Budget Nomad

Just a Chuckle

2012-02-25T19:12:00.000+01:00

I notice so many people out in cafes and restaurants, but they are all on their phone communicating with someone else. This cartoon was so apropos. If they were like me and only had 5 people to communicate with, it would solve so many problems. On the other hand, Ron has not learned what "mobile" means in mobile phone. His mobile sits on the charger until it rings. Then it is some Hungarian telemarketer.

Ready for a Get-Away

2012-02-24T18:24:00.001+01:00

School has only been in session for two weeks and already I am exhausted. Teaching 10 classes is not easy, but the demands are what drain my energy. I have moved all of my testing to online. The E-Learning module of the university opens up my tests on the day I tell it to, for the hours I designate, shows the number of questions at a time that I want it display, and only allots the amount of time I choose.

Each semester I gain wisdom. Isn't that what university is supposed to be about? If only my students would show the same increase, I would be thrilled. This was the latest go around that caused me to fizzle. The film class has a quiz weekly. The course is online only, they only need to blog their reaction to the film, write a 2-3 page essay on 1 film of the 12 for the semester, and take 12 quizzes of 10 questions each. Not a great deal of work, but to be fair, they only get 2 credits for it.

The last time I ran this course online, I overheard a student telling another that they could do the quiz in groups. At the end of the quiz, the correct and incorrect answers were displayed. All they needed was a king penguin to test the waters, take the quiz and then share the wealth with all of the answers. In my increasing wisdom, I turned off the part that shows the answers at the end of the quiz. Sorry, guys! You will have to share something else now if you want to bond.

They took the first quiz and one of my journalism students complains that he cannot see what questions he had marked wrong, because he was certain he had 100%. Another youngster who thinks he knows it all. I was able to go into the module and copy the 2 questions he fumbled on and sent it to him. The quiz date was over, so I had nothing to loose.

He wrote me with gratitude and asked if he could come to my office hours each week to retrieve this information because some of the answers were ambiguous? Well, no you cannot. First of all, of course the answers are ambiguous. He should have heard of critical thinking; he had my course in it last semester. Has he forgotten all he knew already? More importantly, now with 10 classes, I am not going to be at your beck and call like I have been in the past. Sorry about that.

Where is my old doctor that wanted to put me on disability for a headache? I sure do miss him.

Did I Need a Study for This?

2012-02-24T17:08:00.002+01:00

I just read a new article in the Hungarian to English news that an increasing number of Hungarian businesses close within the first year. Can we all take a deep breathe in and go DUH!!! in unison, please? First of all, this is and has been an international business fact for as many years as I can remember and for things like this I have a good memory. Why should Hungary be any different? I will share why I think there is a major difference here in two words. Poor planning.

I have had successful businesses that have last from 3 to 16 years, so I do know something about business. Those that were at the lower end of the longevity scale were closed by my choosing, not because I went out of business for negative reasons. This is my primary observation of new businesses. They don't scope out the area well enough before investing in opening the business.

For example and I have written this before, within 1 square block of our apartment, there were 7 florists and a few of them were large operations. Before you rent a retail space don't you think you should at least ask yourself "What is the competition here?", "Are these services needed?", and "How much can I afford to invest in remodeling while still saving something for marketing?" I was very sad to see one of my favorite florists close up shop. They had the most beautiful and original window decorations, it was a pleasure to walk by, but they also drew me in to buy.

One street over from us, in one small space in the last five years, there has been an empty store, a fruit/vegetable store, a bike rental, computer store, discount shoe store (no shoes over 1,000 Huf), then a regular shoe store, and currently a cafe. The fact that there is a Turkish restaurant right next door, another restaurant 2 doors away, a Burger King four doors down on the corner, a pub on the other corner, a cafe right around the corner, and three restaurants right around the corner within the block, didn't seem to deter them at all.

What makes me groan WHHHHHHAAAATTTTT? is when they rip out everything that was left by the previous tenant, including perfectly good tile or painted walls and spend weeks remodeling. They open for 5-8 months if their luck holds and then one day you see any empty store front once again. What a waste of money.

Doesn't anyone know about demographics and marketing?

Back in the Writing Saddle Again

2012-02-22T07:03:00.001+01:00

Yes, I have a memoir in the pipeline, but no one hanging over me to battle the computer to get it written. However, when my last Frommer's editor contacted me yesterday, things were different. There is a different editor for just about each book. She asked if I wanted to rewrite the Hungary chapter of the Frommer's Europe book. Of course I do! It is 34 pages, so not quite cumbersome, but having looked over the last time it was published, there are a number of things that need updating. I have until April 2nd to get it done. I do love seeing my name in print.

Patience is a Virtue

2012-02-20T08:13:00.000+01:00

Everything I needed to develop patience, I have learned from my computers. Ironically, computers are meant to speed up our lives, creating a sense of ease in performing some or a great number of life tasks, depending on your needs and aptitude. Contrary to this belief, my computers over time have taught me to slow down, take a breath and smell the flowers on the wallpaper.

Back in 2001, when we first arrived, we only had the option of a dial up modem connection. Not only did it take weeks to get it installed, but it then took hours to connect. It made the modem connection I had left behind in California seem like a Kentucky Derby winner.

Time after time, I would play around with some new software I had heard about and “play with it” for a while. This was the infamous line of the mother of a friend of mine that she would use each time we played cards as she picked up the exact card the rest of us were drooling over. It never came around to biting her in the butt for grabbing the card, but my butt was in a sling more times than I care to admit for living on the edge with software playfulness. It isn’t so bad when you are in a country where the majority of service technicians speak the same language you do, with or without regional differences, but in a foreign country, it is a disaster. My rationale is that I will never go zip lining or bungee jumping, so I have to live on the edge somehow. This is my how.

If you have read previous posts, you will know that the last computer technician has been here so often, he thinks we are related. I have given him so much money, he believes I am just making up for lost Christmas and birthday presents that I have missed over his last 26 years. When my problems presumably were getting worse rather than better, I had to sit him down for a heart to heart sharing the fact that he had been adopted by me, but I was returning him to the computer technician orphanage. It was a tearful, but not such a sweet sorrow good-bye.

Last Tuesday, on Valentine’s Day, I turned my computer on the way our real adopted nephew suggested. Turn off the switch on the back, leave it off for 5 seconds, turn it back on and then turn the computer on. I had been working so far, until that morning. That dreaded black screen appeared showing that Chkdsk.exe is about to start running. The screen informs me that there may have been some problems with volumes that need to be examined. Thinking like a librarian, I decode this into the following: there is a C, D, G, and M drive in this machine. Each is a terabyte in size, so I realize this may take some time and I will not be using that computer before I leave for the first day of school. I leave the computer on as the message warns against cancelling the process.

When I came home from classes close to 5 pm, the process was still running. Apparently, the Chkdsk believed that each drive was not a volume unto itself, but that each file on each drive was a volume. It showed now checking volume 4089578 of 7906784 of Drive C. Okay, I thought, this is going to take some time, but if I leave the computer on overnight, it will be done sooner. That was a partially correct deduction. By morning, the C drive had completed, but now it was working on Drive D. That took all of Wednesday and sometime into Thursday, before I realized it had now moved on to Drive G. I was beginning to realize that terabytes should be spelled as T-E-R-R-O-R-B-I-T-E-S. This whole process was terrifying and taking a real bite out of my productive schedule. Yet, it was draining my patience faster than a freshly plunged sink drain; I decided to let it continue to do its thing. After all, how much longer could this last?

Ron repeatedly told me how impressed he was that I have not harmed anyone yet, specifically him, but he knew that others could have been at risk also. At the end of each school day, he would ask me how many students showed up for class and how many left the classroom. He needed assurances of the head count of those coming and going. He kept suggesting I get a new computer. It was tempting, but there has been a great financial outlay in getting the new apartment furnished, I really wanted to hold off as long as possible. My limits were thus far as untested terrain as the moons of Venus. It was uncertain which was winning the battle: stubbornness or frugality.

After all of the drives were finished being examined with more thorough tests than an astronaut has to complete, it moved on to the next phase. Checking for bad sectors and lost clusters. I was beginning to wonder if this was indeed my computer or did the computer guy mix it with some astronomer’s. Bad sectors and lost clusters? For the amount of time involved, it could have searched the heavens for lost clusters of star fragments in bad sectors of the universe.

This was followed by a check of orphaned files. Well let me tell you that anything orphaned pulls at my heartstrings, so this was one part that I was grateful for, especially after it did indeed indentify a number of orphaned files and reunited them with their parent files. A few tears formed in my eyes. By now, we are into Saturday evening. The computer hasn’t been turned off since it was turned on Tuesday morning. The black screen is still there, but there are numbers continually moving providing some assurance that it has not frozen in time, but is plugging away. There were cross-linked files to be checked and directory errors to modify. It would make any AT&T operator proud to see the directory errors it resolved.

What was fortunate is where the computer sits in its computer cabinet in the living room. The monitor reflects into the front windows. When it is dark out, I don’t even have to go into the living room to check on it. I can see its reflection in glass. I am still questioning whether or not I HAD to get up for the bathroom 5 times a night from Tuesday on or if it was just my subconscious mind needing to see something other than a black screen, like the sardonic Japanese calligraphy wallpaper that rotates its proclamations of “Peace”, “Joy”, “Happiness”, “Love”, and “Patience” which is what happens during normal operating procedures. It has been so long, I almost forgot was normal was.

Since Tuesday, I have been using my netbook for 99% of my work. The good news is that I can now type 150 words a minute on it with an error rate of 0.05%. The bad news is that the screen is so small; I have to do so much scrolling up and down that I am getting carpal tunnel syndrome and a callous on my touchpad finger.

This brings me to today, Monday, February 20, 2012. After making my usual early morning trips, to witness the black screen, when I finally decided to get out of bed for the day at 6:50 am, and did my check in of the computer, the entire screen was black. This is a sign that the monitor has turned to hibernate. During the entire week of diagnostics, the monitor never shut off once.

When I clicked the mouse button, holding my breath the entire time, a blue screen decorated with Japanese calligraphy appeared with one word “Patience”.

I may never turn it off again.

Szia! My Caduceus is Moving Abroad

2012-02-17T16:33:00.000+01:00

Image via Wikipedia

Last week, one of the attendees from the professional writing course that I taught, contacted me. He wanted to meet for a coffee. Being there were 35 in the morning class and an almost equal number in the 2nd session, I could not put a face to the name. We arranged to meet. He was probably the youngest person to attend this course; he is a freshman at another university.

It only took a few minutes to confirm his intelligence. Now that I had a face, I remembered his highly intelligent comments and questions during the seminar classes. However, his first question to me over a steaming espresso drink was "How do I escape to America? Do you have any insider secrets?" If I had some insider secrets, I would be doing seminars called "Insider Secrets for Getting to America". Everyone thinks that all Americans have this bag of tricks on getting over the big pond and staying there in peace and harmony while they make the American Dream their reality.

This young man is not an isolated incident, but I did forward him some articles about the American economy, the cost of education in the US, and the Occupy Movements. Intelligence does not equal paying attention to current events.

While on the topic of fleeing, there was an article in Caboodle today that talks about medical doctors fleeing the country in droves. It states that 100 doctors leave the country each month to work abroad. I know that I have lost 2 doctors that I was seeing. Both spoke great English.

According to Semmelweis University, the medical training facility where they teach in English, one third of the doctors who graduate don't ever start their career in Hungary. Fewer than 100 foreign doctors ask for their diploma to be validated in Hungary, meaning once they skedaddle, they are taking the welcome mat with them. Between 2006 and 2010, the number of doctors has dropped by 4,000. Get out those vitamins and stay healthy.

School Days

2012-02-17T15:55:00.002+01:00

Tuesday was my first day of school for this semester. I have five classes on Tuesday and five again on Wednesday. This is the heaviest schedule I have had in my ten years I started teaching here. In addition, I still have MA students who I am advising for their thesis.

Tuesdays my classes start at 8 am:
8:00 am to 9:30 The Methodology of Writing the BA Cultural Thesis - Only 2 of the students are my advisees.
9:30 to 11:00 Race and Ethnicity in US Journalism II
11:00 to 12:30 pm Religion: Born in the USA
12:30 to 2:00 Journalism as Portrayed in US Films
2:00 to 3:30 Library Research Methods

Wednesdays also start early.
8:00 am to 9:30 Websites and Blogging: 21st Century Journalism
9:30 to 11:00 The Methodology of MA Cultural Studies
11:00 to 12:30 pm Introduction to Creative Writing
12:30 to 2:00 Corp-ocracy - The Corporations of Destruction
2:00 to 3:30 The Mystery Novel

My main computer is still working through the same diagnostics that it started on Tuesday when I turned it on. I have this fear that if I turn it off, it will only start from the beginning again, so I thought it best to let it play itself out. All that and ten courses; I am arranging for my funeral by the end of May. Hopefully, I will last that long.

A Sign for Our Times

2012-02-16T15:03:00.000+01:00

I spotted this sign in front of a restaurant when I was walking down a street. Clever and true at the same time.

Computer Karma

2012-02-15T18:30:00.000+01:00

I never have good luck with computers. I think my energy conflicts with anything electronic. This has been running for the last 36 hours. Because have four hard drives, each with a TB of storage, it is going to take another day or more, before I have to decide whether or not to go computer shopping.

Don't Boar Me With Details

2012-02-13T08:38:00.000+01:00

Before I start getting e-mails from my teacher friends due to the title of this post, let me assure you, it was intentional. A number of years back, I had reported here and in my Frommer's guide, the dangers of wild boars in Budapest. Back then, a dog running off leash while out for a walk with its owner was attacked and killed by a wild boar in the Buda Hills.

Once again, the swine have come to public attention, not because they are trying to escape the big bad wolf. They are the cause for dismay. According to news reports, small herds of wild boar are not boring the residents of the upper echelons of district XII with their escapades. There have been so many of them prowling the streets and peoples' gardens, a special hotline has been set up for reporting sightings of the gangs of pigs.

Remember that old advertisement tag line? "Pork, it's the other white meat." Well, guess who has come to dinner for what is in your yard?

Misery, Thy Name is Computer

2012-02-10T09:36:00.001+01:00

I turned on the main computer at 6:40 am this morning. It is now 9:33 am. It has not finished booting yet. I am seriously considering handwriting this blog, but then none of you would be able to read my writing. Perhaps, I should switch to a typewriter. The computer repair guy has been here so often, we are being invited to his wedding. It makes sense, we have paid for it.

: )

Cutting the Ties That Bind Us

2012-02-10T09:17:00.000+01:00

Once again, in the airline news, Budapest gets hit again. American Airlines announced they are cancelling their one and only direct route from New York to Budapest. This was not a year round service, but it was due to start again in June. Delta Airlines, which once had direct service between the cities had long since dropped their route.

American stated they would still service the route through their partners British Air via London and Finnish Air via Helsinki. If you choose the latter, I recommend a stopover in Helsinki; it is a delightfully small city.

Since I was not thrilled with the equipment American Airlines used on our last flights, I am not sure this is such a bad thing after all. However, it is a barometer of the global economy for sure.

No More Flies

2012-02-09T18:24:00.003+01:00

This is late news, but heck, I had computer problems. If you have not heard the news yet, Hungarian state-owned Malev Hungarian Airlines (MA) ceased all operations early on Feb. 3

Malév worked their way into insolvency and by Friday there was a cease and desist for all flights. Having been in operation for more than 60 years, they rewarded the last passengers, thousands of them in Budapest and other cities by stranding them. Passengers at the Budapest airport were informed that morning at 7:00 a.m. that all outbound flights were cancelled. Happy vacation to you! Talk about travel stress.

Meanwhile, formerly budget airline Wizz Air announced an increase in flights. They will fly to Malaga, Cluj Napoca, Bucharest, Warsaw, Sofia, Larnaca, Heraklion, Zakynthos, Rhodes and Thessaloniki. Wizz has a habit of making many of these destinations summer only, so it is really nothing spectacular.

Also on the airline front, my private student asked me to make a call for him after our lesson. This was a real switch. Usually it is I who asks him to make calls. He needed to call Expedia Travel Services in the US. He and his partner bought tickets to Ibiza for April, but bought the tickets back in November of last year. The routing is Lufthansa and Spanair. In January, Spanair quit flying after going bankrupt. According to Expredia, Spanair was paid directly, so the only recourse is to fight with the credit card company for a refund. He is hopeless that this will be effective, so they are preparing themselves for taking the loss.

My Disappearance Explained, Kind of

2012-02-08T09:46:00.003+01:00

I have over a thousand times in this space without exaggeration, but yet as I approached today it was timidly. There was the shy embarrassment of a long lost lover returning from a sudden departure. Feelings similar to the protagonist in Stranger in from a Strange Land swirl in my thoughts. Similar to a Catholic entering the confessional, I need to expose the reasons for my loss of time, even if only for my own memories in the future.

When we returned from our sun filled holiday, there was still much work to be organized and completed before the new semester was upon us. Fortunately, I learned decades ago that procrastination was not my best friend, so we parted ways. This semester, I am teaching ten classes, all different, so I cannot rely on any duplicate of material to cut my preparation time into fractions. Bundles of potential papers were already set aside for distribution via Dropbox, but there were still four classes that needed tenderizing and then full cooking had to follow.

Feverishly, I worked on these once we returned home, but they were interrupted by getting my trip photos collated and uploaded. This was my priority knowing that once school commenced, my attention would be short-lived for anything but. As I labored on my projects, the computer started getting slower and slower without any apparent reason. One day after being home less than a week, it would not start at all.

Since living here, computer repair people have trained me to be self-flagellating. It all starts with phrases of dubious praise: "you are an adventurer with downloading programs"; "certainly someone that is a risk-taker such as you are..."; "you are such an experimenter with the computer that...". As the timeline continues, these turn derogatory. "If you hadn't screwed around so much..."'; "if you would only load the programs I tell you about..."; "you take stupid unnecessary risks...". Unlike most abusive relationships, I know when it is time to hit the road and move on.

The expression "What does not kill us, makes us stronger." has been reframed for me. "What does not kill me, makes me smarter." I may have made dozens of errors in judgement with computing; however, I have gained another tool for my toolbox.

When my newest computer repair person came to fix what I couldn't, the remedy was as short-lived as the life cycle of a butterfly. A beautiful thing to behold, but not for long. When he returned, he decided he needed to take my computer to his shop to test it; something he claimed was impossible here. Since I first brought it home, it had not been out of the house. A cat without claws has too many dangers to face out of doors, such too, my computer was stuffed with things that should not be exposed to an outsider's potential mishaps. Of primary concern was over 7,000 photos and ten years of financial data. Of course, they are backed up elsewhere, but paranoia dictates or rather whispers in my ear "What if the backup is corrupted when you need it?" Experience has taught that lesson.

Before the computer passed the threshold, I had the three hard drives removed. He could leave with the C drive, but the other three were here to stay. They sat in my drawer safe and sound from prying eyes. I told the tech that I had backed up everything I needed off of the C drive. There was nothing that I needed as I had tried to reformat the drive myself, but it refused to format. I had promises of getting it back by Tuesday or Wednesday of the following week; he took it on a Friday.

Tuesday evening, I had not heard a word. My computer child was in intensive care, but there were no visiting rights and no progress reports. I sent an SMS, but it went unanswered. Wednesday night, I received a response. "There is over 800 GB of data that needed to be backed up and it is taking time." What? How could there be anything to back up? I had attempted to reformat the drive; I had backed up all that I wanted. There should not have been a back-up at all. Good grief. I know from experience, it is not a language issue. It is an educational issue. It doesn't matter what logic or common sense may tell you, these are the steps you were taught to take and by gosh, you will follow them regardless of what reality dictates. I have experienced this dozens of times, many of which cost me money.

One full week without a real computer, though I had the netbook to fall back on, ten inches is not enough. Size does matter, though some can be satisfied with ten inches, I want and need more for the long term. My regular screen is so much larger.

When the computer finally returned home the following Friday, I wanted to sponsor a parade or at least a "Welcome Home" party, but it did seem excessive in retrospect. All was well, except the drives that were put back. They used to be called Drive D, E and M. Now they were E, G, and N. Regardless a rose by any other name still has all of my data on it. But it didn't. The N drive had all sorts of strange things, none of which were recognizable. All of the data I had was now in Windows.ooo.old. Que pasa?

The computer worked fine for two days, when Windows had a major updating session. There were 24 critical updates. BAM, BAM, BAM, three gunshots to the hard drive. The computer stopped working once again. So it was not my 'adventurist attitude" into the world of software, it was Microsoft that ravaged my computer this time. Still, within the last three weeks, I have heard from 3 people that they need repairs to their Apple computers. There must be an epidemic in our midst.

Snap, Snap, Snap!

2012-01-31T08:27:00.001+01:00

My computer is still not fixed, but with some borrowing and planning my time right, I have finally been able to get all of my Guatemala and Belize photos uploaded. They are all waiting to be viewed at Ryan and Ron Do the World.

I have high hopes of getting my computer back by tomorrow, so look for me soon.

Abandonment

2012-01-27T18:23:00.001+01:00

I may be absent for a few more days. My main computer has been taken away for major repairs. Please don't abandon me too. It can cause me to have issues.

Three Countries in 24 Hours

2012-01-15T23:58:00.000+01:00

All vacations have to come to an end. Some should end sooner than others. This vacation was just right. I was ready to return to Europe, not to say that I didn't appreciate all that we did or didn't do. We had to take a taxi to Belize City to the airport, another capital that has a high crime rate.

The check in process is fostered by electronic machines to print out boarding passes, though the airport is not tremendously large. What angered me once we brought our luggage to be checked was the fact that it would only be checked as far as Miami. We would have to pick it up, go through Customs and then recheck it. WHY?? The reasoning given was this was our first port of entry into the US, but what flummoxes me is that we did not need to do this going. Our luggage was checked through to Guatemala City.

American Airlines is on my Do Not Fly list unless absolutely necessary. The flight from Belize to Miami is a short couple of hours. Miami's airport is horridly huge and though we had 3 hours between flights, it took 138 minutes to get from one flight to the next leaving only28 minutes to shovel down a lunch before the next part of the journey when our boarding had started. The flight from Miami to Madrid was again one of those hideous planes with community theater experiences, not back of the seat view your own. We both skipped the movies because the sound quality was that of scratched record played on an antique record player. They don't even serve a drink of beer or booze without whipping out the credit card reader with charges that start at $6.00.

Turbulence was beyond the control of anyone but Mother Nature and she must have been having a bout of PMS. We shook, rattled, and rolled like an old television commercial for Shake and Bake chicken. Needless to say, if you are reading this, we made it to Madrid safely and early. Not that this was provident in our case, as check-in to our hotel was not until 2pm.

We left our suitcases, and sleep deprived, wandered the city that has now been stripped of any sign of Christmas cheer, but had a blanket of early morning fog and winter chill one never associates with Spain. By noon, the hotel felt sorry for us and opened the room early. After a cold shower as there was no hot water, we napped before returning to the hot chocolate and churro cafe. Dinner was at the mini sandwich shop we had discovered in December on our walking tour. Then it was an early night, for tomorrow, we will wander the streets again before our final flight to Budapest.

Orange Walk With a Banana

2012-01-14T21:20:00.000+01:00

Somehow, most of our activity was end-loaded; it occurred at the end of our vacation rather than be spread throughout. It is just the way it worked out. From Orange Walk, it is easy to book a tour to the Laminai Mayan ruins.

Lamanai means supposedly means "submerged crocodile" in the Maya language. We later learned from our guide that Lamanai spelled as such really means underlying crocodile or potential shoes with a purse or some such thing. Lamanai is the largest, but considered the most interesting archeological site in Belize as the Lamanai temple complex sits atop the western bluff of the New River Lagoon. Surrounding it is the pristine rainforest. Lamanai was occupied continuously for over 3,000 years, which is attributed to it's remote location, causing it to be occupied far longer than most other Maya sites. Lamanai remained until at least 1,650 AD.

Getting to the ruins involved yet another boat ride. I swear I have not been as involved in water sports as I have on this vacation. The launching dock was right by the restaurant we enjoyed last night. We had a full load of tourists from Denmark, Canada, Australia, Germany, and the two of us from Hungary. We stopped often to view various water birds, numerous lizards that were sunning themselves in the trees, and at least six crocodiles. For some, the highlight was the monkeys. Our guide/captain gave some bananas, which the monkeys came to grab and ran off. Our journey took approximately 1 1/2 hours.

After combining our group with a group of college students, our guide started the tour showing us the map of area. What was once a city covered hundreds of acres of land with just as many edifices. He announced we would be doing a 14 mile hike to see the ruins. College students are very adept at mentally computing that 14 miles are impossible to cover in the allotted time of the tour. Bless their little mathematical brains.

The ruins which were excavated were magnificent; they were so intact. I am in awe with these ruins beyond what I saw in Tikal, but why is a mystery to me. Tikal was not to be missed either. Even not being an outdoorsy person, the hike was incredibly thrilling. A forest creates the freshest air. After hours of walking, viewing, going ooh and aah, snapping photos, we were provided with lunch. Tupperware containers are unloaded, unsealed, and a rainbow of edible color is exposed. What a treat it was to dine in these surroundings on what was closer to home cooked food than restaurant prepared. Life is great!

On the return trip, two of the British women asked the captain if we would get close to the monkeys again. He offered to try, but succeeded beyond anyone's expectations. When we were close to the jungle area where monkeys were visible, the captain gave bananas to the women while making monkey sounds. One monkey was particularly intrigued working his way from tree branch to tree branch edging closer to the boat. He had to traverse over the lagoon in order to get close enough to the boat to reach the fruit. In one major leap, we had a monkey on the boat running up and down the central aisle grabbing at bananas, but that was not the end of the story. Our furry friend ran to the captain, grabbed onto the wheel trying to steer. For further entertainment, it/he/she ran back to the people with the bananas and sat on their lap, before running along the aisle once again on two legs and flying off onto the nearest tree.

Once we returned to town, I wanted to explore the town before dark. After six blocks of roaming, you have run out of town. We did find decent coffee shop. A steeple caught our attention, so we ventured over to the Catholic Church where the doors were wide open, but only two nuns and two lay people were sitting in pews in the front of the church. We sat in the back observing the building. Once the little group broke up, the lay woman came to introduce herself to us. Her name was Arcadia, who explained they had just finished a rosary to the founding saint of their order, which originated in Germany. Arcadia was bubblingly extroverted, a typical personality trait of Belize people. She called over the two nuns, introduced them and then insisted that she walk with us part of the way as it was getting dark out. She claimed that as a retired school teacher she knew the majority of the residents, so felt safe. However, there were some problems at times for strangers. She explained that there is a mandatory retirement at 55 years old in Belize. Is it a wonder there are so many retirees from other countries flocking here?

During our walk-about, we didn't notice too many choices for dinner, so we returned to where we ate last night. Two more incredible meals, making it a grand finale for our last night of vacation.

Tubing in Blacknss

2012-01-13T21:16:00.000+01:00

Being this was our last day in San Ignacio, Sergio the tour company owner wanted to show his magnificence in planning our day. We had booked the cave tubing tour, not that I didn't have some trepidations about this. As I have said a multitude of times in the past, my outdoorsy day quota was used up in Cub and Boy Scouts, so anything now is pushing it.

Timing was near perfect with our guide due to pick us up at 11am, the time of check out from the hotel, it still gave us plenty of time have breakfast across the street. At the stroke of 11, Sergio was waiting to introduce our guide Ping and the driver Tony, who would take us to Jaguar Paw in the Cayo. Sergio had it worked out that the drive would take 1 1/2 hours, the tubing would last for 2 1/2 hours, we had 45 minutes for lunch, and then Tony would get us on the bus to Orange Walk. All the best laid plans.

Since I had been ill the day before, I slept the entire trip; there wasn't much enthusiasm running through my veins for this great adventure. Once we were at the location, we were issued a head light like a miner would wear and a heavy duty inner tube. After being directed to change in the rooms provided, we emerged in bathing suits and t-shirts with the recommended shoes.

"Now, we will have an hour hike through the jungle", Ping informed us. An hour, I questioned? Sergio said it was half that at most. Hike is a dirty four letter word in my list of nasty things that should never be uttered in pleasant company, nor mine. Ping explained that there was a shorter route, but that also meant a shorter tubing experience. Throughout the walk/hike/excursion/ramble Ping pointed out different medicinal plants the locals who are in the know, use for remedies. I wasn't sure how to interpret his telling us about the one plant that was better than Viagra. He was so informative, the trail whizzed by without breaking a sweat.

What was a bit creepy and not my favorite part was walking into pitch black caves where we barely have room to stand upright. Claustrophobia wanted to creep in, but I held it at bay. The sights that dripping water can produce over time is remarkable. We passed one turn-off which could have led us to the river, but Ping had a longer hike in mind. He promised this would extend our river ride by a considerable amount of time.

When we reached the river where we were going to enter, we secured our life vests, put on our head lamps and hopped into our inner tubes. We were warned that when we heard Ping yell "Butts UP!" he meant it as the water was shallow in spots and we would be getting butt burn on rocks if we didn't pay attention. To keep us together, he anchored Ron's feet under my arms and then he used his foot to hold on to my tube, while using his arms to paddle and direct us in and out of caves. When we were in the caves, it was black, so we used our lights. Ping described everything. The adventure was staggeringly wonderful. By the time we reached the spot where we were to get off of our tube and leave the river, I was resistant. I wanted to stay for another hour or more.

After getting changed into dry clothes, we had a sack lunch ready for us and sat around talking to the locals who were selling drinks and trinkets. At the appointed time, Tony had us on the street with out luggage sitting on the road, ready to flag down our bus to Orange Walk. Tony spoke to a number of people who had a number of different ideas about our bus. The consensus was that the bus we had planned on would not stop for us on the roadside, because it was an express. This put Tony into a dither, not knowing what to do, but knowing he was in charge of getting us on the bus or else. Bus after bus passed us by, spewing roadside dust in our faces while the sun beat down evaporating any moisture we may have collected from the river. We waited. We waited some more.

Tony panicked and made calls, but still nothing definitive. After an hour passed and knowing there are only 2 buses a day to Orange Walk, he hailed a bus that was speeding by. The destination sign was not Orange Walk, but Tony confirmed it would stop there. The driver's assistant put our luggage underneath, but there was only one seat on the whole bus.

I made Ron sit while I stood by his side. We still had 2 hours to drive and being an express bus, we were not expecting a number of stops to relieve the seats of their occupants. After an hour, I was saved. We stopped and while a man jumped on, a woman got off. He took my seat. The driver's assistant saw what happened and made the man get up to give me the seat. He had to stand for the next hour.

Orange Walk is even smaller than San Ignacio and more 3rd world looking as well. The population is 13,400. The hotel we were at Hotel de la Fuente was especially nice and the young clerk gave us the suggestion to visit a new restaurant for dinner, the Paniscea Restaurant and Event Center. Dinner was so excellent, we had to gush our delight to the owners. They had just opened New Year's Eve.

Orange You Glad You Went?

2012-01-12T23:57:00.001+01:00

You know how it is when someone really build up a movie or a book, but by the time you experience it, disappointment sets in? We had read about this market called Orange where you can find the best of Belize souvenirs all in one place. The entire time we were in Guatemala when I was hovering over a potential sale, Ron would say "Remember we still have Belize and the Orange Market."

This kept me at bay some of the time, but over eighteen years, I have learned one travel truth for certain. Don't listen when someone says to you, "You will probably see this all over. Do you really want to carry it around with you now?" I don't know how many times, I never did see the item ever again. This is one of Ron's favorite sentences when his budget radar kicks in alerting him that I am about to spend money.

We had intended to stop at Orange on the way back from the Belize Zoo yesterday. However, the bus ride was much longer than expected, we spent over 2 hours at the zoo, and the ride back would have taken us into the dark of night. We thought tomorrow is another day with nothing planned. We will spend part of the day at Orange. We mentioned this to Sergio, the owner of Destiny Travel in Flayva's Restaurant. We bought our tour tickets from him. He offered us a ride if we would leave at 11am. He was on his way to the Belize Airport to pick up people and Orange was on his way.

For reassurance, I asked Sergio if Orange was all that was said about it. He went on and on about how massive it was, that any handicraft ever made in Belize was available there and many of the items were only on sale at Orange and no where else. Exclusivity is my cup of tea, so I was salivating while making certain my wallet was fully stuffed ready for heavy duty action.

It took close to forty-five minutes to drive to Orange. We had passed it on the bus, but I had only a quick glimpse. Orange is associated with a motel and restaurant. When we passed on the bus, my assumption was the one floor orange colored building we were flying by was the restaurant and the actual market was down the road a piece. Wrong! When Sergio pulled up, it was the market. It took ten seconds to realize that the diamond I had come to expect was only zirconium.

Situated room by room, the first was all jewelry, never on my shopping list. The next contained leather products, the type similar to the craft kit children get to make mommy a coin purse. This was followed by textiles. We did our share of textile purchases in Guatemala, so no thank you here. The only thing that interested me was pointed out by a sharp saleswoman. It was a salve for bug bites to stop the itch. Hmmm... here is was twenty Belize dollars. In town, it was only ten. Pass on that too. I covered this 'fabulous' market in ten minutes time and was in the restaurant ordering a coffee. If there hadn't been a few trinkets in town I had been holding off on buying, I would have been disappointed. It was an experience, but not one worth recommending.

We waited for the bus to roll by to flag down. It was hot with little offerings of shade. The bus ride was unremarkable and upon our arrival, we did not find Betti. We went back to the hotel to read. Within a minute, I became ill. It was like turning on a light switch. Ron was still on the balcony at the front of the building while I was at the back of the building in our room dying. I now have a general idea of what labor is like. I sweat 2 liters of water in ten minutes. After I flopped to the floor, I curled into a fetal position that even a Yogi master would have appreciated. My stomach felt like it was being excised from my body with a rusty can opener. The whole ordeal continued for over an hour. I couldn't drag myself out to the front to say my good-byes to Ron. I knew these were my last breathes and didn't even have the last rush of energy to scrawl out a parting note.

By the time he returned to the room, I had been sound asleep having climbed onto the bed from the floor like it were Mount Everest. He had no idea that I had traveled alone to hell and back, so he proposed we go find a happy hour and then dinner.

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Bus, Buzz, and Bites

2012-01-11T23:55:00.000+01:00

Trying to maximize the experience in San Ignacio, we searched far and wide for things to do. There is the same challenge here as there would be in trying to find 50 ways to entertain yourself on a 6 square foot area of a beach. It takes imagination and critical thinking.

One highlight that Ron had read about outside of this berg was the Belize Zoo. Getting there was a cultural experience in itself. The 'bus station' in San Ignacio is an oversized dirt lot along the river. There are no buildings associated with buses, bus tickets, or schedules. The lone building on the lot is the Official Taxi Services of San Ignacio. Scattered around the lot are numerous vendors selling fresh fruit, nuts, and cold drinks to either departing bus passengers coming or going, needing nourishment for their journey or quenching after it.

We were told that any bus going to Belize City would stop on the highway for the zoo. Climb on, find a seat, make sure your window opens or suffocate until some air comes in through the luckier windows, and wait for the bus to roll. Along the route from San Ignacio point A to Belize City point B, there are relatively few recognizable bus stops. Anyone can wave at the bus to stop at any spot along the route. The bus may stop for you and then stop again twenty feet farther away for someone else if you or they are too stubborn to stand in the same spot. You can ride for a good half hour or more before the young man comes around to collect your fare. He doesn't even ask, but stands by your seat giving you the eye until you offer your destination. Then he will give your fare like an oracle providing a prophecy.

Our ride took approximately an hour before we were signaled that this was the zoo. Zoo is a misnomer in this case as zoos are generally establishments where animals are brought to be caged generally and specifically for human observations and entertainment. However, as you enter this particular zoo, you are provided with its short history.

A film crew headed by Richard Foster arrived in Belize in 1983 to produce a documentary titled "Selva Verde" (Green Forest). One of the crew was an animal caretaker by the name of Sharon Matola. Some of the animals used in the film were now tamed, so there was a question as to how to provide for them, because they assuredly wouldn't survive being released into the wild. Matola stayed after the rest of the crew left. She cared for the 17 animals (an ocelot, a puma, a jaguar and several exotic birds), creating a makeshift zoo. Using the animals' enclosures as exhibits she was able to generate funding for their care.

Covering twenty-nine acres, the by 2010 the zoo was home to more than 170 individuals of 48 species native to Belize. The zoo only houses native Belizean animals, but more importantly none of them have been taken from the wild. All residents were once someone's pets, donated to the Zoo, injured and brought in for healing and rehabilitation, born at the Zoo, or sent to the Zoo from another Zoological facility. A couple of the cats were tranquilized by Mennonites when they caught them amongst their dairy herd.

The zoo has maintained all of the natural flora of the area, the only minor destruction was to create walking paths to venture around the exhibits. Since a number of the animals are nocturnal, a night tour can be arranged. However, our trip was still successful in seeing a number of the residents, even if they had sleepy, droopy eyes.

What we failed to anticipate is the fact that the zoo is set in a jungle environment. Forgetting our insect repellant was a major mistake. Although we didn't feel a thing as it was happening, both of us had legs that looked like a bad case of the mumps by the time we flagged the bus to return. The mosquitoes feasted on us.

On our return, Ron had a mission. He needed to find a man named Betti. Yes, we asked multiple times to assure us that we heard the name correctly. We left Guatemala with over 100 quetzals, but no bank in Belize will exchange them for Belize dollars or US dollars. There are no currency exchange places in the country. We were told that this man Betti, makes regular runs to Guatemala. We didn't question why. However, he was the only source in the town to make an exchange. Ron must have asked 9 different people if they had seen Betti. His usual corner is close to the 'bus station'. Just about everyone knows Betti, but no one could locate him for us. "He was just here a minute ago" was a common mantra. We would have had better luck finding A Boy Named Sue. We never did find Betti.

Canoe? I Can!

2012-01-10T23:52:00.000+01:00

San Ignacio and its sister-town, Santa Elena are separated by the Macal River. They brag that they have the only suspension bridge, the Hawksworth Bridge, only a one-lane, thus one way bridge. It was built in 1949. These two towns are the second largest urban area in the country. These two little towns boast a total population of about 20,000 with a variety of nationalities including: Creole, Mestizo (Spanish-Maya), Lebanese, Chinese, Mennonite, Maya and other cultures. Considering the entire population of Belize is 344,700 it seems to put it in perspective.

What should jump out from the list of groups above is Mennonite. This religious group has the distinction of being some of the area’s best farmers and dairy people. We heard the community started with one family back in the 50s and others followed shortly thereafter. There is also a strong Amish community here, so seeing a horse and wagon is not an unfamiliar sight for the locals.

Burns Avenue is "Main Street" where most of the shops, restaurants and banks are located. It runs about five blocks before turning into residential areas. Aside from Burns Avenue, there are only a few short blocks hither and yon where there are isolated hotels, hostels, and some restaurants.

Needless to say, there is not a great deal to do as I have mentioned before, but Ron booked us on a river tour down the Macal River by canoe. I have an aversion to canoes. They make me nervous, because they are so narrow. I don’t trust them. We were told our guide would do all of the rowing, which was fine by me. I also have an aversion to outdoor exercise. If Mother Nature intended for me to move my arms in circular motions I would have been a bird.

Sergio picked us up to transport us the few blocks to the river where we met Tony, our guide. Had we known it was so close, we would have walked; it was embarrassing to be transported such a short distance. Once in the canoe, Tony paddled. Picture this: I am 6’1” and Ron is 6’2”. Ron is slender, but solid and I carry some weight. Tony is about 5’1” if we stretched his neck when measuring. He probably weighs in at about 110 lbs. During the tourism season, he does this trip daily. This canoe has three places to sit. In the front is a contoured seat like a metal seat on a rider mowing machine, the second and third are just plain planks of wood about 9” wide. The plan was to be canoed 6 miles up the river stopping along the way to see wildlife, which turned out to be mostly birds, but an occasional iguana sunning itself on a tree.

After the first half hour, hearing Tony breathing heavily behind us, Ron offered to help paddle. We were going upstream. Tony appreciated and accepted the offer. Sorry, but paddling was not in my contract. Having two of them paddle didn’t help. It still took us over 2 hours to get to the stop off area. At one point, the water was so shallow, we had to get out, walk the length of about a ½ block and then climb back into the boat. I immediately slipped on the rocks, flew into the air, and down on my back. Not hurt, but embarrassed and now filthy dirty, we continued on.

Our goal was to reach a luxury resort, owned by an American woman and her British husband. There on the premises is a historical museum, a butterfly house, and a medicine trail. Two plus hours is more than my butt or back can take of a canoe seat. If I had not been paranoid about falling over into the 2 feet depth of water, I would have stood up. Had it not been so slippery, I would have walked. I was in pain; enjoyment ended at hour 1 minute 39. We thought Sergio has told us everything was included in the tour. When we finally arrived it was a hike uphill to reach the Butterfly House where we found we had to pay extra to get in, but no one was there to sell us admission. Entering, we were surprised, awed, dive bombed, and entertained by gorgeous blue butterflies, seemingly the only species that has not yet laid eggs and died off. Continuing up the hill, we reached the History Museum, but this was manned and admission was 9 Belize dollars or $4.50 each. The museum was no larger than Abe Lincoln’s log cabin, so we turned our noses up and left. By the time we reached the Medicine Wheel, we found there was another fee to self-tour the grounds to view 300 species of plants from which medicines are derived. We passed up this opportunity too.

By now, I was considering taking a taxi back to the town. I thought we must have reached Guatemala after that river ride, so the cash register in my head was dinging over the cost of a taxi. It turned out to be only ten mile, but Tony offered that returning would be faster going with the tide. Convinced, we returned with him. Ron gave me the contoured seat. It was better, but not for 1 ½ hours. By the time we returned, I was ready to be on land and stay on land.

For my late afternoon and early evening entertainment, I spoke with locals. Belizeans are amongst the friendliest people I have ever met. It is not uncommon for total strangers to greet you with a smile and will stop to talk if you show an interest. Even the youth are extremely polite. According to the locals that I was able to speak with extensively, the area is a Mecca for ex-pats from a multitude of countries. The problem is that a work permit is $2,000 USD a year and has to be renewed annually. If you start a business and employ locals, there is no requirement. One Swiss man married a Belize woman with the contract that she would be paid $50 USD a month and one hot dog each day, so he could sell hot dogs from a street stand. This marriage is illegal, but no one cares. Locals pointed out ex-pats in mixed clusters of American, Italian, Swiss, and German. Personally, being an ex-pat, I am thankful to have chosen a country where I can flush the toilet paper.

Listening to Ex-Pats

2012-01-09T23:48:00.000+01:00

Having explored the town thoroughly yesterday afternoon, there wasn’t much to do today, but plan our time to prevent going stir-crazy. Finding our way to Flavya’s Café for breakfast, I had the opportunity to observe other ex-pats in their new natural setting. Feeling like a cultural anthropologist or like Jane Goodall, I eavesdropped for as long as possible collecting data before I plunged in. Holding back allowed the populace to feel comfortable with my presence, getting a sense of their territory having been invaded, allowing them to relax again since I didn’t make any sudden moves or noises.

Note, we are all sitting outside because Belize has banned smoking indoors in public places. General observations: One man age guessed to be about 60 years old from conversation heard, but looks like he is around 70 years old. He stands and sits hunched over, skin is sagging and wrinkled, and he is chain smoking for the hour he is observed. He is Canadian and has not returned home for the ten years he has lived here. There was nothing said to intimate that he had family or significant others sharing his life here.

Woman one: She was from Oregon. From what I overheard, it seems that she is a relatively new here, having been here for just over a year. She mentioned to the others that she had returned to the US to bring her granddaughter back to stay with her and kept her for six months. Questions in my mind were 1.) if this child was of school age, how did she stay away for 6 months or 2.) if she were not school age, how could parents allow their child to be gone for 6 months? Fearful of scaring off the herd, I just observed and listened without any interference. She said that when she brought the child back home, all of grandma’s family was surprised that she intended to return to Belize. Estimated age 68 -75 years old based on physical appearance only.

Woman two: Also a US transplant, but from which state was uncertain. I guesstimated her age to be around 50 years old. She actually acknowledged my presence, so conversation began. She has been here a couple of years and “loves it”. When I said she is obviously too young to be retired, she stated she is not. She repairs vehicle windshields for a living. When a vehicle gets a chip, scratch or crack, she repairs it so it doesn’t need replacing. When I asked if this is what she did in the US, she laughed and said she was a marketing consultant, but had to learn a new vocation when she moved here. She pointed to the man and said “He roasts coffee. We all scramble with multiple jobs to make a living.” When I asked if it was worth it, she said “Of course, this is paradise.” Yet the response was not convincing and certainly San Ignacio is would fall way low on just about anyone’s Paradise Scale. My impression was that this was all of the paradise they could afford, so they were willing to settle for what was available to them, but alternatively they had to support their decision as being a valid one.

That evening, we went to Serendib Restaurant where as it turns out, the new owners are young couple from Washington State. Sam was willing to speak with me about being an ex-pat, but honestly, his responses left me wanting, not unlike the dinner I had afterward while there. Sam has owned this restaurant for 6 months, though the restaurant itself was opened by a Sri Lankan couple in 1993. When I asked Sam why buy a Sri Lankan restaurant, he responded with the curiosity fulfilling response “Why not?” Seeing that I wasn’t dealing with a critical thinker here, I pursued with “But why a Sri Lankan restaurant in San Ignacio, Belize?” This elicited a little meatier chunk of information. Sam: “When I was here on vacation, this was the only restaurant I ate at. I loved the food. The owners were willing to leave their name, all of their recipes, and even all of the staff stayed on from the chef to the waiters.” The part of the comment that raised red flags for me was when he said this was the only place he ate when here on vacation. Is this limited thinking or some fear of decision making? He was still hanging around, so I took another chance. I asked him why he felt he wanted to be an ex-pat? Sam confessed that he was tired of the keeping up with the neighbors’ mentality, a bigger house, a better car and just wanted an easier lifestyle. The simple solution to this is to keep from buying into it. If you don’t want to keep up with the neighbors any longer, don’t do it. No one is strong-arming you to mortgage your life away to climb that status scale. Sam didn’t have anything to say that was convincing that this was a smart move.

Another area that left me dangling was when I asked what he did for culture? Sam asked me "Like what?" Well, I responded with theater for starters to which he responded he did not consider theater culture, but entertainment. For entertainment, he claims he has friends and they get together for socials. Had I had finished, I would have continued with museums, art galleries, movies, concerts, and all of those cultural outlets that enrich one's life.

Ron asked him how the medical care was here to which Sam sarcastically responded "I don't know. I haven't been sick."

The tourism season runs from December to the end of March. The rest of the time is the rainy season and Sam’s restaurant is right on the flood zone. I questioned how he could survive during the off season, which is the majority of the year. This is where he became visibly uncomfortable and stated “You budget your money. Every business has down times and they budget to get through it.” This is a true statement, but most businesses don’t have 8-9 months of down time where they have to depend on local business in a 3rd world economy to support themselves. From what we have noticed, most of the ex-pat population that we have confirmed are ex-pats by asking around, are not ordering meals when they sit in these restaurants. They order a beer and sit for hours. As many Budapest restaurants know, this does not pay the bills. I am sure they wouldn’t in Washington State either.

What seems to be a contradictory statement for many ex-pats about a simpler life is that there are an equal number of new SUVs, trucks, and other expensive style cars as most American cities.

A striking and potentially relevant piece of data had I had a larger pool was the fact although I identified us as ex-pats also, not one person asked us where we lived or anything at all regarding our experiences. I volunteered that we lived in Budapest, Hungary, but this still did not elicit any counter inquiry.

A Fast Internet Connection, PLEASE!!!

2012-01-08T22:05:00.000+01:00

Another private shuttle ride transported us from Tikal Guatemala to San Ignacio, Belize. It wasn’t a difficult ride, only 2 ½ hours, which we planned for our hotel check-out time of 11 am. It would have been a bit faster if it had not been for border control. We went through Guatemala Passport Control just by giving our passports to our driver who was able to get them stamped without us being present. Belize was different. We filled out a form, went face to face with the Passport people who stamped our US books without even looking at us. There was another form to fill out, but that was painless. Next was Customs where there is only a “Goods to Declare” line, but no “Nothing to Declare” option. After being asked if I wanted to declare anything, I was waved through.

Arriving in San Ignacio, Belize had me questioning Ron’s decision. Why here? Well we were booked at the White House, or Casa Blanca, so that should have been the answer to my question, but I still had lingering doubts. Oh, I get it. It sounded so good in the tour guide. But we are here for 5 nights, overkill for sure.

After signing in, we were shown to our room. It is one floor off of the ground level. There is a large living room area immediately apparent. To the right is a waist high dividing wall with built in cases with glass windows. There is a vast collection of porcelain figures that look like someone’s private collection, but the focus is a combination of women in 18th century dress, old valentine statuettes, and elephants next to Madonna (not the singer). Beyond the wall is another living room set, dining room table with 8 chairs, and a full kitchen. Our room is at the end of hall, far away from any traffic that may disturb our sleep.

The first thing I did after getting settled was trying the Tigo Internet stick bought in Rio Dulce. No signal! When I went to ask reception, they said that it ‘should’ work, but if it doesn’t they do have WiFi and she gave me the sign on info. Later, I found a note on the refrigerator that shows other services all listed in US dollars: WiFi $2.50 a day, Laundry $10.00 a load and A/C $25.00 a day. The WiFi is so slow, I am actually wishing for a 56k modem. It would be faster. Who ever heard of a download speed of 13.4kb/s in this day and age?

We walked to the new bridge, the old bridge, the river and all over downtown. That took a whole 2 hours, including going into stores. Okay, it is Sunday so not everything is open. Still, the thought of 5 days here is worrisome.

Across the street, almost directly across from Casa Blanca, is a restaurant called “Let’s Go Eat” which is the translated name. The real name is in Mayan. The crowd was so great that we had to wait for a table; well worth the wait. As we were ordering, the couple who was on our tour at Tikal, the meditater and the Mayan illustrator asked if they could join us. We agreed and it turned out to be a very pleasant experience. He teaches in a junior college in CA on the Mexican border. She is a psychologist. Conversation was delightful causing me to tell Ron, I retract my nasty thoughts from the morning of the tour.

Mayan Ruins

2012-01-07T21:58:00.000+01:00

It seemed like such a good idea until the alarm went off at 3:30 am. A time, I am generally awake, I was sound asleep this morning. We are scheduled for a 4:15 am sunrise tour of the Mayan Tikal ruins. We will be perched on top of a Mayan Temple as the sun does its own push up over the horizon in the east. Before any of that happens, we have to find our clothes that Ron had the foresight to suggest we put out last night. It is pitch black in our room and outside.

By 4:05, we are at the lobby of the hotel, waiting. The lobby is locked, so we stand outside until 4: 20 when the reception greets us with a flashlight. Our guide arrived shortly after. There are only four of us going this tour. We start out in the blackness of morning, when the only woman in our little group says to us, “I do a lot of meditation and I am hoping we can keep quiet most of the time, so I can meditate in peace.” My first reaction was to tell her to skip the tour and go meditate elsewhere, but I refrained by saying we paid for this tour and intend to get all we can from it. It turned out that her husband was the illustrator for a book on Mayan ruins. I immediately forgot his name.

Walking through the forest in the dark was an adventure. Ron had a small flashlight, but that was all there was for the five of us. Our guide Rony has excellent night vision and could lead without light, but the rest of us needed to see the numerous rocks, holes, puddles, and labyrinth of tree roots that covered massive areas of the paths. It was an extreme sport in darkness. He explained what to do in case we ran into a jaguar. Stay close, create a united front, don’t look it in the eyes. Comforting! In his four years as a guide, he has not come face to face with one yet. Rony received the name, because his grandfather was enamored with Ronald Reagan and wanted his grandson to carry on the tradition. His mother had enough sense to compromise and called him Rony with one n.

When we closed in on the temple where we would view the sun rise, I about jumped ship when Rony said there were 191 steps. When we arrived at the base, I knew I would do this, even if it took me longer than the others. It was surprising to see about two dozen others already at the top. It never occurred to me that you could enter the park on your own or that you would want to at that hour without getting lost.

The other couple left us once we reached the temple. Who would have imagined we would be sitting on ancient Mayan temple steps, waiting for the sun to rise? The jungle started to come to life as the sun appeared over the horizon. The Howler monkeys started their screams, the birds were fluttering too fast to catch on camera, but there was life where thirty minutes earlier, any life forms would have been debatable. The scene was breathtaking and awe inspiring. Our guide estimated there were 7 tribes of Howler monkeys based on the sounds in different parts of the jungle. They howl to warn other males that their territory is spoken for. Howler is a misnomer, because what you hear is a roar not unlike a lion or tiger. One would swear there were swarms of jaguars roaming around.

Rony continued to tour us around the grounds. The tour was supposed to end about 8:30, but he was still talking and leading us at 9:00, 9:30, 10:00 and finally got us back to the hotel by 10:30. We appreciated the extra time, but sensory overload had kicked in about an hour earlier. He was just so pleasant to be around, we could not cut it short and his knowledge was encyclopedic.

On the way back to the hotel, we stopped at the gift center and bought a bag of Yucca cactus chips. When we returned to the room, Ron headed to the swimming pool and I was going to hang out and read. I had only had about fifteen minutes rest when I was joined by two very curious and hungry coatis. As cute as they are, they were infringing on my rest and relaxation, not to mention my snack. They started to climb into my lap, so this prompted me to share. I tossed a chip and they fetched, returning for more. My standing and walking didn’t have much effect as long as I had the bag in my hand. Eventually, we had to compromise. I dumped my bag on the grass and they left me alone.

Later in the afternoon, we were napping, recouping the missed sleep from 3:45 am until 8 am, but we were awakened by the most horrendous roaring. Just yards from our bungalow where the jungle starts again, there were Howler monkeys whooping it up. We were able to get some photos of their antics.

Without WiFi, without electricity, no Internet, no e-mail, no reading in bed, the evening was long and fairly uneventful. I did have some movies on the computer, so we watched one with the battery was charged on the computer. I plugged the computer in so that it would start to recharge before we woke up in the morning. The games that have to be played.

Tomorrow, we leave here for San Ignacio, Belize. Again, we had to hire a private driver. There is no public transport from here to there.

Mayans Didn't Have Electricity Either

2012-01-06T21:29:00.000+01:00

In order to leave the Rio Dulce, we have to hire a private driver to get to Tikal. Public transport is not existent without major routes, changes of buses, and hoping for connections. Manuel, who we presume is the manager, was able to make the arrangements for us. It will cost us a hefty 140,000 quetzals or 140 Euros, but the drive is 4 hours one way and the driver will return after dropping us off, most likely by himself.

After taking the 9 am boat shuttle from the hotel to town, our driver was waiting for us. He did not speak English and Ron opted for the front seat, so he had some practice refreshing his Spanish. With my nose in a book, I looked up every few pages to assure myself there was nothing spectacular happening with the scenery as we drove. That was until the fourth look out the window; we came across a small herd of about 7 – 9 Brahma cows strolling down the highway completely unattended by any humans. They looked like they were running away from home or the slaughter house, but it were the later, they were too emaciated to make more than a few hamburgers at most.

We arrived in Tikal, a national park and protected UNESCO World Heritage site. For two nights our residence is the Hotel Tikal Inn, one of three hotels within the park situated in the jungle that surrounds the Mayan ruins located in this part of the country. Again, we have a lovely little bungalow, but there is one problem: electricity. None of the lights or electric outlets in our room functioned. When we brought this to the attention of the front desk, we were informed that there is only electricity from 6-9 pm and 6-9 am. Aside from those times, the entire park is dark or as light as nature allows, but not electrified.

Okay, this creates a problem because my little netbook is old, but still reliable, yet it only holds a charge for 2 hours before needing an AC/DC fix. One or the other, but I have no idea which it is. I figured I would whip out my Tigo Internet stick and spend two hours on the Internet, then recharge the battery when electric juice is turned on. Well that turned into problem number 2. They do not get a Tigo signal here in the park, so the USB stick doesn’t work.

The bright side alternative was being advised that there was free WiFi in the lobby; the password is prominently taped to the counter. For everything there is a catch. Although I am happy that I can download my e-mails, there is a but or two following. The first BUT is that the WiFi only works when the electricity is turned on, which brings us back to those limited hours of availability. But 2 is that the WiFi only works in the lobby of the hotel, not on the grounds and certainly not in the rooms. Bummer! What a conundrum!

Adding to this mix, dinner is only served during these hours also, creating a number of agenda items to be covered in a short period of time. Add battery juice to the computer in the room. Run into the lobby to download e-mail and do whatever Internet things need doing, eat dinner, and then run back to the room to charge the battery one the computer on last time before 9 pm. It is going to be interesting.

Dinner is tasty, but only moderately hot. We wonder if they use electric for the cooking and not gas. There is a summer camp feeling having lights out at 9 pm. No one gets to do any reading in bed unless you brought your own book light or flashlight. But hey, we are going on a 4 am tour to see the Mayan ruins at sunrise, so we need to get to bed early anyway.

Happy Birthday to Us!

2012-01-05T15:55:00.000+01:00

Today is my birthday. January is a busy month with birthdays of people within my circle of friends, students,and acquaintances as well.

Happy January birthday to

Dr. Alma Flor Ada - my doctoral mentor and adviser

John E. Holmes - a former roommate and friend

Sheila Orlowski - a sister I adopted as my very own back in 1969 and have held on to her ever since.

Ray Ruiz - a blog reader who convince me to buy property in Florida. I still like him regardless.

Cami Billick - the daughter of one of Ron's best friends. We share the same birthday.

Daniel Cseh - a fantastic former student who had his birthday yesterday

W. Hunter Thomas - our new friend in Budapest

Kevin French - my nephew

Jack French - my father who passed away last January days before his 84th birthday

Thomas Nettis - my uncle

Here are some famous names who also share a January 5th birthday.

05 - Jan - 1978 January Jones (34)

05 - Jan - 1969 Marilyn Manson (43)
05 - Jan - 1953 Pamela Sue Martin (59)

05 - Jan - 1946    Diane Keaton (66)
05 - Jan - 1942    Charlie Rose (70)
05 - Jan - 1938    Juan Carlos I, King of Spain (74)
05 - Jan - 1931    Robert Duvall (81)

I am sure there are others that I may have missed and if so, I am sorry, but I hope your birthday is happy also.

Stumbled Upons

2012-01-04T21:31:00.000+01:00

With not much to do here, but relax and read, we thought we would take a walk into town. We stumbled upon directions in our room stating the way to walk if you so chose. There is a path and then a gate where you turn right for the town and left for the Castillo. Either direction should take you thirty minutes.

Finding the path to the kayaks was easy. From there, we stumbled upon the wooden bridge that goes on and on and on while winding in and out. If it where straightened out, it probably would cover about 4 city blocks. I really admire the patience of the people who built it. It is elevated through swampy land with creepy vegetation that looks like a haunted marsh.

When you reach light at the end of the bridge once again, escaping from the canopy of trees and vines reaching this way and that up from the water and other arms reaching into it, you stumble upon a field. On the left side of the field are cows. Brahma type cows, with the long wattles under their necks. They stare at you with suspicion and are really skittish as if they may have seen many things emerge from that darkness where the bridge ends, but they keep their secrets, not sharing a single memory with anyone but each other.

The directions we were to follow were to look for a green gate. Shortly after passing the cows with the secrets, we stumbled upon a green and gold gate, but this did not look right. We were warned that the green gate would probably be locked, but we could squeeze through. This gate was yawning wide saying AHHHHH! We kept walking, but we stumbled upon the path; it consisted on rocks of innumerable sizes, making a stroll difficult, but each step required climbing until the next step. After another ½ a mile, we stumbled upon the really real green gate. It was locked with a chain and a lock. Swinging the gate to and fro did not provide enough room for squeezing anything much larger than a cockroach through. We stood back and assessed the situation before we despaired.

Looking at the situation again from a bit of a distance, we stumbled upon a solution. On the side of the gate post there was an open space where we could squeeze through easily and we did. Our quest was to go to town to buy a Tigo Movil Internet USB stick, so we turned right based on our instructions. Walking on the roadside did not feel too safe, because the road curves and cars don’t pay too much attention to pedestrians. We both independently estimated that it was another mile to actually stumble upon the town. Whoever suggested thirty minutes walking must have been an Olympian, but we made it.

Once in town, we were overwhelmed with the people around, the traffic was horrific both vehicle and pedestrian. With the note in my hand like a child sent to the grocery store by his mother, I went to one shop after another wherever I saw a Tigo sign. In each place, they shook their head, said something in Spanish, which took me too many seconds to comprehend and then they pointed me in another direction. Finally, we stumbled upon the Tigo store, the place where they sell mobile phones as well at the Tigo service needed to operate them. Eureka! This was the place.

For 205 quetzals or 20 Euros, I would get 3 GB of Internet service; however, they we running a special offer and the first fifteen days are free. Now what I was uncertain about is exactly how much bandwidth usage is free? Once you do use up the GB you pay for, you can return to any Tigo store in Central America or any other place you happen to stumble upon one and add money to your stick. Quite a deal, I thought, since the hotel did not have WiFi and only two computers that I could only use for e-mail, nothing else.

Being potentially connected to the world again, we explored the town, all one street of it. That is not quite true; there are 2 streets, but since the 2^nd street is the one we had to walk up to get to the main street, that had been explored already. Along the one street, it was as in many villages, dozens of the same types of stores competing with each other. Three restaurants sit side by side, none of which would pass a health inspection from a long distance glance. There are more hardware stores here than most cities have bars and pubs. How much duct tape does anyone need?

In one section of the street, we stumbled upon five women with food carts set up side by side along the street. Note that sidewalks are non-existent so you are battling other pedestrians while all of you are trying to avoid bicyclists, tuk-tuks, cars, and delivery trucks all at the same time. It is visual juggling at its best. As we are trying to negotiate some walking space past these women who have their food carts partially in the road, each begging us to try their tamales, tortillas, fried chicken, stuffed chili peppers, and other foods they have labored over. As soon as the warning scent of a potential customer reaches their olfactory glands, you turn into prey. Each woman is screaming at you to buy their food suggesting you only look straight ahead until you have bypassed the competitors’. Everyone has the best selection and flavor in their own mind. We get past each of them with our clothes, bodies, and minds intact, but not without minor scarring.

Now that we are out of the battle zone, what now? We have walked the street, both sides. We have done the side alleys and the courtyards. We have stumbled upon 39 hardware stores, 24 stores that are selling flip-flops and used books, 11 stores offering cheap mobile phones, one veterinary supply store and one pharmacy being run out of someone’s spare room, but where they offer to administer injections and intravenous medicines as well as fill prescriptions. The single woman behind the counter had glasses like the bottom of a soda bottle. Viva la cultural differences.

After that long walk and complete investigation of the town, we were ready to stumble upon something different. We found a hotel restaurant down by the waterfront. The papaya smoothie was delicious, but what now? The clouds were darkening and herding together in what had been a luscious blue sky was now looking like a bad bruise of black and blue. The thought of walking 2 miles and potentially getting caught in the rain did not get score high on my fun-o-meter. We tried taking a tuk-tuk to the green gate, but that was a forbidden zone for tuk-tuks for some reason. Luckily, we stumbled upon a taxi that was more than happy to take us and charge us 25 quetzals. We were more than happy to pay 2.50 Euros for a mile ride.

Back to the green gate, we squeezed through the side once again and retraced our way back to the hotel. We made it back to our bungalow when the skies opened and the rains started to pour down.

For the first time, I took my netbook computer to the restaurant and was ready to connect to the Internet with the new Tigo stick. Each time I had used the netbook here, I had only used it in our bungalow. As soon as the computer booted up, what did I stumble upon, but a message “Wireless connections are available. Would you like to connect?” Well sure I would like to save my 3 GB for as long as possible. Gosh darned if there was not an unsecured Internet connection that was available for using. I was able to post the last three days of blog posts and read and respond to e-mails. I trawled the Internet with the feeling that I had been released from a prison about to explore the world without restrictions once again. That lasted until 6 pm, when the entire Internet connection was lost, not only my WiFi friend, but the connection for the hotel’s computers as well.

Tomorrow, I will try out the Tigo Internet stick that I had stumbled upon.

Rolling Down the River Without Proud Mary

2012-01-03T20:21:00.000+01:00

We love this hotel, but there is one drawback - no WiFi. The computers they have, they request are not used for anything other than e-mail to give other guests a chance at them. This is really limiting because I cannot even load blog posts on a stick to upload. Being dependent on the computer for multiple reasons, this is like tying one hand behind my back.

The other disadvantage is that one is pretty dependent on having meals here as the town is a boat ride away or an hour’s walk. As towns go, this one is a village, not really inducive for traipsing there for a meal. Hence we hostages have breakfast at our hotel like most of the other hotels along the river or swim to another shore to dine. Hardly worth the time, energy, or efforts. Our hotel does offer free boat shuttle services 4 times a day; this is still not an incentive. Alternatively, the prices at the hotel are incredible reasonable and the food quality is above average, so it turns into a win-win.

The weather cleared, so we decided today is the day to take the Rio Dulce boat tour. The cost is 200 quetzals each, but it lasts from 9:30 to 3:30, making twenty Euros each a bargain. When it showed, there were already a number of people on board, but after we joined we still picked up 4 more people filling the boat to the max. Not a single life jacket in sight. Due to the weather, the water was choppy, causing the boat to act like an amusement park ride, jumping up in the air and then doing belly flops slapping the water with angry force. Needless to say, we bounced and flopped and slapped our seats in unison.

We cruised along for half an hour before we came to the Castillo or old fort. That is the amount of information we received. There was no opportunity to get off the boat to take a closer look and after snapping two photos, we were turned and already off to the next destination. At 10:30, we arrived at a stop off point, but hardly anything enticing. There was a small pool of thermal waters where one could swim, a restaurant and bathrooms. They were selling giant dead starfish purportedly for a decoration. Needless to say the only attraction for us here was the opportunity to use a bathroom.

Back on the boat, we passed numerous cormorants and pelicans resting on old abandoned boats. We whizzed by small islands of vegetation; the scenery was interesting. However that old song sung by Peggy Lee “Is That All There Is”? Questions my mind could not answer were can I really withstand this butt abuse for 5 more hours? How many pelicans can one witness sitting about before they are no longer a novelty? Where is all of this leading? Does this tour come with a commentary in any language?

Just as I was mulling the questions over one more time, we landed at Livingston. Relief, a diversion from cruising the river. This was short lived when the boat Capitan told us we had 3 hours here. Three hours for what? This pueblo is a postage stamp. What we learn, on our own, is this village is composed of the Garifuna people. Slave ships from Nigeria were shipwrecked on St. Vincent in the Caribbean where their intermarried, creating a new culture of West African and Caribbean traditions.

When you arrive at the Livingston boat dock, we quickly learn that all the shops and restaurants lining the main streets are owned by Guatemalans along with a few Chinese. What I later learned through my own research was that Guatemalans swarmed here during their own wars as this area was safe. They eventually bought up the best of the area from the Garifuna people. Garifuna people have been relegated to the side streets and the edges of town, living along the shore.

What we thought would be an excellent diversion when a parade appeared from a side street as we were heading to the dock, turned into something very different. Masses of people were following a pick-up truck that had music playing from speakers on the roof. The crowds were holding umbrellas to shield themselves from the elements. It wasn't until the truck passed that we discovered a coffin was the cargo the truck was hauling. This was a funeral parade. I was so relieved we held off on taking any photos.

One of the foods that is available everywhere is tapado, a Garifuna coconut-based soup overflowing with seafood and shellfish, two reasons while I did not try it. I don’t eat fish. We walked the town up and down the main street and over a couple of side streets too, but we usually try to avoid complete residential areas for fear of making locals feel like they are on display. Only one place gave any indication of wanting to share the culture of the area and this was a small business that had the history on a banner in Spanish and in English. However, it was difficult to tell what the business was, presumably a café, but lacking the accoutrements to provide such services. We read the history and moved on.

We found the church open. It was plain, but had statues of saints on either side decorating the walls. Each saint was decorated in real clothing like someone played dress up with them. For some it was obvious that they were combining Catholicism with their own cultural beliefs. As the history stated, there are still Garifuna shamans which play the central role in the community regardless of other influences. Still, it was a long 3 hours waiting for the boat to return us to our respective hotels.

As 2:30 was approaching, the weather started turning; the sky was getting heavy with rain, clouds were darkening. A half hour before the boat was scheduled, the rain let loose. It was pouring rain. Most of our group huddled under awnings for cover without any intention on buying the product or services sold by the awning owners.

When we assembled on the boat, all grateful to be leaving, the wind had kicked up, the rain was coming in buckets and the water was rougher than before. Within minutes we were all soaked to the skin. The force of the wind and rain kept most of us covering our faces for protection. By the time we reached our respective hotels, we realized there was a positive and negative to this boat experience. The bad news was that just about all of us had the fillings in our teeth knocked loose. The good news was that those of us with hemorrhoids were cured.

End of Fear Factor

2012-01-02T22:48:00.000+01:00

After telling our host we wanted a taxi to the bus station, even if it was only 3 blocks away, he said that was a good idea. I could imagine walking with our things only to have someone pull up in a car and relieve us of all of it. Hopefully this is the end of the fear factor.

At 11:30 am on the dot, the bus pulled out of the station. I thought I had heard someone say this was a 3 hour trip. With that information, I felt secure having 4 cups of coffee at breakfast and using the bathroom nine times before the taxi arrived. There is a rare condition called nervous bladder syndrome, which relates to the need to go when there is nowhere to go within in the immediate future. This is something I suffer from. Knowing I am more than fifty feet or 2 hours from a facility, makes me need to go whether or not there is a biological need or not. As soon as the bus pulled away from the station, I started getting that nervous tinge. I should have checked to see if the bus had a WC or not, but the fear of knowing for sure was too great.

Two hours into the trip, the bus pulled over the side of the road where there was a small dinette. The bus driver’s assistant jumped from the bus and ran into an obvious door marked Caballeros. When he reappeared, we took off without any asking if anyone else wanted to check out the Caballeros room or not, let alone the other room next to it for the ladies. As we drove the tension was building. With each gas station we passed, a tear fell from my eyes. Another missed opportunity that will never be regained has just zipped by us.

In the third hour of driving, the whites of my eyes were jaundice looking, and floating in an unnatural water source. This is the only time I find religion and make bargains with something holier than thou or me. As each minute passes, I hear my mother’s voice telling me I am going to get an infection if I keep doing this. It is not my fault, ma! Go haunt the bus driver and get him to stop. By 3 ½ hours, we pull into a driveway with a roadside restaurant. I don’t want to get my hopes up for fear of being let down again. When the driver assistant announces we have twenty minutes, I spring from my seat like a Jack in the Box only leaving one of those comic book streaks behind me as evidence that something just flew by. Twenty-five minutes later, I emerged. I really had to go. For good measure, I went twice more during our twenty minute break time.

Wait, this trip is longer than I thought. We left at 11:30 am. When are we getting to the end of the line? There was no answer until it happened at 5:40 pm. We then needed to call the hotel to send boat to get us. We are staying on the other side of Rio Dulce, Sweet River.

There is a bungalow waiting for us; it is extra large with a queen and double sized beds. The bathroom is cause for celebration. We could fit a whole fraternity in there at once. On a down side, we are stuck here. We would need to take the boat to get to town, but they stop boat service after 6 pm. Dinner is at the hotel restaurant, covered but open on all sides overlooking wharfs and jungle. This place is in a nature reserve, but privately owned. Rains have started, the first time since we have been here. I love listening to the rain hit a thatched roof. After dinner, we start to watch a movie on the computer, but the rain is coming down so violently, we cannot hear the sound so try another movie. The same issue crops up again. We decide to read instead. I finished the 3rd and last Stieg Larsson book, The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest – 824 pages. Over 2,000 pages of Salander and now I feel a kinship has developed. I dream of her continued successes as I drift off to sleep with the soothing pounding of rain on our roof. Though I know I will never read about her again. Sweet dreams Salander. This is the end of your fear factor too! Rest in peace Stieg Larsson.

Happy New Year Movie

2012-01-01T22:00:00.000+01:00

New Year’s Eve was totally uneventful. We watched the Swedish version of the movie, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. It was dubbed well. Fireworks started around 11:30 pm and went on until 1:30 am, but subsided until this morning when they picked up again at noon. After breakfast, we spent the morning reading, working on photos and other essentials like that. There is not much to do here during normal times, alerting us to the fact that today would be a wash.

Plans for the day did include going to a movie. We had checked yesterday and found that Mission Impossible 4 was the only movie in English with Spanish subtitles. All the others were dubbed, which may have been a learning experience, but a bit over our heads unless we chose the Muppet Movie.

Leaving the hotel at 1:30 pm gave us plenty of time to walk downtown and stroll with the zillions of others who apparently had nothing better to do either. The pedestrian street was mobbed with people. Funny, the only stores that were open were the shoes stores. The fast food restaurants were open, but a number of the regular restaurants were closed also.

The movie theater is on the 2nd level of an expansive arcade. There are all types of entertaining games of chance to swallow your money along with different food vendors to nourish you while you are doing it. After buying our tickets to the movie, which was not hard to swallow as they were only 1.80 Euros a piece, and then handing them over to the ticket taker, there are 6 different theaters. Suddenly we were in Cineplex - Anywhere in the world. In the center of this massive choice, sits the mandatory snack stand with a multitude of choices, but we both had hankerings for popcorn. They had melted butter for it too, something we don’t get in Hungary. We sat around waiting for 2:30 for the movie to begin. The theater looked like any other modern movie theater. Without any preliminaries the movie began. Opening scenes, Budapest, Hungary! First there is a fly over the parliament and St. Istvan’s and then on to one of the railroad stations. Of course one of the good guys gets shot dead within the first ten minutes. Too bad too, it was Josh Holloway from Lost who was killed.

The thing I liked best about the movie was the popcorn. What we did not realize is that the movie involves Russians. Who would have guessed? When the dialogue was in Russian, we had to depend on the Spanish subtitles to find our way through the story; there was a considerable amount of Russian. I always find it funny when the English spoken doesn’t match the Spanish subs and the reverse.

By the time we got out it was close to 4:30 and we knew we had to be back before dark or get a taxi to get back again. Our new favorite coffee place was open, so we stopped for a coffee, which I really needed. I kept falling asleep during the film. We discovered this chain restaurant called Quizmos that is like Subways only better and much less expensive. The other day, we each had a salad for lunch and it was brimming with wholesome food. For dinner, we bought a roast beef sandwich to share and each of us ordered a salad. The sandwich is brimming with meat, topped with cheddar and mozzarella cheeses, and heated. It is not fluffed up with the lettuce and other accompaniments that Subways uses to make their sandwiches look fuller. We were back by 5:50 just as it was getting to be twilight.

Tonight, we will watch another movie on the computer and tomorrow, we leave for Rio Dulce, a forested area of the country in a natural reserve.

Happy, healthy, and Prosperous New Year to All!!

Happy New Year - 2012

2011-12-31T18:00:00.000+01:00

A friend of ours sent a Happy New Year note with this graphic. I really thought it was creative, so I stole it from her e-mail and am including it here.

Making It Through a Day

2011-12-31T17:37:00.000+01:00

All night long, I had dreams of the dangers lurking on every corner. It didn’t help that I had read an online article from the San Francisco Chronicle describing the violence in this city right before going to bed. I had sworn that I would not take my camera out today, nor would I even carry my bag. Certain that I am on some international radar for being a victim of crime, I am playing it safe. It is not paranoia, but true life experiences. Alternatively, we did survive Cape Town twice and the heart of Kenya without incident, but why push the luck?

While we were at breakfast, there was a couple from Boston who also arrived yesterday. We chatted for a while and I mentioned my concerns for safety. One of the guys remarked with a truth that I often think about when people are concerned about the safety of Budapest. His comment was “it is funny how people get overly concerned about the potential violence when they travel, yet they ignore the violence at home. I was mugged four times in Cambridge and Boston, Massachusetts where I live within 2 years time.” It got me t thinking that he was right, but I am still leaving my camera behind.

Yesterday when I mentioned my concerns to Ron, I shared my mental fantasy of filling my empty cola bottle with bleach. If anyone dared to attack me, I would splash them with it. His retort was “Will that make you one of the Bleach Boys?” (Beach Boys)

Leaving this city alive and with all our things is a grave concern, if you will forgive the pun. We thought of leaving a day early, but we are prepaid here and changing the reservation at Rio Dulce would be another headache. We can hunker down here, but to be sure, we wanted to get our bus ticket. Though the bus station is only a few blocks from the hotel, we will take a taxi there. I can imagine us going down the street when some car pulls up to collect all of our luggage, when we know this isn’t a service offered by the bus companies.

Within a block of our hotel on the way to the bus station, the atmosphere started feeling dark and foreboding like those Batman movies where there is never any evidence of a primary color. Strange that the sun was shining, yet there was an obscure nature as we inched our way closer to the station. Men surrounded buses with rifles of various types, but it was unclear if they were guards, customers, or category C. For one moment, I wasn’t certain whether to continue trying to find the ticket office or break into a run. Our tickets are booked: January 2, 2012 at 11:30 am.

Not leaving anything to the Fates, we brought our tickets back to the hotel before wandering off. Our hotel has closed circuit TV at the door, so they monitor from the office. There are so many layers of security gates that you have to stretch your arm through to get to the bell to ring to be let in. They as none of the other hotels, give you a key to get in on your own. I am guessing it is a simple precaution in case you are mugged and tortured, you won’t spill the beans as to where you are staying, so they can use your keys to break in. The problem here is, if you are short or you have short arms, you will need an extender to reach the bell. I have long arms and even I get bar marks in my cheek as I stretch in to reach the buzzer.

Now that the tickets were secured, we intended to visit three museums. Museum 1 – closed. There were those metal door knockers so thinking this was a security precaution, we tried the knocker and the bell and our fists. Nada! Museum 2 – closed. Museum 3 looked like it had potential as four of the employees had just walked out and were standing on the sidewalk talking. The museum is scheduled for 10am to 12 noon and 2 – 5pm. It was not yet noon, but they said it would be closed until Tuesday for the holiday, but then again, maybe they wouldn’t open on Tuesday either. Doesn’t matter, we won’t be around then anyway. What to do, what to do?

When all else fails there are always churches to visit. There are plenty of those here and even if I don’t partake, they are fun to look at, plus wonderful examples of cultural differences. One corner had a church on each of two corners and another church just 2 blocks away. They were all Catholic too. Talk about obsessive.

We went into one church and my eyes popped out of my head. For the first few moments, I had forgotten I had gone into a church. If it had not been for two dozen Mary statues in different outfits and poses, I would have had to leave, look at the building again and re-enter. The insides looked like someone set off a bomb in a party supply store. The only thing missing was the Mylar balloons that announced “It’s a boy!” Just about every square inch of the ceiling had draped banners, garland, lights, statues, and other paraphernalia that was never covered in my Catholic military training sessions. I think this was God’s way of getting back at me since I didn’t have my camera to document it all. Just trying to take it all in was beginning to put me into epileptic seizures. One interesting thing in this church, I have never seen in my life was a painting of Joseph’s deathbed. I have never heard of Joseph’s death ever referred to anywhere. All attention was first and foremost on Jesus and then Mary was taken up body and soul, but Joseph’s last years are just a blank slate. The poor guy slaved as a carpenter supporting his wife and step-son, only to be forgotten in history or myth.

After that experience, I walked into the next church with the same caution as walking into your own surprise party after you received wind of its happening. Apparently this congregation subscribes to Better Churches and Gardens magazine; it was less audacious, but still on the ticklish side of gaudy. Life size wooden pelicans hang all over the church with their necks craned picking at their own breast to feed their young. If you want to read the full story, click here. One giant mural over a side door showed Jesus on the cross, but the cross was in a fountain. Jesus’ blood had filled the fountain. They are just consumed with these torturous betrayals of religious faith. One thing is that this church had another interesting Joseph related item which was a first. In all of my years, I have never witnessed this before, but in the crèche, instead of Mary holding the baby or the baby just being in the manger, it was Joseph holding Jesus with a peculiar look on his face. I could see the word bubble over his head showing what he was thinking, “Darn it, he doesn’t look like me at all.” To make matters worse he had a t-shirt on that said “My wife had an angelic visit and all I got was a step-son.” The Catholics here are really crazy!

The third church we visited was so unadorned, I thought we had wandered into a Jehovah’s Witness meeting hall by mistake. The crucifix assured me we were in a Catholic church. As we were wandering around, a mass started. Usually before the priest enters, there are bells jingled warning congregates that the priest is walking in, so everyone stands up. There were no bells, so I was taken by surprise when a very elderly priest was aided to the altar by his home health aide. She had to keep him propped up as he celebrated mass. Vocations must be at an all time low; this poor guy was beyond feeble. It was also during the beginnings of this mass that I realized for certain just how dangerous this city can be. The altar boys, no girls around, are armed with pistols. When they came to take a collection, those holding the basket bore rifles, for those who thought they were passing a grab bag. As we were leaving, I spotted this poster on the wall. It portrayed Jesus in the same position as Rodin’s The Thinker. Next to the poster was the statue itself, which I hadn’t noticed at first. The title is “Jesus in Deep Thought”. As we were leaving, there was a handwritten sign that said “You do not need your mobile phone to call God. Turn yours off when in church.” Someone has a sense of humor.

We walked the pedestrian street so many times looking at the street performers and then stopping to have lunch, we now have every store memorized as well as their merchandise, inventory and prices. Is it January 2nd yet?

If You Don't Hear From Me Again...

2011-12-30T20:26:00.000+01:00

For some reason, we had to do one last tour of the town before leaving, but of course this included visiting another coffee shop we had not yet tried out. They make the best espresso drinks here. Ron suggested we look at the other dock, the one where boats go to the different villages than the ones we had been to. It was much smaller and less congested, but there were still multiple men trying to get us on boats.

I have this thing about checking our room multiple times to make sure we don’t miss a thing. As we were leaving, we ran into the guys next door as they were swinging in the hammocks. We said good-bye, but that is as involved as the conversation went. All of our bags were now downstairs waiting for the shuttle to arrive at noon. Standing there waiting, the three amigos came out and were standing around also. They never uttered a syllable.

The shuttle arrived on the dot in this time zone, 10 minutes late. It was empty so we thought we hit the jackpot on seat choices, but the driver told us he needed to put all of the luggage on the roof rack; he had other things to collect that needed the back space. Something new to worry about: our luggage hurling at sixty miles an hour over some cliff somewhere as we hit a pothole in the road. We climb into the van, followed by guess who? The three amigos climbed into the van too. Only because we asked, they said they were going to Guatemala City too. All during the 3 hour ride, they each played with their iPhone, ignoring each other and us as well. It turned out they were going to the airport to return home. Two of them are going to Mexico City and the other is continuing on to San Antonio, TX.

Another half hour and we were at our hotel. OMG, the neighborhood was enough to give me the heebie jeebies. Every hotel we have stayed at thus far has locked front doors. You have to ring a bell to get in; no keys are supplied for self access once you check in. That alone is telling. Once inside, the hotel is outstanding. As they claim they have over 300 Mayan artifacts, making them a true museum, part of their business name. Someone has great taste when they decorated the place; it is exceptional. Too bad the city is not. Ron said there were two differing comments in the travel guide regarding Guatemala City: big, dirty, dangerous, and fascinating or big, dirty, dangerous, and forgettable.

Just as in Cape Town the advice is to take a taxi if going out or returning once it is dark out. A difference being there is a sign posted in the lobby here, stating do not wear any jewelry outside, be cautious, etc. etc. There was a young man sitting in the lobby when we arrived. While Ron was checking in, I quizzed him about the place. He was only meeting someone here, not staying, but said that his tour book listed only 3 hotels in Zone 1 as being safe. This was number 1 for safety within this zone. Zone 1 in the city is where the museums and government buildings are, but also the bus stations where gangs and drug dealers congregate along side of the red light district. One stop shopping for all of your vice needs.

Out we went while it was still light out. Neither of us took our shoulder bag nor did we take cameras. It was a shame as there were some good shots that we missed. I would hate to have my $800 camera become someone’s New Year’s present. Finding the central square, it was filled with people, but not glorious or glamorous buildings. We stopped for a beer, then chicken at their version of KFC.

Finally on the way back, we stopped at a deli that offered freshly made tamales. We bought four for breakfast, because we couldn’t remember if we had the breakfast plan or not. The alternative was to pay $7.00 US for the basic breakfast, 9.00 for the upgrade and 11.00 for the superior. Other meals are on offer too, but the prices are way different than the outer regions. There really isn’t much in this city to be a draw that can demand those kinds of prices within a small hotel. The four tamales only cost us 1.85 Euros a piece and they are huge.

When I asked if they had WiFi, I was given the pass code with the notation at the bottom that it cost $5.00 US a day. Fortunately for me, there is an unsecured WiFi connection that is costing me nothing. The thought did cross our mind to move our travel plans up a day, but this is paid for and there is little running on New Year’s Day, which is the reason Ron planned our departure for January 2nd. Keep us in your positive thoughts, we are going to need them.

No More Pana Mañana

2011-12-29T22:27:00.000+01:00

As hard as it may seem, this was an even greater kick back day than the others. What slugs we are becoming. Tomorrow, we leave for Guatemala City, so we need to get those pesky last minute things out of the way, like shopping, laundry, and getting money. Breakfast is included at the hotel, but the coffee is less than spectacular. Guatemalan coffee is supposed to be so excellent, but breakfast coffee tastes like Nescafé.

There is a coffee and pastry shop down the street that we have discovered. Their lattes and cappuccinos are excellent. Ron has taken a liking to their desserts, though I have to admit their cheesecake is pretty good. Ron had cake with his java; I refrained for once. Right near there is the bookstore where I found the 3rd book in the Steig Larrson series. I had only brought the first two at Ron’s advice due to their weight. The first book The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo was 624 pages, but I finished it in the first week. The second book The Girl Who Played With Fire ran a grandiose 728 pages and that was completed early today. Now I need to read through the third and last book filled with 824 pages. Quite a lot of words. Fortunately, the book is only 7.20 Euros, so I feel like I can buy a copy even if one is sitting at home. I have been giving books away as we read them so the load is lightened and makes space and weight reductions for buying things.

I did buy one other book, but took notes of titles from books that were just too heavy to consider. They are now on my Amazon Wish List for future reference. This store also had really divine photo frames; the outer edges were all hand woven by indigenous women. We found reasons to buy six of them. They are light.

Back to the hotel to drop off our spoils, we picked up our dirty laundry and set out the Laundromat. Dropping it off for a wash, dry and fold for over ten pounds will cost us 55 quetzals, 5.5 Euros. Can we take this woman home with us? It will be ready in 2 hours, so we take off again.

We quizzed an ex-pat from the US who now runs a second hand bookstore about which ATM machine was safe to use. He gave us a map and showed us one that is in a Mercado with the advice that the Mercado is owned by Walmart and no on screws with Walmart, not even the Colombians. That is where we head since our next stop is Guatemala City, which is supposedly dangerous on a daily basis just in general without using an ATM. On the way to the Mercado, we found the Women’s Free Trade Collective, a place where women can sell their craft work and receive all of the money they sell it for. It is called Thirteen Threads and was started by a woman from the US.

There were mats that I really liked, but the weight made me think “Airline Alert”, so I passed them by. A woman came rushing in as we were browsing and started through the same mats. Had I overcome my luggage limit phobia, there was one that I especially liked. This woman had it spread on the floor and then placed it on the counter. Darn her!! Turns out she is from California and is here to teach Yoga for 8 months. We chatted about the mats. I had in mind a Welcome mat, but she intends it to be a bath mat, another great idea. I never did get the chance to ask her how or why they needed to import her to teach Yoga for 8 months. Are Guatemalans so desperate to learn the downward facing dog or one-legged king pigeon that they had to import someone from California to twist and turn them? Ron bought some bookmarkers, but the airline scale phobia was as overwhelming as having a scale in our bathroom, so I let them go.

One last stop before the ATM was the hunt for a restaurant with a used bookstore inside run by a Canadian. We went up and down the street, but could not find it. What we did find was a concrete park with patches of wonderful flowering plants in small squares of non-cemented soil. Across the street was stand after stand selling fireworks of more sizes and varieties than I thought possible.

Finally, we made it the “ugly gray building that serves as a Mercado” just like the US American said and the ATM was a non-descript machine inside with an armed guard. Hoping that no one really does screw with Walmart, we withdraw the maximum of 2,000 quetzals. I hope to the smoking god that we don’t find our account cleaned out when we return home. Paranoid with having money, 200 Euros in our possession, we head back to the hotel to drop it off and then head out again.

There are no Hard Rock Cafés in Guatemala or Belize, but in Pana there is a PanaRock Café. They have a similar logo as their name sake, so it is kind of cute. We stopped in for a beer, but being extra thirsty, I ordered a liter. By the time we were done, I really wanted a nap more than I wanted to pick up our clothes at the laundry.

All of the time we have been here, in the room next to us has been 3 amigos. Initially, I hadn’t given the first guy a thought, but when I finally saw the other 2, I realized they were Friends of Dorothy or to put it other ways, they walked with a light step or they were part of the ‘family’. Although they responded when spoken to, they never initiated a greeting or engaged in any conversation when we would see them on the balcony. Two of them were Caucasian and one was definitely Hispanic looking. All three were speaking fluent English. Just like the people we met on the boat trip, we ran into these guys around the town quite often also. My guess is that they are in their 30’s so it was surprising how early they returned to the room and didn’t leave again. Their door squeaked terribly, so it was easy to keep tabs on them.

Our farewell dinner was at a steak house we had eaten at before, but we broke with tradition by ordering pizzas. We were both quite pleasantly surprised that the pizzas were excellent. The crust was wonderful. After dinner, we tried doing a little exercise stroll, but it was more like a roll. We both felt like balloons. Tomorrow, we are out of here on the 12 noon shuttle to Guatemala City. Pray for our safety!

Partial Atonements Made

2011-12-28T23:22:00.000+01:00

We returned to the village of Santiago for three shameful reasons. One - we had not seen the church there yet, because we spent all of our time looking at the smoking god. Two – we owed this woman Elena ten quetzals for two beers.Three - we owed the little boy who runs the bathroom service 3 quetzals for letting us use it without paying due to our emergency situation.

When the boat pulled into the dock, as soon as I set foot on dry land, the boys were surrounding me wanting to offer me tours or goods to buy. Each time I said “No thank you” in Spanish, English, Hungarian, and three dialects of Mayan, they refused to leave me alone asking me where I intended to go within the village. I said “I am going to stand right here. All day, I am going to stand right here until it is time for the boat to return to Pana. In the meantime, regardless of what you do, I will be standing right here just like a statue.” They kept questions whether or not I would move, but I said, that this was my spot and I would be here all day. They cracked up laughing and teasing me about teasing them. Those smiles and the joking were worth a few million quetzals. As soon as Ron joined me, I had to leave my spot for our first mission on Santiago.

As it turned out, the last time we were here, the day before yesterday, just as we were about to leave, Ron wanted a beer. He asked if I wanted one too, but I responded with save some money for me to use the bathroom. They charge 3 quetzals for public services. He wasn’t paying much attention, but ordered two beers thinking he heard that they cost veinte quetzals when in reality they cost treinta quetzals. Not only was he ten quetzals short of paying for the beers, but he spent my pee money besides.

After the woman opened two beers and wanted treinta quetzals we both burst out with that nervous laughter that is caused by extreme embarrassment. However, to the woman on the other side of the counter, it signified we were two morons trying to pull a fast one. She held her guns wanting the ten quetzals and refused to take one beer back now that it was opened. We swore we had no more money of any currency. Actually, we did have a twenty Euro note, but she looked at it like we wanted to trade stone beads with her for the beer. Swearing we would return with money, this was a reason to return. She was surprised to see us, but instead of “Hola” or any pleasantry, she smiled and said “Diez quetzals por favor”. We gave her her due and a bag of Hungarian paprika for her troubles.

Now that we had atoned for one sin, it was time to make the pilgrimage to the church. To get there, we walked up that damn hill that had not been leveled since we were here last. When we asked for directions at the top of the hill, we were directed through a Mayan open air market where at the end we were to turn right and then the church would be up the stairs on the left. Facil! There was this same-same, but different quality to the market. Most of the goods were produce that would appeal to locals, not the usual tourist items. Toto we were not in Kansas anymore, we were dab smack in the middle of culture. I snapped photo after photo. We both wanted to soak up the atmosphere. No Spanish was heard, but some dialect of Mayan. There are twenty-two Mayan languages. Not understanding a word added to the authenticity of the cultural experience.

At the edge of the market at by the park, which is a big slab of concrete with one tree growing out of the middle, there was a guy giving some spiel. He had a dozen women surrounding him, each of the ladies wearing what appeared to be traditional clothing. As we approached, I told Ron he is probably demonstrating a Veg-o-Matic. He had given each woman a small plastic cup with powder in it, but then took bags of water and filled each cup to make some drink. This charismatic gentleman who wore non-Western clothing, was speaking a mile a minute and had these ladies entranced and in giggles. I would have loved to have known what he was saying.

As we approached the church, on the left side is a grand parochial school. As you get closer to the church, all those with some affliction start approaching for money. There was a woman with no legs using her arms to walk on the ground; there was a child with one eye and another with a cleft lip, and an old man who just stood by the door asking for money. The church was still decorated for Christmas with grand crepe type tissue banners crossing the entry from wall to wall and continuing almost to the altar. What was immediately striking were the statures along either wall. First they were predominantly men, by a ratio of 9-1, but even more eye-catching was that they were dressed in real clothes, mostly outfits that the natives were wearing. Their dresser must have feared for the health of the statues for most of them had 3-5 scarves around their necks in addition to layers of clothes. (There will be photos in the photo blog).

The crèche looked like something from Charlie Brown’s Christmas. Instead of having a crèche and letting well enough alone, the ‘stable’ had tons of silver garland outlining it with electric Christmas lights blinking on and off. The three wise men didn’t need the North Star to find the way; there was plenty of glitter and glitz here to light up the sky. In front of this very public display, there was a man on a rug praying loudly in an informal tone as if he and god were beer buddies shooting the bull.

In a side chapel, there were a couple of dozen people all in native dress, meaning non-Western, on their knees praying and doing some type of ritual that did not look like anything Catholic that I had ever grown up with. There was no priest there either, so they seemed to take matters into their own hands. We had heard that in some areas, the Mayan religion has been interwoven with the Catholic in order to convert the locals. Interestingly on the way to the church, we passed a large Evangelical Church and on the way back, a Baptist one.

Walking back to the boat, we bought some things we had admired previously, like a St. Francis statue for our new apartment. Here is our warped reasoning. The apartment is on Ferenc korut. The Hungarian name Ferenc is Francis in English, so we are calling it Feri’s Place. Feri is a nickname for Ferenc. St. Francis was a good guy that we both admired, so we want him to protect Feri’s Place. Now that I write it out, it sounds lame, but it was fun choosing the right St. Francis statue.

After returning to Pana, I had wanted to replace one of our soft bags with one of the bright and colorful ones sold here. I have reservations about using it as checked luggage for fear the airlines will ruin it, but it would be fine for carry-on. We emptied and took one of the soft bags we have with us to the stall where they sold the ones I liked. We were comparing sizes, colors, while discussing the merits as opposed to the negatives of these bags. I asked the woman the price. They were 150 quetzals; 15 Euros was nothing. I verified their strength, checked the workmanship and Ron and I continued our discussion. As we are talking to each other, the woman is lowering the price to 130 quetzals. I told her in Spanish I like the bags, but I was trying to explain something to my friend. She responded by dropping the price yet again to 110 quetzals. Basically, we were ignoring her because we were caught up in our own conversation. When we finally agreed to buy one, when we handed over the money, it was now priced at 90 quetzals: 9 Euros. They are so afraid that potential customers will go to the next stall to buy the same thing; they continue to lower their price. I don’t know how they can get by. There are dozens and dozens of stalls selling the same exact merchandise.

For dinner, we decided to try street food. There are dozens of women who set up portable food stalls and sell a variety of foods. They also bring plastic stools for their customers to sit and some even have portable tables besides. From one lady, we bought a tostada and two food items we did not recognize. They were like semicircular sandwiches that were deep fried, but filled with meat. Next to her is a woman who sells slices of pie. She has pineapple, strawberry, lemon, peach, apricot, and chocolate all with dozens of little meringue rosettes on top. We sat on their stools and ate our dinner. Total cost was 40 quetzals or 4 Euros. If I become destitute, I am moving to this country.

Yes, partial atonement. We still owe the little baño boy his 3 quetzals only because we forgot. If we had only needed him again, it would have triggered our memories.

I Want to Reserve One Monkey

2011-12-27T22:54:00.000+01:00

My herbal sleeping remedies are just not up to snuff to battle the outer influences disrupting my sleep. Though I cannot really complain, this room is costing us 900 Q for the 5 nights; that comes to 90 Euros for the 5 nights. However, there is such a draft in the window that is divided into twelve smaller windows that it feels like the big bad wolf is huffing and puffing, trying to get in at night. At the back end, there is a dog that barks non-stop, but he competes with a rooster who must have jet lag. He starts to crow at 3am when it is definitely still dark out, so his body clock must be way off. Back to the cost of the room, this is a typical amount for the hotels here in this town. Breakfast is included also.

When we went to the restaurant for breakfast, we had choices, so we ordered two eggs with coffee. It was not feeling like an oatmeal day. We asked for a portion of ham and said would pay the extra. This really threw them, so they must not have that request often.

The day’s adventure was the Atitlán Nature Reserve, which is about 3 miles from where we are staying. Tuk-tuk time! Good thing too, the roads are treacherous even in a vehicle and there are some steep hills getting there too. Entrance fees are 55 Q or 5.50 Euros, but for the really brave, hence neither of us, they had the Extreme Cable Adventure, where you could go up on the mountain via a cable car and then use a zip line to come flying down. That was 220 Q; sad to say we did not bring enough cash with us. Darn, next time.

We walked the trails up and down and around. There were seven suspension bridges, not my cup of tea, as I have a tremendous fear of heights outside of any type of container: plane, cable car, or elevator. We followed the signs displaying the little man hiking, as opposed to the plain route signs. I figured if that little man could do it, I could too. Being outdoorsy is my greatest challenge in life; I filled my quota in Cub and Boy Scouts and then gave it all up for an extended period of Lent that lasted over forty years. Still there are challenges to be had for one’s personal growth, plus I didn’t want to disappoint Ron. The park promised monkeys. We saw one…from a distance…from the back. We were only certain it was a monkey when we saw him run up a tree. There was also supposed to be some other animal like a raccoon, but none appeared. Walking through lush greenery, there were poinsettias the size of small trees, ferns and other plants that were Jurassic sized and dozens of coffee trees with coffee berries on them. With all of this, one would think there would be a great deal of bird watching. Not a single bird was around. It did make for a peaceful walk, there was not bird calls to draw our attention from the dangers of the path where irregular rocks appeared out of nowhere waiting to trip a shoe and send you flying or the hidden holes that are covered with fallen leaves that you inadvertently step into. Seriously, yes, we had a joyous time even if we did not see the promised animal life.

Back at the central info point, we snacked on nachos and fruit salad. These were by far the best nachos I have had in some time. Fresh papaya, pineapple, watermelon, and cantaloupe are excellent ways to snack through the day. On the other side of the park is a butterfly refuge. Just as we were collecting our energy to check it out, we ran into the Australians from our boat ride. They had done it all and were leaving.

The butterfly area necessarily was stuffed with greenery of all kinds to accommodate different types of butterflies. There were not that many visible, though there was one black and red one that was totally camera shy. Monarchs or seem to be less evasive and will almost pose for you. There was supposed to be a display in the back, but it looked abandoned long ago.

Another tuk-tuk took us back to our place and from there; we relaxed, thought about what things we wanted to buy and shop for and then decided on dinner. As we were out walking, there is one coffee shop that has desserts to drool over that are anything but traditional. Who should be sitting there, but the Spanish family that we were on the boat trip with. We chatted for awhile. They had hiked up the volcano and were exhausted. We left them and had dinner, but planned on returning for dessert. When we did, our neighbors from the hotel were at the next table. Small world, small town! As were were enjoying our cake and coffee, the little kids who are hustling wares came up to us. One little boy about 9 years old, said to me "Friend, I remember you from last night." I told him I had the same memories of seeing him too, since he would not leave our table for thirty minutes no matter how many times, I had said I wasn't interested. Tonight, he and his partner in hustling were eying my cake and asked for a bite. I had not assurance of how the waitress would react, but I told them I would buy them one piece to share. It is like feeding pigeons, once you show attention to one, a half dozen more show up. Two more children arrived as if a signal were flashed in the sky. Asking the waitress for 2 pieces of the cake of their choice, I left them to it. With a touch of wisdom, the waitress cut their choices equally and put them on plastic plates with plastic forks and divvied them out. Each of the four children came up to me with plate in hand and said "Thank you". My heart melted.

This is a totally non-type A vacation. I am not certain if I like it or not, but I certainly don’t want to make a habit of it.

God You Are Smokin’!

2011-12-26T23:47:00.000+01:00

September and October are hurricane months, so why in the world would we have a hurricane type storm last night, we wondered. Winds were so incredible; the furniture was blown off of the balcony of our hotel. It woke us up multiple times during the night as it set off alarms all over. Sounds like thrashing rain hitting the window was our clue that it there was water with the wind, but we were too lazy to get up to check it out. We had the alarm set for 6:45 as it was.

Today was the boat trip to the different Mayan villages and it was scheduled to leave at 8:30. Breakfast at the hotel doesn’t start until 7:30, but we were fearful of not having enough time to get to the dock if we ate here. We went closer to the dock and found a lovely restaurant where we had two full breakfasts for 6 Euros total. From there, it was a hop, skip, and jump to the dock where our boat was scheduled.

Eight-thirty came and went, but our boat didn’t. Those around the dock told us, why are you worried, it is only 8:30? Okay, we run by a different clock here, like other Hispanic countries and some European ones that are far from Hispania. When the boat arrived, it was not San Marco as we had been told to look for, but Yoselin. Close enough I guess, but it did mean additional Spanish practice to verify the situation. Who should be on our boat, but the young Canadian couple who are traveling for 8 months. Wonderful couple, we were glad to share some time with them. There was also an Australian family that we chatted with also, passing the time until we were ready to depart.

After the storm last night, the lake was choppy with crests forming as far as the eye could see. The trip to the first village would be an hour of potentially seasickness motions up and down with water splashing in the sides of this boat that was on par with a van as opposed to a boat that was equal to a humvee. Rock, roll, and get wet as the waves come overboard to slap you in the face for molesting its daily habits. Ron has suggested we sit in the far back, which meant that we had to climb over four rows of seats before reaching where we would secure our butts for the joy ride. One time was fine, but each village meant climbing over these seats to get out and back in again, while boat thought tied to the dock, still heard the silent tunes that caused it to rock and roll the day away. As the waves from other boats lapped the sides of ours, as other guests were getting out, we were all tossed like a cheap salad around the inner bowl of the boat.

I would have kissed the land at the first village, but yuk-pooh! It was not only dirt, but dirty dirt. San Marcos, the village was not much to speak of, with one long, long narrow path leading to the center. Along the path were Spanish language schools, and oh, please, Reiki healing centers, a massage center, a spiritual advisor that promised to heal your soul with tarot cards, and other obvious renegades from English speaking countries that have descended in this sacred space of Mayan antiquities and have tried to transform it into Little California, Guatemala. There was pathetically little to warm the cockles of any one’s heart in this desolate little village. The star attraction seemed to be a Catholic church, the first invaders of ancient cultures. We had forty-five minutes to explore this village, but we were all back in thirty minutes wondering what was next.

Another long ride on the boat brought us to San Juan. Once off the boat, one look at this village told us the prospects were not good. Facing the dock was one steep and lengthy hill with lots of little shops on either side. Even my desire to be consumer of the year did not persuade me to tackle that hill, so we took a tuk-tuk. If you have ever been to South Africa, Thailand, or numerous other countries, you will know a tuk-tuk is similar to an enclosed golf cart.

Our driver gave us a quick tour around the village. Shop after shop after shop with more massage opportunities, Spanish schools, and healing of various forms, all á la new age and definitely imported and not native. When you look at tienda after tienda and see these eye popping colors, one of two things start to happen. 1.) You stop looking at any realizing nothing is really going to fit your color schemes at home or 2.) You develop such sensory overload that you begin to think that your living room really would look much better if you painted it day-glo pink, turquoise, lemon yellow, lichen green, and violet. Then all of these things you have subliminally been pushed into purchasing will fit right. This has made me realize that I am of two minds. One mind says, “This isn’t so bad. The colors are bright and cheerful and the workmanship is excellent.” This is when the other mind kicks shouting “Are you crazy? Have you lost control of your senses? Where on earth would you display that for more than ten minutes without having to issue apologies?” I am certain these things have their place, just not in our home.

The next two villages were San Pedro and Santiago Atitlan, which included more boat acrobatics, sail, sail, wet, wet, climb out of the boat, and see the village. Same, same, but different. The differences were only in the size of the settlements and whether or not there were hills to climb. Well, there was one other difference. We were going to see Maximón or as the Mayans call him, Rilaj Maam. Regardless of what name he happens to go by, he is the smoking god. This hybrid god is a cross of Catholic and Mayan, but is revered throughout the Guatemalan highlands. He is generally housed in the home of the Mayan cofradia, the brotherhood of Mayan religious. After paying the tuk-tuk driver 20 Q or 2 Euros, he drove us up hills, down alleys, through the hills and dale until we reached an unpaved path of rocks and stones leading to a small building.

On the porch was a band of brothers, presumably Mayan as they were not speaking Spanish. Within hear shot we could hear talking, but we were unprepared for the spectacle. In a very small room, there was tiny Christmas type lights were flashing on and off decorating the left wall with those boas of Christmas garland. Darkness prevailed in the room regardless of the spirited lighting, but as we were escorted into the room, there was a man on his knees on one of those festively decorated rugs or tablecloths that are ubiquitous. He had this back toward us and was spewing a volume of words in a casual manner, regardless of his semi-prostrated position. He was facing two humanly men, but seated between them was the god Rilaj Maam or Maximón. Rilaj was doing what Rilaj is known for; he was smoking a cigarette. On either side of him, there were two ashtrays filled with butts with different filters. It was not clear if a cigarette is given as an offering, but each of the attending men took turns flicking the ashes into the ashtray, so that god was not disturbed nor was his attention diverted from the petitioner.

God had a rather wooden expression during this whole thing. One possible conclusion could be it was because his head was carved from wood. That explained why he never grimaced when he got smoke in his eyes. God only knows what his body consisted of, but he was covered with layers of different colorful blankets and a multitude of neck garments. As I was standing there watching this scene, I on the right also had lights flashing over my head. I noticed this rectangular glass box behind me, which my peripheral vision led me to believe it could be an aquarium. When I took a closer look, there was a mummy in there. God only knows who it is, was or if it is another petrified wooden soul.

After this, the rest of the day was lackluster to say the least. God knows…

Merry Christmas – Go, Go, Go

2011-12-25T23:42:00.000+01:00

It seems Christmas day is no big deal here in Antigua; the exception is the firecrackers are still going off, making every one jumpy when taken by surprise. Our shuttle was due at 12:30 to 12:45, so we had time to walk downtown for breakfast. Everything was packed up and ready to go. We walked down to Café Bourbon which we had picked out yesterday as a place to try and asked ahead of time if they would be open Christmas day.

With cool jazz playing in the background, the graphics decorating the wall was a mosaic of jazz artists, which led me to rethink that this place was named for the liquor. My next best guess is that it is named for Bourbon Street in New Orleans. Typical of our meals here, it is so very inexpensive. We each had a variety of a full breakfast with all the trimmings and both of us had specialty coffees, Ron added on orange juice. I chose a second café latte. When we asked for the bill, we thought we were undercharged. It was 100 Q. There was no sign of my second coffee or Ron’s juice. When I tried explaining to the waiter they short-changed themselves, they looked confused. We owe you more than this I insisted, “We had 3 coffees total and an orange juice.” After some contemplation, the waiter called a colleague to look over the bill and bring it back to us with an explanation. Two of our coffees were included in the meal as was Ron’s orange juice. Our two very substantial breakfasts were only 10 Euros total.

As we leisurely walked back to our hotel, we searched out fresh fruit for our trip, but it was not to be had. We sat around reading and waiting. There was a young couple from Canada who was also leaving for Pana as we were, but they were not on the same shuttle. When ours came, we said good-bye and climbed into a van like a soccer mom would use to cart around kids. Being next to the last, the shuttle was full with every seat taken. Right next to me was a young father with his very young baby boy. It was gratifying to see how well he cared for the baby, including mixing formula while holding the baby in a nurturing manner. By the time, I poked my nose out of my novel, he was beyond needing my help. Our road trip was about 2 hours on some paved roads and highways, but others cobble stone.

A first impression of Pana was that this was a gigantic strip mall of outdoor booths. Our hotel, Mario’s Rooms is very centrally located. On either side are booths, stores, restaurants, and more of each. From what we saw of the town, this is a major street, one-way traffic, and hundreds of businesses with hundreds of workers begging you to come to their place to spend money. We walked down to the lake, Lake Atitlán and walked the shore line where there are another fifty or so vendors trying their luck interspersed with establishments such as restaurants in secured buildings.

As we walked, we ran into the Canadian couple from our hotel in Antigua and chatted for a bit. They are on an 8 month holiday throughout Central and South America and then Tibet. We found a place for our dinner, where two chicken dinners complete with potatoes, vegetables, and bread cost 3 Euros each. The next most expensive dish was 4.50 Euros. Ron keeps telling me how spoiled we are getting.

Before dinner and on the way back to the hotel, we stopped at three different travel agencies to check on boat ride tickets to the Mayan villages. Around Lake Atitlán, there are ten Mayan village settlements where they supposedly practice the ancient Mayan customs. Each of the agencies had similar offers, but one had 4 villages for the same price as the others had for 3 villages. Choosing the 4 village ‘tour’ set us back 90 Q or 9 Euros for both of us.

Back at the room, it was chilly, so we did pull out the blankets. Their electric outlets are very convenient. In both hotels thus far, we have found that the outlets will accommodate both US and European plugs without needing a convertor. Ingenious! We will have to see if that is available in Europe also.

One Christmasy side note: My one private student, Janos, generously gives me Christmas presents each year. This year, he overwhelmed me with a pile of them. I had wanted to take them with us and open them on Christmas morning. Ron and I don’t exchange presents; our travels are our presents to each other. With airline limits being what they are, I opened my presents right before we left, but held the memory for Christmas morning. Janos himself is my best present.

Christmas Eve-nt In Guatemala

2011-12-24T23:12:00.000+01:00

This is the last day for Posadas as the inn will no longer be needed after today. Posadas originated in Spain in the 1500’s created by a friar, are now mostly popularly celebrated in Guatemala, Mexico, and some parts of the US. They start on December 16th and continue through December 24th, where they recreate the story of Mary and Joseph going from place to place looking for a room to stay. The leaders of the procession carry statures of Mary and Joseph, while all the followers carry lit candles and all are singing a traditional song. When they reach the prearranged last home where there is room at the inn, they all enter for a prayer and then snacks. Different Spanish speaking countries reportedly have similar customs, but with different names and traditions.

The day of our walking tour, we were passed by a Posada, which is strange since they usually occur in the evening. This one, however, was a group of senior - señors and señoras, where the youngest was most likely around seventy-five if a day. Canes did not stop them; they marched on with one young person in attendance making me think they were from a retirement home. It was fascinating to watch as they processed with candles and singing along their way, basically ignoring all others while concentrating on their mission.

This was the first of different holiday traditions that they have here. Yesterday, I wrote about the Christmas tree and some about mass and the family dinner. Tonight, we were privy to yet other traditions new to us and basically incomprehensible.

However, after going for breakfast, we ventured to this art gallery that was recommended by Elizabeth Bell and then again by a salesman at a Mercado. La Antigua Galeria de Arte is more than an art gallery; it is like an art museum. Having been to a number of galleries in my years, I have never been to one where I wanted to drink in each piece of art while admiring it and then wishing I could have it shipped home. With over 600 works of art, it took us quite some time to make our way through, but the different types of work from paintings to statues, kept us from getting tired of looking, but we did start to feel sensory overload. I mentioned to one of the people working there that they needed to have a rest stop, where they insist people sit, relax and clear their thoughts before continuing on. A kind of mental sorbet is needed. You know how they serve sorbet between courses of a large meal to cleanse the palate, my mental palate needed refreshing. Eighty percent of the work is by Guatemalan artists and the balance are international artists, mostly US American.

This was a day of wonder. We wondered what we would do to occupy the day. We had been to every shop and Mercado at least once. The dastardly luggage rules and regulations of the airlines are really curbing my enthusiasm for shopping. There are so many pieces I would have bought until I lifted them up to feel their weight and finally left them behind feeling abandoned. As it was, it was a relaxing day of reading, doing a few last walks in various parts of the town; we leave tomorrow, Christmas day for the Mayan areas of the country. We were patiently waiting for our Christmas Eve dinner reservation at 6:30 pm.

Dinner was at a restaurant named Fusion, coincidentally owned by an ex-pat American. With that in mind, the portions looked less ample than at other restaurants. Here it was nouvelle cuisine, where less is better. Looks can be deceiving. Our choices were excellent and sufficient, not leaving us wanting. However, we did choose a different café for our coffee and dessert. After dropping things off at the hotel, we meandered around the corner to the church for the evening mass. I alternate going or not going to Christmas mass depending on the country we are in and what cultural differences may be of interest. A crowd smothered the front of the church watching some performance which was not apparent to us yet. What did stand out from the crowd was an over-sized wagon with the nativity on it. Standing in front of it was a throng of people holding lanterns with burning candles. We assumed they must have processed here from somewhere else since they were not moving from the church yard.

When we were able to make it closer to the church, there were over a dozen giant headed costumed people dancing around to music. I am talking giant heads like the size of a Volkswagen Beetle. One of the heads was the devil, but all of the others were various mens' faces. They danced around until the mass was to start, so we watched for ten minutes and then went in to find a seat.

This is what I would call a high mass. When the celebrants marched in, the incense was so heavy, you would have thought a SWAT team had tear gassed the place. There was never a time I appreciated the homily at a Catholic mass, but this one, which I didn’t understand went on forever. More incense! The room had cleared, so you could actually see, so more incense. Music was provided by a xylophone and guitars. It was really the highlight for me.

Close to midnight, the fireworks and firecrackers start to usher in Christmas. It sounded like a combination of a heavy storm and being bombed at the same time. These celebrations went on for hours and even around three o’clock, you could still hear someone setting off their noise makers.

Tomorrow, we have a shuttle coming to take us to a different part of the country where there are still a number of Mayan villages surrounding a lake. It is questionable what the Internet connections may be there, so I may have to hold my posts until I get a connection.

If you celebrate this holiday, I wish you a Merry Christmas.

For Whom the Bell Tours

2011-12-23T22:27:00.000+01:00

There is a US American woman here who has made Antigua her business; her name is Elizabeth Bell. She runs a tourism agency, but primarily she sells walking tours and promotes her books on the city. Ron found out about her in our guidebook so we booked a 9:30am tour, giving us time to have breakfast beforehand.

We were to meet at the fountain in the central park, the place where Clara patrols. Of course, she spotted us immediately, but even if she hadn’t, all of her compatriots did shouting out a chorus of Clara, like tribal drums through the jungle. This is their own type of alarm system alerting them when a potential customer is returning. When you first suggest you may potentially buy at some time, though not the present, they tell you their name for future reference. What they need to include is “I will be your stalker for the rest of your time here.”

Elizabeth Bell showed up and assembled the group. She immediately corrected one person who stated she was an American. Elizabeth said that Guatemalans are also Americans, so those who need to should identify themselves as from the U.S. Although I agree with the comment, from the way it was delivered, I soon realized that this 3 hour tour was going to be really long. These tours really make me chuckle sometimes. Usually it is US Americans who start out by introducing themselves to everyone else around. Once they share their name, they want to know your name, country of origin, state if it is the US, what your occupation is, how many siblings you have, if you have any piercings, have your bowel movements been regular since being here. Based on their questioning, you would think we were doing 5 minute dating or deciding who gets the last life raft on the Titanic. Hey people, after this 3 hour tour, I am never going to see you again and no, I don’t want to friend you on Facebook.

Elizabeth moved here when she was fourteen years old and her father’s job took the family here. She has been here since and she is currently fifty-seven years old.

Elizabeth started this jolly holly tour by telling us that anyone caught cutting a tree, Christmas or otherwise from any forest would immediately be put in jail. Deforestation has ruined parts of the country so the laws have gone from fines to imprisonment. She continued with her monologue stating Christmas trees are not a Guatemalan tradition, nativity sets are. Christmas trees are tacky, especially the plastic ones. You won’t find many Christmas trees in the country, but you will see plenty of nativities. As I am staring at her while she speaks, I cannot help but notice the plastic Christmas tree decorated in the park about twenty yards behind her left side. All the stores and businesses with the exception of some restaurants will close early tomorrow, Christmas Eve.

In Guatemala, the major celebration is on the eve, not on the day. As we hear from Bell, the churches will be jamming tonight, because many people who don’t set foot in church all year will attend Christmas mass. However, there is no midnight mass; 9pm is the latest. After mass, at midnight, the family has its Christmas dinner. After dinner they open presents and fireworks are ubiquitous. We were warned not to plan on getting much sleep for the noise. Christmas day is a relaxed kick back day. Santa Claus doesn’t come either, but the Santas you see around town will deliver presents for a fee. You hire a Santa to deliver a present and all the money the Santas earn go to charitable organizations. They volunteer their Santa time.

Once we were off and walking, the first place was the mayor’s chambers on the main square. There was an election and new people will take office in February. The president is only allowed to run for one term. As each person leaves their post, they take everything with them. The last major shredded all of the documents that accumulated during his administration. Leave no paper trail, seems to be business as usual.

We went to the new and old cathedrals, places where we had been on our own, but was now getting some input that we had not had. The new cathedral is earthquake proof, which the old one was not. This also referred to all of the buildings in the city. None of them are over 2 floors high and this is an earthquake measure. Their walls are extra thick and being so low, they cannot fall over. While in the church someone in the group asked why there was no baby in the crèche. Elizabeth explained that he does not get put in until Christmas mass which is on the eve, not the day.

Another observation I had made was that there are no signs sticking out from buildings. The only identification of a business is on the front usually over the entrance. Until you get that close, you have no idea where the business happens to be. They have a sign ordinance here forbidding signage. The lack of flashing signs is surprisingly pleasant and attractive. Most of the stores do not have display windows either. Those that do, they are covered by bars with a shelf inside the bars, so they fill it with plants, not merchandise.

One woman on the tour was taking copious notes of everything Elizabeth said. I asked her if she were researching a novel, but she is a journalist with a small town newspaper. She kept stopping Elizabeth asking her to repeat things so they could be notated. From the pages of notes she had, she could have filled the NY Times travel section. Another woman had hurt her foot, so was hobbling around. Ron became her crutch going up and down stairs.

Elizabeth has been involved in a number of civic matters, both in reconstruction of historic buildings and social rights for women, education, and assorted other services. School is free, but books are not. They have to be bought from the beginning, so many children drop out of school after the fourth grade, luckier ones last until sixth grade. Her goal is to support the purchase of books so that more students can graduate high school. University is not free, but low cost, but again all expenses are a burden of the student.

The tour ended at one of the jade museums, where we heard about jade and learned there is a translucent and blue jade. The blue jade is quite lovely.

After the tour, we went to meet Clara in the park to buy the placemats and napkins we had promised to buy. I was not thrilled with the quality, but they were cheap enough not to squabble. After we told Clara our wallets were now closed for repairs, we just chatted. She was telling us that she sells things so her daughter can finish high school and then go on to college. She said once her daughter finishes college, she will quit. I had finished the The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, so we brought it back to her for her daughter who also speaks English. She was thrilled. She may sell or she may keep it, but it is her business that she needs to do what she needs to do.

We had a late lunch so came back to the hotel to gather our things for part 2 of going to the bank for cash. Everything will be closed Christmas day and we leave then for our next port o’ call, which Ron has warned is even lower key than here. Can I handle all of this rest and relaxation without running off to a museum or some other cultural event? With cash in pocket, we went back to the hotel to rest. Later this evening we were on our way out the front door when another guest stopped us to tell us to be careful. She was just robbed a few doors down from the hotel. She is a petit woman, young and alone; her name is Chen. As she was calling her bank, she shared that she was just returning to the hotel when a guy with a gun robbed her of her purse. She tried to just giving him the wallet, but he wanted it all. He had an accomplice on a motor scooter that whisked him away. With that paranoia, we only ventured to the church where little old ladies sell tostadas and tamales in the evenings. We had tamales, went for a beer, and returned to the hotel. We made a point to run into Chen to see if she needed money, but she has wisely left the bulk of her money here. There was no rendition of O Holy Night as the police said she will never recover her things. Merry Christmas, ho, ho, ho!

Mercado Mercado Mercado

2011-12-22T22:00:00.000+01:00

Ron found this restaurant listed in our guide that is supposed to have exceptional breakfasts.We needed the fortification for a day of exploring Mercado after Mercado after Mercado. We honestly checked and there are no museums here in Antigua. Without a museum to learn about culture, the next best thing is to shop. As we were heading to the restaurant, we confirmed our shuttle ticket reservations for Christmas Day when we will move on to the next city. Don't ask me what it is. Ron does all of the planning, so I am surprised when we leave one place and wind up in another.

The restaurant did have an excellent breakfast at a reasonable price, so much so, we booked reservations for dinner. They have some sort of dance performance. Until dinner time, we had to work up our appetites. As we were meandering toward the first Mercado, the old cathedral was open for exploration. It is not much more than a shell now, but it had some great architecture in its time, some still in evidence. Apparently, it was destroyed in earthquakes. They charge 3 Quetzals for entry, well worth it to explore what is still standing.

Our first Mercado was right in the center of town. We had passed the door a number of times, but did not realize what it was. Once you enter a long hallway, there are over a hundred stalls with goods that range from t-shirts to blankets, sculptures scarves. It is like a war zone. As one passes each stall, you are assaulted with the vendor's offer to give you a special price on whatever they have to sell. Of course this price is only in effect for today, so you must hurry.

It is like a mine field trying to get past each one without having to stop and look at merchandise you have no interest in. If they should have something that catches your attention, you are doomed. Once you stop to look at something, even for a second, it is as if you have been trapped into a game of negotiation. I could kick myself each time I stop to check out something that has caught my eye, but on closer inspection is of no interested at all. A powerless comes over you. You know you need to make a quick get-away, but you are torn between courtesy and fear.

We made it down one whole row of about 45 stalls, but at the very end, Ron was attracted to painting and stopped. I have to admit, it was interesting. It was from the perspective of the ground up, while other paintings were from a bird’s eye view. There was a special deal for us for today because we were special people, but it was way too high. We left with the salesboy, not yet a man, begging us for forgiveness. Our hearts of steel carried us forward.

Mercado number 2 was a distance away, causing us to traipse through dusty streets frequented by a number of chicken buses and trucks. My first inclination was to skip over this part of the adventure and move on, but Ron persevered. Thankfully, he did. This was a cultural experience bar none. The Mercado is covers 4 square blocks and is filled with booths that sell everything and anything. It reminded me of the Chinese Market in Budapest, but items here were better quality. Still, you see the same merchandise at least 27 times throughout the Mercado. How can anyone compete? This is not a tourist area, as we were in the minority. Most of the shoppers had a better coffee color than we did and many dressed in cultural clothing that tourists generally don’t wear. It is a maze that one could get lost in if you dare leave the straight path cutting through. I was tempted to look at other merchandise a few spaces to the left, but was afraid I would not be found again until New Years. We did look for the paintings we saw in the other Mercado, but it just doesn't exist outside of that one booth.

Our last Mercado of the day was another one in town. It is a giant cooperative where you can find many of the same things as everywhere else, but there were some differences. As the t-shirts in Cambodia say “Same-Same, but Different”. We found a great set of 4 posters, modern, a touch of indigenous, but inviting colors that we will have framed when we return.

Of course, we could not escape Clara, our wandering saleslady in the park. She decided we needed a set of table mats, which did trigger the notion that it would be good to have for the new apartment. Of course, we should buy the table first, but what the heck. After telling her that none of her colors met our needs, she promised to have a better selection tomorrow. She did sell us another table runner while she had us in her web.

We had to torture ourselves by visiting that one painting one more time in the first Mercado to see if we could reach a realistic agreement. Because it is located in the very back of the market, I told Ron we would have to make a mad dash, running past all of the other hawkers. We set a new record, but there was still no agreement on negotiations.

With great anticipation, we headed back to the restaurant where we had reservations. For the dinner show, you are seated in a different dining room than the uninitiated who haven’t been privy to live entertainment. There is no charge for the show other than your meal costs. Feeling special, we decided to order cocktails; they were listed on the drink menu and quite honestly, I have been thirsty for a Manhattan for some time now. The last time we splurged on cocktails was in Ljubljana where they tasted okay, but lacked liquor. I ordered a Manhattan and Ron ordered a martini, both specifically without ice. I would have said we wanted them “UP”, but I thought that would be lost in translation.

The drinks arrived. Ron’s martini had little ice floes floating around where miniature polar bears could have lounged or hung over the sides to catch fish. My drink was a dead give-away that there was more wrong than a polar experience. The glass was not a Manhattan glass, but one that you would use to serve a daiquiri or any of those sissy drinks that contain mini-umbrellas. Good grief, it also had a slice of orange on the side. The final clincher was that it was cloudy, not clear. I had to taste it in the waiter’s presence before sending it back. It tasted like Kool-Aid mixed with a scoop of sugar, but as far away from a Manhattan as Beijing is.

The head waiter wanted to know what was wrong. I explained how a Manhattan should be prepared. After a thousand apologies, they took it back and returned with a new drink. It looked identical with the exception that this one was adorned with an orange slice and a cherry. The cherry was all of the progress they made. The drink was identical.

Our dinner choices lost something in translation also. I ordered enchiladas, which I have been hungry for for some time, so was thrilled to see them listed. Ron ordered Chile rellenos. While we anticipated our gastronomic delights, a group of 6 xylophonists played in tandem. Six men playing in unison is a great feat and they performed superbly.

Hot plates were set in front of us. My enchiladas, note the plural, turned out to be a singular tostada. My culinary hopes vanished into thin vapors of steam coming off of my platter. Ron’s Chile rellenos was even more perplexing as it was sans the Chile. They must have stuffed the pepper, cooked it and then peeled the pepper off and tossed it.

Distracting us from disappointment were the dancers. Dressed in Mayan costumes complete with masks, they danced for fifteen minutes, the last 5 with audience participation. Once the show was over, we mourned our dinner another minute before paying the bill.