martes, 8 de enero de 2008
where i am at...
where i am at, the beach runs east and west, so the sun rises on the left side of the beach and sets on the right side. we can sleep for $5 and eat for $1. sure we are not dining with the big boys, but we are filling our guts and moving on to the hammock, moving on to the next book.
one of the books i finished yesterday is called salvador by joan didion. she visited this country, in 1982 for two weeks during war time and wrote of a place where the interior was impenetrable and any perception could be dissolved into its reverse. she boarded her plane tense, nerves shivering. i, on the other hand read it on the buses and beaches of this country calmed by its kindness and waves.
true, i have not attempted to penetrate its interior. we entered in the south, first sliding down the mountain top chill of antigua, guatemala to the border where guards laid on their backs under palm trees, heads resting on guns. no one came rushing to help us
cross the empty space between countries. even the money changer with his wad of dollars simply asked from where he stood, if we wanted to exchange quetzals to american dollars, the money of el salvador since 2001. no line at immigration; no stamping of the passport; no one yelling, asking us where we are going; no one racing to guide us to their bus. this isn`t tijuana or tel aviv. it is the back door crossing between two central american countries no longer embedded in civil wars.
the pace is different here. i noticed it first in the communication between bus attendant and bus driver. in guatemala the "da le" becomes one syllable fired multiple times with a background of hand beating against metal casing. in el salvador, the "da le" almost stretches to three syllables with a possible precise whistle to follow. i haven`t yet witnessed the rushed beating of the bus. neither have they sped along the coast li
ne alert of the pressing competition from behind. but i have only been here for two days. and i haven`t gone far. and i probably wont during this trip.
there is a cold front we are insulated from here on this southern beach stretching between east in west. in the mountain region i wanted to explore it reached 2.9 degrees celsius. in veracruz mexico and tajumulco, guatemala there is snow. and in the latter there was a country wide black out last wednesday. i think we will stay put.
(off to buy some fruit and head back up the road to our sleepy sea side town, el zonte. we had to wait an hour and a half to catch a bus to come into this bigger town called la libertad to be able to use the internet and do a bit of food shopping, decided we needed more than bread, tortillas, beans and cheese in our diet.)
one of the books i finished yesterday is called salvador by joan didion. she visited this country, in 1982 for two weeks during war time and wrote of a place where the interior was impenetrable and any perception could be dissolved into its reverse. she boarded her plane tense, nerves shivering. i, on the other hand read it on the buses and beaches of this country calmed by its kindness and waves.
true, i have not attempted to penetrate its interior. we entered in the south, first sliding down the mountain top chill of antigua, guatemala to the border where guards laid on their backs under palm trees, heads resting on guns. no one came rushing to help us
cross the empty space between countries. even the money changer with his wad of dollars simply asked from where he stood, if we wanted to exchange quetzals to american dollars, the money of el salvador since 2001. no line at immigration; no stamping of the passport; no one yelling, asking us where we are going; no one racing to guide us to their bus. this isn`t tijuana or tel aviv. it is the back door crossing between two central american countries no longer embedded in civil wars.the pace is different here. i noticed it first in the communication between bus attendant and bus driver. in guatemala the "da le" becomes one syllable fired multiple times with a background of hand beating against metal casing. in el salvador, the "da le" almost stretches to three syllables with a possible precise whistle to follow. i haven`t yet witnessed the rushed beating of the bus. neither have they sped along the coast li
ne alert of the pressing competition from behind. but i have only been here for two days. and i haven`t gone far. and i probably wont during this trip.there is a cold front we are insulated from here on this southern beach stretching between east in west. in the mountain region i wanted to explore it reached 2.9 degrees celsius. in veracruz mexico and tajumulco, guatemala there is snow. and in the latter there was a country wide black out last wednesday. i think we will stay put.
(off to buy some fruit and head back up the road to our sleepy sea side town, el zonte. we had to wait an hour and a half to catch a bus to come into this bigger town called la libertad to be able to use the internet and do a bit of food shopping, decided we needed more than bread, tortillas, beans and cheese in our diet.)
jueves, 3 de enero de 2008
after reading china, lurching giant
it may be a painting or a poem or a phrase. santiago would know. whether created by colors or words, it is an image of a man painting a sinking ship. a puzzling image to contemplate, almost comical. a tragic comedy in which the tragedy is what i feel without a smile behind the scenes.
i walk in the sun and not the shadows. the wind is throwing down electric poles and the new year is here.
the chinese that stay home, the city dwellers, will destroy the image of "asians are smarter." not because their work habits or attitudes on education have changed, but because their blood lead levels are dangerously high. mental development of chinese children is at risk.
and where ever i have lived and worked, i have always wondered the same for the students i teach. in the cafe the other day, i overheard a handsome, older british woman explaining to a younger man that it is all about the environment. he (some psychologist i imagine) had proven that anybody could become a genius if provided a certain type of education. the young man offered no retort. my concern is the narrow definition of environment suggested by this woman. environment, lest education theorists forget, is not only "the social and cultural forces that shape the life of a person or a population," but "the air, water, minerals, organisms, and all other external factors surrounding and affecting a given organism at any time."
topographers come to casa guatemala to map the land. engineers come to build hydroponic green-houses that are too costly to run and instead becomes the best place to dry our clothes if it is not raining. i wonder if environmental health students have done a study of the surrounding area and the impact on the health of the inhabitants. if /when i have my own project, i would/will invite graduate students to complete a study on the land that is to be used to educate and feed not only children but people of all ages whose health and wisdom should be valued.
if we could just improve the education at casa guatemala, make the farm more organic and efficient, conduct an environmental study of the site, the isolated location would not be such a concern. of course, we would also have to reorganize so the children grow up more in family groups rather than in separate male-female boarding schools. the isolation of the dreamed "town for children" becomes highlighted in negative light when positive (often proven) ideas are not being imported to ignite the place with auto-catalytic creativity. this is theory talking, theory not bogged down with finding or fabricating funds to maintain the minimum of a large scale project.
i think i am against large-scale.
it may be a painting or a poem or a phrase. santiago would know. whether created by colors or words, it is an image of a man painting a sinking ship. a puzzling image to contemplate, almost comical. a tragic comedy in which the tragedy is what i feel without a smile behind the scenes.
i walk in the sun and not the shadows. the wind is throwing down electric poles and the new year is here.
the chinese that stay home, the city dwellers, will destroy the image of "asians are smarter." not because their work habits or attitudes on education have changed, but because their blood lead levels are dangerously high. mental development of chinese children is at risk.
and where ever i have lived and worked, i have always wondered the same for the students i teach. in the cafe the other day, i overheard a handsome, older british woman explaining to a younger man that it is all about the environment. he (some psychologist i imagine) had proven that anybody could become a genius if provided a certain type of education. the young man offered no retort. my concern is the narrow definition of environment suggested by this woman. environment, lest education theorists forget, is not only "the social and cultural forces that shape the life of a person or a population," but "the air, water, minerals, organisms, and all other external factors surrounding and affecting a given organism at any time."
topographers come to casa guatemala to map the land. engineers come to build hydroponic green-houses that are too costly to run and instead becomes the best place to dry our clothes if it is not raining. i wonder if environmental health students have done a study of the surrounding area and the impact on the health of the inhabitants. if /when i have my own project, i would/will invite graduate students to complete a study on the land that is to be used to educate and feed not only children but people of all ages whose health and wisdom should be valued.
if we could just improve the education at casa guatemala, make the farm more organic and efficient, conduct an environmental study of the site, the isolated location would not be such a concern. of course, we would also have to reorganize so the children grow up more in family groups rather than in separate male-female boarding schools. the isolation of the dreamed "town for children" becomes highlighted in negative light when positive (often proven) ideas are not being imported to ignite the place with auto-catalytic creativity. this is theory talking, theory not bogged down with finding or fabricating funds to maintain the minimum of a large scale project.
i think i am against large-scale.
martes, 1 de enero de 2008
dimension unknown
it didn´t look familiar and then it did, and then it didn´t. it definitely didn´t. but the attendant kept shouting ¡trebol, trebol!, so i knew i must be headed in the right direction, in a direction that would dump me at the "terminal" called trebol which is basically a merging of bus routes on two sides of a freeway. there is no building where a traveler enters, considers companies, times, services, and prices. no, there is no construction of sorts, just momentary convergence of red metropolitan buses and multicolored rural-bound buses.
we did arrive at the trebol and i knew it because the attendant was changing the signs on the long front window of the discarded american school bus, and everybody was getting off. but, i didn´t get that familiar sense of oh, this is it, or oh, just around the corner. instead, oh shit, was the sensation i couldn't shake. just when i thought i could sit back in my pride on the bumpy, yet known route back to antigua on public transportation. sure, i could have paid $15 for a a direct-tourist-bubble-shuttle, but i live here now, and this is what i must go through to learn about this place.
i make my way to the bridge that takes my up and over to the other side that looks a bit more familiar. however, all the buses only say GUATE-ESQUITLA or GUATE-SANTA. i walk a bit looking for the one that says GUATE-ANTIGUA, like yesterday. but here there are no direct buses to antigua from here, the young man tells me with his head down as if he is telling me a secret.but i know there are.
i just made this trip yesterday, i respond trying to see if he is lying. and he explains, like so many others, that he will take me to a place where i can transfer to a direct bus. either i trust, or i roam. and roaming in this seemingly chaotic crossing with that look of i don´t know where i am, nor do i know how to get to where i need to go, means i am a target. i conclude, it is better to be in a bus going somewhere.
i take a window seat in the sun and keep my eye on the young man who told me about the connection to make sure that he too will board the same bus. he does, and in five minutes, just like he said, we are off.
instead of cursing myself for not taking the 63 bus, but anyone that said trebol, i try to imagine this as a sunday drive in a new city where one inevitably gets lost, but then finds his/her way back home. it happens almost every sunday, somewhere. i comfort myself considering this as a random walk and mathematicians say that if i continue on my path i will "almost surely" make it back home, just like the drunk who "most certainly" will make it home from the bar. but, this isn´t a square city grid. then, i consider the concept that a given path in one direction and one in the other direction are equal, if the graph is regular. but what is regular?
we travel up and down out of the valley that houses the capital. we pass warehouse upon warehouse; factory upon factory, and i don´t know which are out of use and which are being built or which are abandoned projects like the statures of easter island still sitting in the quarry. guarded subdivisions on one side reveal hope for some and grafitti on the other side reveals the critique of others: ¿por qué gobiernan los ricos si los pobres son la mayoria?
i do my normal looking for land marks, making sure we are heading toward the volcanoes. I check the signage of buses going the other direction, assuring myself that the Q50 in my pocket could take me back to guatemala city and out again, if it comes to that. there is an element of reversibility, since we are not following the signs to villa nueva where this year, 80 families left their homes because of gang member harassment. esquitla, my transfer, would be 36 kilometers away, if we didn´t get off the freeway to pass through the town of palin where the mayor was reelected recently and his house and municipal building burnt in response.
after passing not one, but two water parks, i see the mcdonalds and make my way to the front of the bus to wait for instructions for my next move. it is when the attendants guide me as an older brother or uncle, even as the bus slows, but never stops, and i jump, and they shout, que le vaya bien, that i feel bad that i ever doubted them.
and now i am with others in a standing room only, back-door-still-open direct bus to antigua. after the sister of the kid with the greasiest hair and the biggest brown eyes that won´t stop looking at me, give me their seat, i can observe the terrain again. it soon reminds me of california wine country with tourist buses twisting through golden hills and spanish hacienda walls enclosing the goods. but this is coffee country during harvest season, and the smell of separated coffee berries rotting like sweet diarrhea, doesn´t let you forget it, doesn´t make you want to stop for a tasting.
but we soon stop and it is the market. it is antigua entered from behind the volcano on a new road i will explore tomorrow.
after rehydrating with a 75 cent papaya, banana, and pineapple shake, i flop on my new twin sized bed laughing to myself. it is 3:00 in the afternoon, and it seems as if santigao left days ago when he is in fact only ten minutes in the air headed south to head north. and i don´t know how to answer the señora of the hostel regarding when i will see him again. how to explain that we both are on our own random walks, or maybe we are birds who forever wander in the sky, never to find our nests.
note: trebol in spanish means three leaf clover
30 deciembre, 2007
we did arrive at the trebol and i knew it because the attendant was changing the signs on the long front window of the discarded american school bus, and everybody was getting off. but, i didn´t get that familiar sense of oh, this is it, or oh, just around the corner. instead, oh shit, was the sensation i couldn't shake. just when i thought i could sit back in my pride on the bumpy, yet known route back to antigua on public transportation. sure, i could have paid $15 for a a direct-tourist-bubble-shuttle, but i live here now, and this is what i must go through to learn about this place.
i make my way to the bridge that takes my up and over to the other side that looks a bit more familiar. however, all the buses only say GUATE-ESQUITLA or GUATE-SANTA. i walk a bit looking for the one that says GUATE-ANTIGUA, like yesterday. but here there are no direct buses to antigua from here, the young man tells me with his head down as if he is telling me a secret.but i know there are.
i just made this trip yesterday, i respond trying to see if he is lying. and he explains, like so many others, that he will take me to a place where i can transfer to a direct bus. either i trust, or i roam. and roaming in this seemingly chaotic crossing with that look of i don´t know where i am, nor do i know how to get to where i need to go, means i am a target. i conclude, it is better to be in a bus going somewhere.
i take a window seat in the sun and keep my eye on the young man who told me about the connection to make sure that he too will board the same bus. he does, and in five minutes, just like he said, we are off.
instead of cursing myself for not taking the 63 bus, but anyone that said trebol, i try to imagine this as a sunday drive in a new city where one inevitably gets lost, but then finds his/her way back home. it happens almost every sunday, somewhere. i comfort myself considering this as a random walk and mathematicians say that if i continue on my path i will "almost surely" make it back home, just like the drunk who "most certainly" will make it home from the bar. but, this isn´t a square city grid. then, i consider the concept that a given path in one direction and one in the other direction are equal, if the graph is regular. but what is regular?
we travel up and down out of the valley that houses the capital. we pass warehouse upon warehouse; factory upon factory, and i don´t know which are out of use and which are being built or which are abandoned projects like the statures of easter island still sitting in the quarry. guarded subdivisions on one side reveal hope for some and grafitti on the other side reveals the critique of others: ¿por qué gobiernan los ricos si los pobres son la mayoria?
i do my normal looking for land marks, making sure we are heading toward the volcanoes. I check the signage of buses going the other direction, assuring myself that the Q50 in my pocket could take me back to guatemala city and out again, if it comes to that. there is an element of reversibility, since we are not following the signs to villa nueva where this year, 80 families left their homes because of gang member harassment. esquitla, my transfer, would be 36 kilometers away, if we didn´t get off the freeway to pass through the town of palin where the mayor was reelected recently and his house and municipal building burnt in response.
after passing not one, but two water parks, i see the mcdonalds and make my way to the front of the bus to wait for instructions for my next move. it is when the attendants guide me as an older brother or uncle, even as the bus slows, but never stops, and i jump, and they shout, que le vaya bien, that i feel bad that i ever doubted them.
and now i am with others in a standing room only, back-door-still-open direct bus to antigua. after the sister of the kid with the greasiest hair and the biggest brown eyes that won´t stop looking at me, give me their seat, i can observe the terrain again. it soon reminds me of california wine country with tourist buses twisting through golden hills and spanish hacienda walls enclosing the goods. but this is coffee country during harvest season, and the smell of separated coffee berries rotting like sweet diarrhea, doesn´t let you forget it, doesn´t make you want to stop for a tasting.
but we soon stop and it is the market. it is antigua entered from behind the volcano on a new road i will explore tomorrow.
after rehydrating with a 75 cent papaya, banana, and pineapple shake, i flop on my new twin sized bed laughing to myself. it is 3:00 in the afternoon, and it seems as if santigao left days ago when he is in fact only ten minutes in the air headed south to head north. and i don´t know how to answer the señora of the hostel regarding when i will see him again. how to explain that we both are on our own random walks, or maybe we are birds who forever wander in the sky, never to find our nests.
note: trebol in spanish means three leaf clover
30 deciembre, 2007
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