11/11/08

I'm currently staying in Guatemala's old capital Antigua, under an hour from the country's current, pollution stained, charmless, Mcdonalds laden capital, Guatemala city. I've decided to take another much needed Spanish course, giving me time to send further applications to various countries as the time where I'll have to face reality and start work draws ever closer.

My last days in Oaxaca, celebrating the 'day (three days) of the dead' were a blast. After partaking in some Mexican traditions like listening to music in the cemeteries and some traditions closer to home like dancing badly to music whilst boozing, Felix and I got the opportunity to experience what very few other tourists would. One of his Mexican work colleagues lives in the remote town of Mazultapec, in the middle of the Oaxacan sticks. She invited us and another friend, Fiona to join her families/towns shindig.

A big brass band started it off in a back garden, all dressed as various monsters or clowns playing at a frantic pace whilst a raucous crowd, equally dress up, jumped around in mezcal fulled merriment. A stern looking Mexican, dressed in full cowboy suit moved in and out the crowd handing out beers and tequila. As soon as the band played what we learned to be the 'leaving tune', the crowd poured out the garden like beer from a upturned bottle, spilling into the street. From this the party turned into a procession that swaggered around the streets until choosing another garden to crash. This continued in twenty minute cycles, broken only when the procession came face to face with a rival procession on the street whereupon the bands would have a play-off, the most frantic claimed the win and continued off into the night. The lack of electric street lighting added to the strangeness along with adding a dense ceiling of stars. We soon noticed we were truly the only white people there and that this wasn't being done as a tourist attraction. We in fact were the novelty and were dragged in to dance or be ridiculed by the clowns.

I said my goodbyes on the Tuesday and slunk off into the night to catch the overnight bus to San Cristolbal for one night then on to catch a series of buses to Guatemala. I was welcomed to Guatemala by the border town of Le Mesilla which is one long, narrow road of market stools where anything (including cheep kitchen sinks) could be bought. Sellers were swarming on all sides of the rocking buss, giving the impression we were being passed along the street like crowd surfing our way to the exit.

Speaking of surfing, I'd decided to look into 'couch surfing', a website where people advertise there couch for people to stay on for a night or two and supposedly meet interesting travelers in exchange. After getting a few replies, I opted for an English teacher in Guatemala city named Harold as he offered a spare bed and room and the idea of waking up, having slipped down the back of someones sofa and playing guess the long lost objects didn't appeal. I did however decide to take up an offer of being shown the city on a Friday night by another CS, Chrissy as she'd lived there for three years.

Harold lives in a private road, with a shotgun wheeling guard at the end who scrutinises anyone who passes. Harold had to leave for a couple of hours, locking the 10ft iron gate behind him. Leaving me needing to contact Chrissy by the number she'd given me. This meant having to scale the gate and finding a pay-phone in a strange city at night. The iron gate clunked and creaked as I started to climb and I felt the eyes of the guard (shotgun in hand) burn into me. I hurriedly walked past with a plastered smile and gave a 'buenas noches', through a breaking voice. Found a nearby phone, made the arrangement then had to repeat the whole saga again, gate shaking back and fourth as I wobbled on top. I can only assume I was saved by my pasty gringo skin.

The next day Harold, his girlfriend (another Steffane) and I climbed Pacaya (an active volcano, an hour from the city). Guides were only taking people half way up due there being recent activity around the crater. Looking at it from a the safe altitude difference of 2,552m, it seemed fairly at peace with it's surroundings so we decided to take a closer peek at the peak.

Walking up the top section, a steep, charcoal black lava graveyard was the closest I'd felt to being on a different planet. The surface is brittle and razor sharp like dried sea corral and through it's lifeless features and twisting cracks, warm air rises, turning to mist as it meets the cool surface air. Approaching the crater I heard blasts of hot air firing to the sky and once reached, the blasts could be felt, shaking the ground and punching the air. Peeking over the edge inbetween blasts I saw the fiery glow of what lay beneath. I don't wear rings but if I did, the urge to throw one in, whilst reenacting a scene from Lord of the rings would have been too strong to resist.

Getting down was trickier then getting up and I spent most of the time sliding (both in and out of control) down the steep scree. The last hour back to the car was done in the dark and suddenly fire flies became visible, ambling across our path with their intermittent glow.

Antigua is a fascinating place. It's survived countless earthquakes over the years which has left most of the oldest buildings and churches half collapsed and are untouched for people to walk and climb around. Not only is the earthquake threat ongoing, it is surrounded by three Volcanos that are constantly viable for the colonial streets.

15/11/08

I experienced my first earthquake the other day (I say earthquake but it was more of a light tremor). I happened at school. As my teacher, an oldish woman around 5ft nothing simply held her tea cup steady, she had to convince me to release my white knuckled grip on the desk some minuets after it had passed.

It's a relatively small place and I managed to bump into a guy I met on the bus down a few times who also turns out to live in Oaxaca. Over a drink he told me he was a musician who made 'lounge music', he said he was traveling down to Machu Pcchu to record the ambient sounds of the air there. What he'll probably get is the sound of a tourist bus pulling up and the yells of a man selling 'authentic' Machu Pcchu peanuts but I didn't have the heart to tell him.

As my time here probably comes to a close, I'm wondering what to make my next stop which could be Nicaragua, El Salvador or Costa Rica but right now I just don't know.