February 1-4.
At the tail end of the plunge we were dropped off on the side of a highway and pointed toward a departing bus to Antigua. We were pulled in through the back door because it was too crowded to go through the front. A very different wave of sound smashed into us: instead of the accordion and trumpet filled Mexican love songs we had been subjected to for the last three hours, this driver was blasting something modern and profane. And so we entered Antigua.
Huddled around our backpacks at the bus station we discovered Jessica's phone had been stolen or lost. All of us frazzled after a long journey and Jessica especially struggling to keep the ol' chin up, we faced another market maze. On the third attempt we made it through to the main streets of Antigua, and without too much difficulty found our hotel. There we had a happy reunion with our friends and with the showers.
If you've been reading Camina, Karli, and Rachael's blogs you know that more valuable items were stolen en route to Antigua.
We spent three days relaxing in the hotel and cafés, looking at old stuff, and debriefing. One afternoon we climbed a hill to earn a view of the city; too bad it was cloudy.
The best part of our last few days in Guatemala was just being together. Even after only three days apart during the plunge I missed the rest of the group. It was great to hear everybody's plunge stories and thoughts.
Given the historical context... not sure how I feel about this cross. But it gave us a nice Whitworth group photo.
Dana, our intrepid TA, provided us with a generous food stipend, and most of us had quetzales left over from our time in Xela. It wasn't worth exchanging the quetzales into dollars to take with us to Nicaragua, so we were left with cash to burn. That meant mochaccinos, overpriced souvenirs, and more coffee.
Delicious crepes were enjoyed at a restaurant with beanbags.
Professor Lindy treated us to Pops' ice cream as he had promised many times.
The downside to all the old buildings, statues, quaint streets, and adorable cafés was being a tourist. We were a large group of white people in a town that is designed to be attractive to gringos. After coming from Nebaj, where we literally counted the number of white people we saw on one hand, it was a little disturbing. Upon entering a restaurant or store we were greeted in English, the signs were mostly in English, the presence of sun hat wearing, pasty tourists was overwhelming. And we were one of them!
Antigua was pretty, very pretty, with museums and building ruins to tell of its rich history. But the culture felt like processed food soaked in preservatives. It was pretty but it wasn't the truth. The truth is that Guatemalan streets are scattered with corn husks, garbage, and dog poop. There are pot holes that will never be fixed and the roads are too narrow to comfortably accommodate pedestrians and cars alike. The truth is crowds of uniformed children walking home from school at lunch time, women carrying babies on their backs, gangs of shoe shine boys chasing each other around the park. It's a market full of people bartering in K’iche’ and Kaqchikel and buses crammed full of people but the assistants are shouting in Spanish trying to cram in more. Antigua wasn't that.
I went to one shop filled ceiling to floor with trinkets and ornaments. There were a few other tourists there and the owner asked if we spoke Spanish. Their guide or friend or whoever answered that they didn't. The owner then spoke to us all in broken English about her wares, just a few words, trying to be friendly and hopefully sell something. I told her my friends and I spoke Spanish, not wanting to be lumped in the same group as those other people, and boy did she smile. She went on and on about her wares, but after that we continued to chat and laugh. I could tell she was so happy to speak Spanish with customers, I imagine she doesn't get the chance all that often.
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