympathisers bar and it is not uncommon for San Cristobal. The Zapatista influence can be seen everywhere. A slight smell of tension in the air and in the mainly patronised by Indigenous Mexicans cantina we visited for our hangover lunch on Sunday, grafittied in the bathrooms was written ´Fuck of Mestizos´, a sentiment that Julio tells me is not unheard of in Chiapas.

Sumidero Canyon

Today I visited the Sumidero Canyon, recently classified one of the wonders of the world. It was lovely, a long boat ride along the huge green river alongside vicious crocodiles and amongst the awesome Canyon walls. Really breathtaking and a wonder for sure. Tomorrow I am discovering more about the local indigenous villages. A real interest for me, particularly since I visited the local centre for Indigenous studies, Na Bolom - a museum-research centre.

Much running abouts with my video camera this week!

Laterzzzz innit
xxxxx