The end of my time here is fast approaching and there is still so much to do. Where as previously I felt like I had no where to go and all day to get there, now it is the opposite. Everyday with Maritza I hope to make some breakthrough that will make it all come together. The young Canadian that just joined us at the table has the same amount of time learning as I have, het he can actually communicate in español. Clearly--to me it seems--this does not came as easily at cincuenta y tres (53) as it does at veinticinco (25).
I have 7 appointments with the dentist this week. I don't want to lose any time I might be learning so I find myself almost running between the school and the dentist. Possibly Leslie made mention of the fact that last Sunday I found my new shoes to be unsuited for climbing mountains. No problem up but as soon as we began descending I could sense that there would be blisters forthcoming on the knuckles of my toes. I make it halfway down protecting them somewhat by walking descending sideways and sometimes backwards. It is terribly awkward but most of the group is ahead and Les and Jared seem to be taking their time behind me. Whey they notice they suggest that I try barefooted. At this point, that option makes some sense and the shoes come off to expose torn skin on 3 toes total. Now the tops of my feet enjoy a blessed respite while the bottoms take a beating. We get farther and farther behind the rest of our group. When we get to the bottom of the cone and to a path that is not so steep, I am able to put the shoes back on and with tolerable pain make it the last mile or so to the pickup where we all clamor into the back. My feet now hurt top and bottom.
So this week I am in sandals. I brought them thinking that possibly everyone wears sandals in this clime as in Thailand. But now, here only the bonafide Gringos wear sandals and I am chagrinned. At least I can point out the blisters on the top of my toes when anyone takes notice. In spite of my chagrin, I thank God that I have brought them.
Monday, Dr. Rivas deadens my teeth--I have three on one side that are badly broken or missing their caps altogether--and grinds holes into them that seem to descend to infinity. Tuesday midmorning I take Maritza with me. She is educated in English and understands the structure of grammar much better than I. But her ability to convey ideas in English is still somewhat limited. Dr. Rivas used some very simple English and between the 3 of us he can keep me informed and obediant. He sets titanium rods into the caverns and fills them with a plastic material to the height of what fragments of tooth he had
previously left standing. In one case he had to come higher than the existing tooth to provide enough height for the base of a new crown. Tuesday afternoon the plastic and remaining bits of tooth are one piece and he grinds them down to a height and shape that suits him and takes impressions. By 8pm he is finished. I have spent 7 hours in his office today.
I take note that my nose is rough and peeling. Jared notes that my neck is peeling. We have mirrors in Xela, and light, but never in the same place so I haven't noticed. They say you're never too old to learn. I learned something new this week. The sun gets more intense at higher elevations. When I take off my sandals I see stripes on my feet. Yep!
I continue taking as much time with Maritza as I can. I spend break time at our table trying to make sense of what she is trying to teach me. I miss all the break activities. I miss that Les and Jared have purchased cacao beans and are drying, roasting, grinding, extruding and finally making chocolate out of them. I catch snatches of it but never really grasp until Friday what they have done and learned.
Thursday at 10:30 finds me in the dentist's chair again. One last filling. Friday at 4 he sets the new teeth in place. He wants me to be excited. The teeth match poorly and look plastic. I am terribly disappointed. He tries to tell me that this isn't the final product but I miss it in the communication gap.
Les agress to come with me Friday at noon. I lay out my case before her and ask her to convey my disappointment to Dr. Rivas. This will be hard as in every other particular I have been beyond satisfied with his work. He takes his time. He has been so very patient as I harass him with questions that must suggest hat I question his competence. He is clearly a perfectionist and I appreciate it. I can relate to it. He brings out the new teeth and sets them in place. After having been in the kiln they are now shinier and no longer look plastic. The color has changed a bit and the match is better. He and Les must go back and forth for 5 or 10 minutes. He would be pleased to redo them. He wants me to be happy. But it's starting to dawn on me. His challenge is that my teeth are so badly worn that the enamel is gone on the flats of my teeth and the color there is considerably more yellow than the enamel. He has elected to match what will be seen when I open my mouth rather than the edges, which being molars, will never be seen except when I pull the edge of my mouth back to purposely expose them. His point is made and, though he encourages me to be sure--he can have the new ones done on Monday--I am satisfided. We all agree that being temporary teeth only, this is my best option. In the next year or 2 I will be having every tooth in my mouth capped. Then I can choose my color and everything will match perfectly. The glue is applied, the teeth are set. For the 1st time in 5 years I can seriously chew on that side. Wow!
I have to digress for a moment. Friday at break I get a surprise, two actually, Leslie and Jared's chocolate is superb, better than store bought. And missing every break has its consequenses. I am not aware that there is a graduation and Leslie won't let me stay on the roof where I have been studying. It turns out that every student is taken to the front of the group and is expected to say some words of acceptance. "If I had been here last Friday and not been off 'playing' I might have been somewhat prepared." Maritza has s aid nothing. Wouldn't you know it. They brought Maritza and me up first. Having not heard a single acceptance speech I don't have the presence of mind to say, "Gracias Maritza. Gracias Yaneth y Marivel." I stand there looking sheepish and, though the class encourages, not a single palabra en español escapes my lips. Maritza assures me later that she is not at all embarrassed. I haven't yet checked to see how badly I may have deflated Leslie's ego.
Back to the dentist at 4:30 I pick up my new nightguard that fits perfectly. A photo of everyone smiling. Lots of 'hasta luegos' and 'mucho gustos' and we are off to catch the bus for San Marcos.
Turns out that 5:30 on a Friday afternoon is not the ideal time to catch the bus out of town. We decline the first bus as we felt we might get a less crowded one if we wait. Number 2 & 3 are so full that they pass us by w/o stopping. By 6:15 we are prepared to take whatever we can get. The crowd at the stop gets larger and when a group starts to walk in the direction of the on coming busses we sense that a strategy is underfoot to get what remaining space there might be before us. We've been waiting the longest now and when a 2nd group breaks away, we follow. After walking 1k or so we find that we have supposed rightly. The 1st group hails the bus and by the time it stops for the 2nd group it is all we can do to crowd in. We pass the folks waiting at the bus stop without stopping. And yet, further down the road, the driver stops again.
Please take the time now for an excercise in comprehension. I'd like for you to mark off a square in your living room that is 5' x 5'. Now add some chairs to one side and halfway across the opposite side so that they intrude on your square by about 1' on each side. Now invite all your friends over for a fiesta and see how many people you can fit into this space. We are in an old Greyhound bus. If there are 15 rows of seats--buckets not benches-- there are 60 people sitting. Many of these seats have a child or 2 in them as well and we likely now have 70 people sitting. My best guess is over 30 but less than 40--say 35--people standing in the aisle. We have yet to add to these the people standing in the front of the bus--that area where in America, no one is allowed to be while moving. Steps, a small landing to the dash and a small package platform, 5' x 5'. How many people can you fit in this space? I can tell you how many paying passengers can be fit in Guatemala. Diecisiete. Yes, you understood that correctly. You can fit at least 17 paying passengers into the space that is off limits in an old Greyhound motorcoach. For 30 minutes you can do this. While the bus speeds up and makes sudden stops, swerves, and makes hairpin curves, goes up inclines and down declines of 15% grades, mas o menos--you can do this. While the singer on the radio sings, "Goodbye, my friend, it's hard to die,' you can do this. 120 people on a Greyhound bus. I wouldn't have believed it but I've seen it for myself.
Just as an aside. Today while walking in the mercado, I saw two police riding side by side, CHIP style, while one of them talked on his cell phone. No, not with an earbud. A flip phone held to his ear. Again, remember this is not America where the lanes are wide and the traffic predictable. This is tight traffic with no lane markers and vehicles and pedestrians moving between the lanes and between the cars opportunistically. It's hard to imagine what is left to impress me.
In San Marcos it is now dark. We walk a couple of blocks and find an acceptable hotel that has a room for 3 for 120Q - $15. This pleases us until we notice that the rack rate (apparently required to be posted as in some states on the back of the door) is 80Q for 3. Oh well. $5 won't break us. There is a panaderia just across the street and the various pans are bigger and less expensive and different than those in Xela. We buy several for tomorrow. We walk the street and sample the various street vendor offerings. We find hot chocolate and arroz con leche to be perfect for the occasion. Back to bed and by 9 we are all asleep.
Up at quarter till 5 we miss the 5:00 but catch the 6:00. Already the vendors are out and we find more hot chocolate and arroz con leche while watching a pickup being unloaded of various 100lb slabs of beef, including a large horned head--to the carneceria next door. Once on the bus it appears that we may be able to sit, but before we have left the city proper the seats are full and I am once again standing. The bus boy scrambles up to the top of the bus to load boxes and bags and baskets and then back down again. I am surprised a couple of times to have the door behind me swing open while the bus is moving at good speed and see the bus boy hop in. He couldn't be running that fast. He had to have swung over from the ladder. We are now on a main road but not the main road. This road is steeper and has tighter curves than the last one. The horn blazes as we approach tight curves as vehicles could not pass here. At 7am the bus stops at the lane leading to Tajumulco, the tallest point in Central America.
A kilometer up the lane we are accosted by a young family of niños--four of them--that want galletas, pan, any dulce. Les and Jared know the drill and decline but I am moved and crouch down, open my bag and share with them one of the tortes that we bought last night. It's only as I get to talking with Les and Jared that I realize I am not really feeding hungry kids, but rather encouraging their delinquency.
This climb is not as steep as Volcan Santa Maria but is longer. The view stretches incredibly as we ascend. What floors me most is that on opposite mountains we can see fair sized towns--pueblos--that are still above us. Whose eye is level, I don't know for sure. After 3 hours of climbing I still see them as above me though Jared assures me that we are above them. We have to wonder on what their economy might be based. I don't see and can't imagine agriculture at these elevations. Based on what we have read we expect to see robbers coming through the trees any moment but this never happens. We come across very few people on the climb. About where the cone begins we are
passed by 3 indigenous people--one, a lady of possibly 60 años.
At the top at 11:30 we rest and eat. We took the wrong trail near the top and the higher peak is close enough to hear a group of indigenous folk doing some sort of funeral or memorial service. When we have finished our lunch of pb&j sandwiches, pan and bananas, we drop down a hundred feet and then back up the higher peak, being careful not to disturb the small service. At the other peak we find ourselves on the rim of a crater in which there is a tapestry of names, etc written in carefully arranged white stones. There are two other groups of worshippers at various points around its perimeter. One of the groups finishes their service and gathers around me and another couple I have stopped to visit and plies us with questions about ourselves. They are extremely friendly with lots of squeezes and handshakes and 'mucho gustos' to go around. To see these dark, middle aged ladies in colorful skirts and purses and street shoes up here contrasted with us and our techy backpacks and several bottles of agua pura each, makes me feel silly. It's only later I learn that there is a road that comes up much closer to the summit and these people have not climbed half as far as we have. Oh well, I am now standing at [13,845ft] the highest elevation in my life thus far and likely in my future. It was tenous work but absolutely worhwhile.
We descend slowly. My feet and knees are limiting factors and, though Leslie is loath to admit it, she has a knee that is giving her trouble. We want to be careful not to turn a nuisance into a medical issue. We meet several groups of climbers on the way down. These people are paying several hundred Q each for guide and all the night stuff. We are pleased about our decision to go it alone. One guy observes my sandals and notes, "You are hardcore." I point to the blisters and tell him that if I wanted to climb a mountain today, this was the only. 3 hours from the top and we are on the cobbled road again. The kids come bounding out oftheir shack again asking for galletas but this time I reply, "no mas." They are insistant but so am I. As we leave them behind I hear them mocking me, "No mas, no mas."
On the trip back to San Marcos I try to sit so as to be able to actually see the steeps and the curves an the other sights that I have missed. For some of the time I am able but the courtesy that I know about letting the women, children and elderly sit 1st keeps me up much of the time. Sometimes I am able to squat to see outside. By the time we are to San Marcos, I am queasy. A cab ride to the other side of town for the Xela bus and we are on our way back home. The last hour is challenging. The bus is packed to the gills. I am higher than anyone else by 12" and am getting he hottest air. A couple of times I have to purposefully breathe and regain my composure. I have a plastic bag in my pocket just in case.
Finally we are in Xela and back on the street. A 20 minute walk back to our homestay does me good. Maria has a nice supper for us and gives me additionally a bowl of black bean broth. It makes the difference. In bed by 9, I sleep for a solid 8 hours.
Today, I believe, we are going to Chichicastenango--Chichi for short. It's supposed to have the best mercado around. I am looking forward. And... and... today, for the 1st time in a week... I am going to wear shoes!
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