Sunday, September 28, 2008
Friday, September 26, 2008
Monterrico
Below are some pictures from my three days in Monterrico, a black sand beach town on the Pacific coast of Guatemala. I first traveled there with Nikki and Jason, where we shared a three-person bungalow on the beach for one night. Earlier that evening the three of us had the opportunity to watch over 150 baby turtles be released out into the ocean. Then later in the evening we went out after dark and walked along the shoreline, flashlights in hand, in search of turtles laying eggs on the beach. We ended up only coming upon one turtle, who was just finishing up and a group of locals had already dug up most of her eggs in order to sell for money :( Early--and I mean early--the next morning we got up to go on a boat tour of the mangroves in the area. I had the luxury of sitting in the front of the non-motorized boat, and amidst the silence that ensued throughout most of the boat trip I felt like I was alone; this was one of the more peaceful experiences of my journey. Nikki and Jason left that afternoon at 4pm to head back to Antigua, but not before we unexpectedly ran into other Nikki (Nikki junior, I like to say, to keep things straight), our friend from San Marcos, her sister and their friends who had just flown into the country a few days prior. It was a very pleasant surprise, and wonderful for me since I was expecting to stay one more night in Monterrico by myself, all alone. I welcomed the company of this group with open arms. On the second evening I enjoyed dinner with my new found friends, and then ended up playing in a beach volleyball game with a few local guys. The place I stayed, called Johnny's, has put up a volleyball net and soccer goals, and everyday sometime after 4pm when the sand cools off (in the middle of the day it is impossibly hot to walk on barefoot) a large number of locals congregate and the games begin. I meant to play futbol that night, having watched them play the day before and consequently feeling a burning desire to play my favorite sport, but ended up in the volleyball game because I was already there passing around with a few little kids on the court. Needless to say, it was fun and either way it felt really good to get some exercise, competition and sweat in (or out). Later that evening Nikki junior's group went out in search of turtles laying eggs on the beach, so I showered and stayed in to watch a movie that Johnny's was playing on a sheet on the beach. When they came back we enjoyed a little swim in the swimming pools, in addition to a few drinks. I was leaving the next day, but not until 4pm so I had plenty of time to get in some more sunshine, beach, socializing, food, and--last but certainly not least--two more smoothies. Johnny's has the most amazing smoothies that come out in a HUGE fishbowl glass and come in every tropical fruit blend you can imagine. However, my ultimate favorite was the non-fruity coffee blend. HEAVEN ON EARTH. The chocolate banana was a close second (I know, this is also not a fruit blend), but really any combination of pineapple, coconut, banana, papaya, mango, watermelon, strawberry... they're all good. Especially when you add rum...
Taking a leisurely stroll along the beach one day...
A glimpse of the town. All of the restaurants looked like the one you see on the right--thatched roof, open-air...
A more residential area of town, all dirt roads, but sooooo green.
I couldn't help but wonder what these were really for (lawn ornaments Monterrico style?); they were empty and definitely not used for their intended purpose.
Heaven on Earth.
The daily futbol match.
These are the hammocks at Johnny's. I spent a lot of time in these hammocks. The second one in was by far the most comfortable one...
On our mangroves tour...
Our guide picked the flower right up from the water and made a necklace out of it.
I absolutely adore this photo of them.
Notice the line of volcanoes far in the background.
We took a little visit to the local turtle sanctuary, which tries to collect the turtle eggs laid on the beach, incubate them, and then release all the little babies into the ocean.
My little buddy; I got to release him into the ocean. It was an exciting, yet sad moment to watch him go, ready to face the world on his own...
There they all go... Unfortunately, only about 5-10% will make it out there.
Big Mama turtuga, finishing up her egg-laying.
The egg-collectors (not from the turtle sanctuary).
Nikki Jr. taking a nap in the hammocks.
Volleyball court at sunset.
The dorm room I stayed in my second night.
Taking a leisurely stroll along the beach one day...
A glimpse of the town. All of the restaurants looked like the one you see on the right--thatched roof, open-air...
A more residential area of town, all dirt roads, but sooooo green.
I couldn't help but wonder what these were really for (lawn ornaments Monterrico style?); they were empty and definitely not used for their intended purpose.
Heaven on Earth.
The daily futbol match.
These are the hammocks at Johnny's. I spent a lot of time in these hammocks. The second one in was by far the most comfortable one...
On our mangroves tour...
Our guide picked the flower right up from the water and made a necklace out of it.
I absolutely adore this photo of them.
Notice the line of volcanoes far in the background.
We took a little visit to the local turtle sanctuary, which tries to collect the turtle eggs laid on the beach, incubate them, and then release all the little babies into the ocean.
My little buddy; I got to release him into the ocean. It was an exciting, yet sad moment to watch him go, ready to face the world on his own...
There they all go... Unfortunately, only about 5-10% will make it out there.
Big Mama turtuga, finishing up her egg-laying.
The egg-collectors (not from the turtle sanctuary).
Nikki Jr. taking a nap in the hammocks.
Volleyball court at sunset.
The dorm room I stayed in my second night.Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Monday, September 22, 2008
Cross-Dressing in Santa Cruz
Saturday (September 20th) was a sad day; I had my last breakfast (or, brekky as the Aussies would say) of mosh de avena (a massive bowl of creamy oatmeal, complete with raisins, bananas, cinnamon and honey) and cafe con leche from La Paz with my Aussie and Kiwi friends Nikki and Jason before saying so long to them--despite knowing I would see them again soon. Saturday was also the day in which I was to say goodbye to the beloved village of San Marcos la Laguna, the place that had become my home for the previous month, with all of its people and places I had grown to love and cherish.
As sad as it was to depart such a place, I had prepared myself for this day. In fact, after returning from my brief trip to Xela for the Independence Day celebration, I realized that I was actually ready to leave San Marcos. I had been sitting in my established comfort zone for long enough and was ready to move on, eager for new adventures and excitement. I was ready to see more, to feel more, and to experience more.
So...
What better way to start than heading over to a hostel in the neighboring village of Santa Cruz for their weekly Saturday night cross-dressing party and barbecue? (Not exactly a cultural mecca, but hey, at least I got out of San Marcos!).
I arrived in Santa Cruz in the early afternoon with Gerardo, a friendly young Mexican guy whom had occupied the fourth bed in the dorm room I shared the night before with Nikki and Jason. He was on a two week vacation and had already had his mind set on Santa Cruz in order to do some diving (Santa Cruz is the spot on the lake for those interested in diving). My first afternoon in Santa Cruz was quiet; the sun was out and most of my time was spent reading, writing, or engaging in moderately interesting conversation with Gerardo when he was around (he liked to talk about himself). The hostel itself was relatively quiet, as there weren't many other people around. The hostel, La Iguana de Perdida, sits just above the docks and a little road along the lake shore, which makes for a spectacular view from any one of their several adirondack chairs or hammocks. As the sun went down that evening, the hostel staff (comprised of French, Israeli, Irish and American travelers who at some point or another were just passing through and decided to stay for a while) lit up the barbecue and the sweet sounds of people's friendly chatter and the opening of beer bottles began...
Dinner was a buffet, family style, with everybody sitting around together at long tables under dim candle lighting. These were my favorite types of dinners throughout my travels, partially because the food was always superb and you were always able to eat more food than your stomach could handle and there was always dessert. But, I enjoyed such meals also because of the friendly social atmosphere where everybody is forced (yet simultaneously willing) to converse with whichever strangers you're lucky enough to end up sitting next to; strangers who, more than likely, were to soon become your companions for the remainder of the evening, if not longer. Aside from Gerardo, I made my new friends for the evening after dinner when I joined a group of college-age American girls who were heading to the "closet." The closet was where ALL of the cross-dressing clothes are kept, and although it was far more accommodating to guys searching for women's attire, there was no shortage of interesting articles of clothing if you were willing to get creative--and adventurous. Although us females had to work a little harder than the guys on this (it's easy for a guy to just pull some 1980s dress full of sequins off the rack and slip it on, subsequently stuffing socks into his chest), I ended up wearing a HUGE and baggy pair of faded black (gray?) jeans, an oversize Brett Favre jersey, a white bandanna and some sweet facial hair drawn on by one of the girls with her eyeliner. Truly, it was the facial hair that made my outfit. The rest of me just looked straight up ghetto.
Family-style dinner at La Iguana Perdida ("borrowed" from their website)
The party was pretty mellow; the hostel workers said it was the smallest weekend crowd they had seen, but it was still a good time (afterall, the end of September isn't exactly high season in Guatemala). My new American friends (whose names have completely escaped my memory) and myself spent most of the evening dancing or sitting around the bar with the French and American guys (Adrian from France and Stonic from Boulder) who were working behind the counter, occasionally pouring some sort of random fruity shot for those interested. Admittedly, and barring in mind that I was technically a guy that night, I did take one shot from the cleavage of Stonic's fake blow-up breasts--and I was completely sober. Really, I was. I don't know what posessed me... But moving on and away from fake blow-up breasts (where in the hell do you get such things???), to say the least, we all had a lot of great laughs that night... and unfortunately for you, I have no pictures from the party (although, floating around somewhere in the world there are a few pictures of me as Brett Favre, gangsta style).
The next day started out slow, but wrapped up nicely with an afternoon uphill hike to a waterfall, a quiet dinner with all twelve or so guests of the hostel, and then an early bedtime. Stonic (from Boulder), Adi (the Israeli girl who worked at the hostel), Gerardo and myself made the hour and a half long hike together with Stonic, the only one who had been up there before, leading the way. Most of the time there was no trail, so we just blazed our own while we crossed back and forth over the river several times (I was SO thankful for my Keens on this day!), hopping from rock to rock or wading through the shallow rushing waters, ducking through massive oak and banana trees (the largest I have EVER seen in my life, my dad would be thoroughly impressed as this banana tree would TOWER over the one in our backyard back home--obviously), climbing up rock slides, and any other creative means we could come up with to get to the waterfall that sits in a crevice between two very high and vibrant green cliff sides. Stonic and I were the only ones willing to brave the freezing--and I mean FREEZING--cold water that poured down from the waterfall over our bodies and into the pool below. The water was so cold that it literally took my breath away and every time I went under, if only for a second, I would come out gasping for air. The four of us then spent about an hour sitting on our own chosen rocks in our own chosen spot, mostly staring off into the distance in silence, but sometimes reading or exchanging a few sentences before the silence overcame us again. There was no way for us not to appreciate the beauty of what surrounded us on this afternoon; the dense tropical vegetation, the flowing water curving its way down the mountain side, the blue sky above us, the volcanoes peeking through in front of us from the other side of the lake... I really, really wish I had brought my camera on this hike.
I recall so peacefully laying on my back looking up at the cliffs that rose steeply above me, green with the giant leaves of banana trees and other lush tropical vegetation. I watched the clouds move across the blue sky through the narrow opening at the top. At one point, a strong wind began to blow (the beginnings of a typical afternoon rainstorm moving in) and suddenly hundreds of small yellow leaves were falling from the sky. We all sat up, noticing the same thing, and watched the leaves flutter down, resembling little tiny butterflies. We tried to catch the ones that came within arm's reach. Not long thereafter, a Guatemalan man suddenly appeared from out of nowhere as he hiked up along the river to a scattered pile of chopped wood about 15 yards from where we were sitting. The four of us maintained our silence as we watched, without trying to stare, as the man collected his firewood. Still a mystery to me, the man had laid all the wood down in an organized fashion, and then suddenly, with the gathering of two ends of rope, the wood became a neat and organized bundle at least three feet tall and two feet wide, held together magically by one piece of rope. Then, he used all his might to hoist the heavy wood onto his back and situated a leather strap connected to the bundle of wood across his forehead in order to help keep the wood stable while he carried it. There was no interaction between us and him, and just as mysteriously as he had appeared, the man quietly departed and descended down the steep mountain side, having to cross the river just as we did. Once out of the man's earshot, we all simultaneously let out our surprise at what we just witnessed, full of admiration for what this man had just accomplished and joking that we could hardly even make it up--let alone down--carrying absolutely nothing on our backs.
A bundle of firewood like the one the man assembled and carried during our waterfall hike.
It never ceases to amaze me how, while traveling, I can share the most perfect moment in time with complete strangers, yet during these moments it feels as though I have known these individuals for a long, long time. Sharing such a moment with people I have usually known for fewer than 24 hours always felt so completely natural. For me, that instant and inherent connection between humans was one of the most beautiful things about my experiences with traveling. Many of my fondest memories from this trip occurred in the presence of near strangers, and although sharing such fond memories with a loved one, dear friend or significant other does sound more appealing, there is something to be said about the ability of strangers to willingly and openly share something so special.
As sad as it was to depart such a place, I had prepared myself for this day. In fact, after returning from my brief trip to Xela for the Independence Day celebration, I realized that I was actually ready to leave San Marcos. I had been sitting in my established comfort zone for long enough and was ready to move on, eager for new adventures and excitement. I was ready to see more, to feel more, and to experience more.
So...
What better way to start than heading over to a hostel in the neighboring village of Santa Cruz for their weekly Saturday night cross-dressing party and barbecue? (Not exactly a cultural mecca, but hey, at least I got out of San Marcos!).
I arrived in Santa Cruz in the early afternoon with Gerardo, a friendly young Mexican guy whom had occupied the fourth bed in the dorm room I shared the night before with Nikki and Jason. He was on a two week vacation and had already had his mind set on Santa Cruz in order to do some diving (Santa Cruz is the spot on the lake for those interested in diving). My first afternoon in Santa Cruz was quiet; the sun was out and most of my time was spent reading, writing, or engaging in moderately interesting conversation with Gerardo when he was around (he liked to talk about himself). The hostel itself was relatively quiet, as there weren't many other people around. The hostel, La Iguana de Perdida, sits just above the docks and a little road along the lake shore, which makes for a spectacular view from any one of their several adirondack chairs or hammocks. As the sun went down that evening, the hostel staff (comprised of French, Israeli, Irish and American travelers who at some point or another were just passing through and decided to stay for a while) lit up the barbecue and the sweet sounds of people's friendly chatter and the opening of beer bottles began...
Dinner was a buffet, family style, with everybody sitting around together at long tables under dim candle lighting. These were my favorite types of dinners throughout my travels, partially because the food was always superb and you were always able to eat more food than your stomach could handle and there was always dessert. But, I enjoyed such meals also because of the friendly social atmosphere where everybody is forced (yet simultaneously willing) to converse with whichever strangers you're lucky enough to end up sitting next to; strangers who, more than likely, were to soon become your companions for the remainder of the evening, if not longer. Aside from Gerardo, I made my new friends for the evening after dinner when I joined a group of college-age American girls who were heading to the "closet." The closet was where ALL of the cross-dressing clothes are kept, and although it was far more accommodating to guys searching for women's attire, there was no shortage of interesting articles of clothing if you were willing to get creative--and adventurous. Although us females had to work a little harder than the guys on this (it's easy for a guy to just pull some 1980s dress full of sequins off the rack and slip it on, subsequently stuffing socks into his chest), I ended up wearing a HUGE and baggy pair of faded black (gray?) jeans, an oversize Brett Favre jersey, a white bandanna and some sweet facial hair drawn on by one of the girls with her eyeliner. Truly, it was the facial hair that made my outfit. The rest of me just looked straight up ghetto.
Family-style dinner at La Iguana Perdida ("borrowed" from their website)The party was pretty mellow; the hostel workers said it was the smallest weekend crowd they had seen, but it was still a good time (afterall, the end of September isn't exactly high season in Guatemala). My new American friends (whose names have completely escaped my memory) and myself spent most of the evening dancing or sitting around the bar with the French and American guys (Adrian from France and Stonic from Boulder) who were working behind the counter, occasionally pouring some sort of random fruity shot for those interested. Admittedly, and barring in mind that I was technically a guy that night, I did take one shot from the cleavage of Stonic's fake blow-up breasts--and I was completely sober. Really, I was. I don't know what posessed me... But moving on and away from fake blow-up breasts (where in the hell do you get such things???), to say the least, we all had a lot of great laughs that night... and unfortunately for you, I have no pictures from the party (although, floating around somewhere in the world there are a few pictures of me as Brett Favre, gangsta style).
The next day started out slow, but wrapped up nicely with an afternoon uphill hike to a waterfall, a quiet dinner with all twelve or so guests of the hostel, and then an early bedtime. Stonic (from Boulder), Adi (the Israeli girl who worked at the hostel), Gerardo and myself made the hour and a half long hike together with Stonic, the only one who had been up there before, leading the way. Most of the time there was no trail, so we just blazed our own while we crossed back and forth over the river several times (I was SO thankful for my Keens on this day!), hopping from rock to rock or wading through the shallow rushing waters, ducking through massive oak and banana trees (the largest I have EVER seen in my life, my dad would be thoroughly impressed as this banana tree would TOWER over the one in our backyard back home--obviously), climbing up rock slides, and any other creative means we could come up with to get to the waterfall that sits in a crevice between two very high and vibrant green cliff sides. Stonic and I were the only ones willing to brave the freezing--and I mean FREEZING--cold water that poured down from the waterfall over our bodies and into the pool below. The water was so cold that it literally took my breath away and every time I went under, if only for a second, I would come out gasping for air. The four of us then spent about an hour sitting on our own chosen rocks in our own chosen spot, mostly staring off into the distance in silence, but sometimes reading or exchanging a few sentences before the silence overcame us again. There was no way for us not to appreciate the beauty of what surrounded us on this afternoon; the dense tropical vegetation, the flowing water curving its way down the mountain side, the blue sky above us, the volcanoes peeking through in front of us from the other side of the lake... I really, really wish I had brought my camera on this hike.
I recall so peacefully laying on my back looking up at the cliffs that rose steeply above me, green with the giant leaves of banana trees and other lush tropical vegetation. I watched the clouds move across the blue sky through the narrow opening at the top. At one point, a strong wind began to blow (the beginnings of a typical afternoon rainstorm moving in) and suddenly hundreds of small yellow leaves were falling from the sky. We all sat up, noticing the same thing, and watched the leaves flutter down, resembling little tiny butterflies. We tried to catch the ones that came within arm's reach. Not long thereafter, a Guatemalan man suddenly appeared from out of nowhere as he hiked up along the river to a scattered pile of chopped wood about 15 yards from where we were sitting. The four of us maintained our silence as we watched, without trying to stare, as the man collected his firewood. Still a mystery to me, the man had laid all the wood down in an organized fashion, and then suddenly, with the gathering of two ends of rope, the wood became a neat and organized bundle at least three feet tall and two feet wide, held together magically by one piece of rope. Then, he used all his might to hoist the heavy wood onto his back and situated a leather strap connected to the bundle of wood across his forehead in order to help keep the wood stable while he carried it. There was no interaction between us and him, and just as mysteriously as he had appeared, the man quietly departed and descended down the steep mountain side, having to cross the river just as we did. Once out of the man's earshot, we all simultaneously let out our surprise at what we just witnessed, full of admiration for what this man had just accomplished and joking that we could hardly even make it up--let alone down--carrying absolutely nothing on our backs.
A bundle of firewood like the one the man assembled and carried during our waterfall hike.It never ceases to amaze me how, while traveling, I can share the most perfect moment in time with complete strangers, yet during these moments it feels as though I have known these individuals for a long, long time. Sharing such a moment with people I have usually known for fewer than 24 hours always felt so completely natural. For me, that instant and inherent connection between humans was one of the most beautiful things about my experiences with traveling. Many of my fondest memories from this trip occurred in the presence of near strangers, and although sharing such fond memories with a loved one, dear friend or significant other does sound more appealing, there is something to be said about the ability of strangers to willingly and openly share something so special.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Independence Day in Xela (Coming Soon)
Here are a few pictures that I took during my visit back to Xela for Guatemala's Independence Day celebrations on September 15th:
Xela hosts a huge parade where schools from all over parade their marching bands through the city streets.
Apparently, it's cool to be in the marching band in Xela.
Street after street was lined with people watching the parade and vendors selling food, drinks and toys.
Parade onlookers perched in the back of their pick-up trucks.
Interestingly, this was the only group I saw that had girls marching in the parade playing instruments; this was also the only group I saw dressed in indigenous clothing (however, I'm not sure whether it was actually the only school of indigenous students or not).
Generally, if girls were marching in the parade they were twirling batons!
Trying to sneak in a photo of some women dressed in their Mayan clothing.
An old church I walked by as I made my way to the parade.
In the central park on this side of the city there were many, many food stalls set up. This one was a group of Japanese travelers and tourists who gathered to sell tortillas--Japan style. I surprised them with a few Japanese words, right before noticing that one of the guys had on a University of Oregon shirt! It's a small world after all...
Later that night I went to Le Feria, the fair, with these four people whom I had met in my hostel (Matilde from France, Meg from Cali and another American guy whose name and home state are no longer in my memory). This was our first ride, one of those huge ships that sways back and forth, getting higher and higher... I think--at least us three Americans--that we were immediately transported right back to childhood and county fairs.
This was my dinner at the fair; somewhat standard for a Guatemalan meal--beans, rice, potatoes, tortillas, along with some macaroni... and a good ol' Gallo.
I just liked this sign because it had so many things on it that made me think Guatemala: bananas, pina, and Corn Flakes!
Wandering the various booths at the fair...
... A table full of Guatemalan sweets!
Another typical sight--bread products and plastic toys.
Meg and myself at the only wine place in town.
After a few glasses of wine I thought I was getting creative with my camera taking pictures of Guatemalan money... hmph.
This was my dorm in Xela at the Black Cat Hostel, a very popular one with travelers. I had it all to myself one night!
Xela hosts a huge parade where schools from all over parade their marching bands through the city streets.
Apparently, it's cool to be in the marching band in Xela.
Street after street was lined with people watching the parade and vendors selling food, drinks and toys.
Parade onlookers perched in the back of their pick-up trucks.
Interestingly, this was the only group I saw that had girls marching in the parade playing instruments; this was also the only group I saw dressed in indigenous clothing (however, I'm not sure whether it was actually the only school of indigenous students or not).
Generally, if girls were marching in the parade they were twirling batons!
Trying to sneak in a photo of some women dressed in their Mayan clothing.
An old church I walked by as I made my way to the parade.
In the central park on this side of the city there were many, many food stalls set up. This one was a group of Japanese travelers and tourists who gathered to sell tortillas--Japan style. I surprised them with a few Japanese words, right before noticing that one of the guys had on a University of Oregon shirt! It's a small world after all...
Later that night I went to Le Feria, the fair, with these four people whom I had met in my hostel (Matilde from France, Meg from Cali and another American guy whose name and home state are no longer in my memory). This was our first ride, one of those huge ships that sways back and forth, getting higher and higher... I think--at least us three Americans--that we were immediately transported right back to childhood and county fairs.
This was my dinner at the fair; somewhat standard for a Guatemalan meal--beans, rice, potatoes, tortillas, along with some macaroni... and a good ol' Gallo.
I just liked this sign because it had so many things on it that made me think Guatemala: bananas, pina, and Corn Flakes!
Wandering the various booths at the fair...
... A table full of Guatemalan sweets!
Another typical sight--bread products and plastic toys.
Meg and myself at the only wine place in town.
After a few glasses of wine I thought I was getting creative with my camera taking pictures of Guatemalan money... hmph.
This was my dorm in Xela at the Black Cat Hostel, a very popular one with travelers. I had it all to myself one night!
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