My mythical Mayan Pueblo #2 Went with a social worker to San Cristobal al Alto this morning, taking a road I walk past all the time on my way to the Project. This 5-mile road - almost all dirt, though fitted concrete blocks cover some especially steep parts - climbs the hillside maybe 1000' to a small pueblo which is the prettiest one I've seen. Unlike others, the road meanders a lot thru the pueblo, and the houses and tiendas are not just one long row of low concrete buildings or walls on either side of the road, painted different colors. There are gardens interspersed between the houses, some cultivated, some wild. The church is one of the least ornate I've seen....actually looks abandoned but is still in use on Sundays. The school appears to have about 3 classrooms. There is a medical clinic run by the government in a room of the school and a moderate-sized plaza between the school and the church. That's center of town. Along the - seems like just one main - road in the pueblo are several tiendas carrying the usual sorts of odd things, lots of wrapped penny candies, Ketchup, Corn Flakes, some bread rolls open in a case, next to a box of batteries, etc. The tiendas are jammed to the rafters but I am hard-pressed to say with exactly what. At one spot on our walk through town, a baby pig got out in the road and was chased or herded by me and several children (a sure sign that I'm going to like the place!) What was especially lovely [we're suddenly having an afternoon downpour in my pueblo and I hear the children playing in the plaza screaming and running for cover] is the view which you can see in places of Volcan Agua, pretty close, and in one direction of San Pedro (where I work in the school) and of Antigua in the other, way down below. Tan bonita! What was charming was all the gardens. Even at that altitude (probably 6000') lots of banana trees with huge leaves like elongated, slotted elephants' ears, many many Nispero trees (loquat), oranges, grapefruit, limes, corn galore, squash so verdant the vines were climbing 15-foot trees. The people are not really indigenous, there - no traje worn - but most are agricultural workers, some work in Antigua. The streets were mostly empty when we were there at 9-11 a.m. So most people were off at work. The woman we visited said the pueblo is very tranquil. Some danger from thieves if you walk down the hill by yourself, but otherwise no. As we drove in, the driver said an American lives there in a big house....no se' if it's year-round or occasionally, but it surprised me to hear this as it feels quite isolated up there. It was about a half-hour drive up the hill; maybe 12 mins. coming down. But there are actually busses that make it up that road, three times a day. That is phenomenal...I don't think I'd want to ride in one. Very steep and muddy. I asked a woman if there were houses for rent, because I was quite captivated, but she said she didn't think so. I can see that hill from my house as I sit here writing. I have such a strong craving to live in the country. My house here is surrounded by a nice cultivated garden and there are tall banana trees directly opposite my window, but it is not the same. It's just very difficult to do so, at least from my current vantage point. I think the only way it could happen is if a project has a small satellite somewhere and wants someone to "man" it....that way you have some status and protection....some raison d'etre. Otherwise I don't know how. And that particular place is a bit isolated from anything in Antigua, like my writer's group, or the mercado, or my salsa classes.But where there's a will...............there may be a way.
Volunteering yesterday a gringa speech therapist and I went to a home in a downpour of rain....up the narrow dirt path between barbed wire fences, the rain making a river of the path with just a 6" dry part....thru the scrap-wood gate (happy hollering kid in the rain opening the gate for us) and thru the filthy yard. I know there is nothing about poverty that requires a yard to be full of trash (except perhaps no $5 per month for trash pickup).....but this one is the worst I've seen. But a large yard, at this moment all mud....a few wet flowering plants, a banana tree or two. The house is two concrete block rooms without doors or windows and a kitchen area that is just an open shed with sink, woodstove and plank table. The five kids are all wet and dirty; we work with them (me doing a puzzle with the three boys to keep them occupied while the younger daughter gets speech therapy) in the kitchen/shed area. Can't remember if the floor is cement or dirt, I think cement, but there is no electricity, so we work in the very dim light on this grey day. The young dog hangs out under the table since he has discovered I pet him; his nose is constantly in my hand as the kids and I play. The boys are great. Their hair hasn't been washed in awhile and sticks out all over; their faces are very Mayan....although narrow, but high cheekbones, dark skin. They are fairly quiet and pretty cooperative with each other; they sort of ignore me, as many kids do because I don't speak a lot and not always well....but they get along well together and respond more to me as time goes on. The mother is small and dark, smooth hair, wearing American clothes, a sweater; she is quick in her movements........she reads to the other daughter and is generally good to her kids, but slaps if they displease her....and last time berated her daughter to tears for spilling something. I want to do some parenting but the speech teacher rightly says the mother hasn't agreed to this, and I don't have the language to do the adroit entries into suggesting this ("Perhaps you'd like some ideas for other ways of handling her behavior," or such as that.) It isn't that I can't say those things ("Tal vez quisieras unas sugerencias para otras maneras en que tu puedes mantener su comportamiento") but here in the quiet of my home it takes me a whole minute to think of it....and in the flow of rapid conversation in the home it's hard to stop everything for me to get it out clearly. But that will come. My sister suggested that I could live up in S.C. al Alto and still maintain my contacts here. That hadn’t occurred to me. Buses up and down for writers' group, salsa class, and spanish. I could speak to the alcalde of the town about a place to live and work. But I don’t feel the impulse to actually DO it. I suppose I could have a room in a house, rather than a whole house to myself, but that is not really my style. Thinking of the difficulty I have speaking to Maria and Tono, maybe we’re talking about six months from now. Maybe I won’t be doing writers’ group and salsa by then???
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