Last Week in Antigua

This part of my Guatemalan journey came to an end this week. My teacher, Silvia, introduced the future tense and had me use it in different kinds of formats, but mostly we simply had conversations - which I find the most helpful. As I'm struggling to speak, she will correct me quietly while also encouraging me to proceed, and then she will speak about something a little more quickly, in order to improve my comprehension - slipping in the new words we had been studying. It's a very effective method that may even be called enjoyable.

On Tuesday, I was invited to Chata's house (see previous blog) for almuerzo (lunch). Her son, Joshua, picked me up with his two girls, and I spent the next 90 minutes or so with Chata's family. There was another American who had been invited, a student of Joshua's wife, who also teaches English. Because it was her birthday, it was a very festive meal with other relatives and friends in attendance. As it turned out, there were three birthday cakes, two of them brought by a couple of the guests.

This was a nice way to round out my experience in Guatemala, since clearly Chata and her family were more like the "typical" family of the town. It was a simple home with extended relatives living there and everyone working at some sort of job. Even Chata had opened a small store out of her front room facing the street. Lots of kids around, and a comfortable family atmosphere. The lunch was carefully prepared and appreciated by everyone. Between my limited Spanish and those who spoke English, everyone communicated just fine.

At the end of the meal, I took a picture of the whole family in their backyard, which abuts a coffee plantation. They have access to the larger property, since there is no fence, and therefore the kids have a huge "backyard" in which to play. Joshua hopes to build an addition to the house in the near future so that they can have Spanish students staying with them (64 language schools in Antigua), which would provide another source of income for the family.

The rest of the week went by quickly, and soon it was Friday evening. The Brothers had a small "fiesta" or social before dinner in my honor. I'd figured that something like that might happen and had prepared some remarks in Spanish. The tradition seems to be that prior to starting the party, the Director makes some remarks and then invites the person being honored to do the same. I just hope that what I said made sense, since I hadn't had a chance to check it with any native speakers. I either thanked them for their hospitality or told them that I would be going to the hospital. In any case, they seemed to smile and nod enough to indicate that they understood my intent.

We had a couple of guests from Chicago that evening as well. They were part of a foundation that supports the education of poor kids in the Americas and had been involved with Br. Francisco and schools in the District for some years, especially the school in Nestor (way in the boonies). Most of the people involved were retired professionals who wanted to do charitable work that required some sort of sacrifice and personal effort. Clearly, they were getting at least as much out of their efforts as their beneficiaries.

Later on, after dinner, Steve brought out his guitar and began singing and playing all sorts of songs and musical styles. He's very talented in both his guitar playing and in the variety of songs that he's learned by heart, and soon we were singing songs from the 40's and 60's and beyond. His passion is playing and singing, and it's clearly a "vocation" for him. His father always listened to John Denver - so he had that repertoire down cold - and he had a singing voice very much like John Denver's, clear and pure. We were all taken by his performance, joining in when we recalled the words - or rather singing in semi-fragments of phrases with sung mumbles in between. After he finished, Br. Francisco brought out his guitar and we finished the evening with a bunch of fine Spanish songs, throwing in a couple of popular Mexican tunes that have world-wide appeal.

Subsequently, I spent several hours packing up my stuff. Amazing how my suitcase seems to have shrunk! Everything was able to be packed into my two bags, but it was a tight squeeze. Even so, I left a couple of things for the Brothers there to use as they saw fit. Early the next morning, at 4:00 AM, I was standing outside of the house on the street waiting for the minibus that would take me to the airport in Guatemala City. Sounds from one of the bars around the corner could still be heard, but generally the place was quiet and abandoned. A good, quiet, semi-reflective way to end my very happy stay in Antigua.

Now it was on to Miami and NYC, where Br. Peter Killeen met me outside of JFK for the ride to Manhattan College. But that's another story.

This Antigua experience has been one of the highlights of the summer. I was able to learn a bit of Spanish and learn much about the Brothers and the people of Guatemala. If possible, I'd like to come back in another summer to study some more. The key now is to practice, practice, practice. So if you see me at some point, feel free to speak Spanish to me. I'll probably greet that with wide eyes, a wane smile, and a halting attempt to reply in Spanish. But know that this is a good thing, a helpful thing, and finally the needed thing. You can stop speaking Spanish when I'm completely spluttering in some sort of Spanglish mix and you can no longer understand my attempts at either language. It means that I've stretched just a bit further, and education is in process.

Welcome to the world of learning. Thanks for being part of my school.

For more pictures, see below. Click on the show to go through the individual photographs with their captions.

Fifth Week in Antigua

If there might be such a thing as a "normal" week, this would pretty much have been it. The primary tasks of the week remained the primary tasks; i.e., learning Spanish. All through the week, my teacher and I worked our way into the world of past participles, those time-based expressions that we so often take for granted.

This is where grammar is at its best, helping one to understand why and how those things that we simply do and take for granted when we speak actually happen. As youngsters, we learn meanings and senses and expressions that describe a host of different perspectives - have, had, might have, should have had, etc. - and we don't really give them a second thought. It's only when you have to build that sense from scratch that their complexity reveals itself. Sort of like looking at something through a stereo-scope; all of a sudden you realize that its all way more complex than you once thought. And if that's simply the hint from the world of science and linguistics, imagine what real and hidden complexities may lie in areas such as human relations, morality, and practical theology.

One nice experience during the week was to take the class "on the road" and fulfill a promise I'd made to Gery Short, from the DLSI office of education, to find "Chata", someone with whom he, his son, and his son's friend lived for three months some six years ago when they came to Antigua to study Spanish. I had a name, a description of her house, her step-father's name, and a photograph. But that was it. My teacher and I set out to discover where she lived today. We used the most popular method for finding someone in Antigua - just ask around and follow those leads.

In the morning on Tuesday, we went to a house near the Colegio that had been described to us as her former dwelling. We knocked several times, and finally an elderly lady came to the door and Sylvia was able to learn that Chata had moved to another part of town, although she didn't know specificly where in that part of town she currently lived. But it was a start. We walked to that part of town and asked at a small store (tienda) and some ladies on the street who were waiting for a bus. After a couple of tries, we were directed in a direction "over there" - that was as specific as they could get. Once we got "over there" we asked again at a small tienda on the street, and this time we directed several streets down. Her place was at the end, we were told, although I didn't quite know what "at the end" really meant. But once we got to that street, we noticed at the very end that was a building with a window in it, and a lady in window was speaking to a man in the street. The closer we got, the more it seemed as if that lady might be the person we'd been looking for, based on the photograph from six years earlier.

We arrived at the building, but the lady looked at us suspiciously, although friendly. When I told her who I was and asked her if she knew Gery Short, her face lit up and she named Gery's son Joseph and Joe's friend, Teo. She invited us into her home and we spent a very nice 30 minutes talking about their time in Antigua, what she was doing now, and the like. Her son is now a driver for a tour company and out of town, but she hoped that when he returned I might come over for dinner with her and her family. I left the cell phone number of one of the Brothers and I'll likely know tomorrow if this dinner will still come about. In any case, it was great to meet her and to deliver the gifts and notes from Gery. Plus, along the way, I kept learning new Spanish words and phrases, practicing my halting conversation in Spanish with my teacher and with others.

Several times during the week, I walked around town in the afternoons after my classes, usually ending up at the mercado, which I find to be a fascinating mix of humanity. Although hectic, it has its own tranquility about it. The people there are comfortable and relaxed in their element. They are also friendly and helpful, although of course they would like to make a sale. And it appears that they don't mind bargaining at all; in fact they rather enjoy it. In the end, everybody leaves satisfied. However, I don't think this method would work quite as well at Macy's.

I had also come to know one of the street artists, Gerardo, who sits in the same spot every day on the main street in Antigua (where the arch is) and whose work I found better than most. At one point, I asked him to do a watercolor of Mont La Salle, based on some drawings and photographs that I was able to print out, and he was happy to do so (for a very reasonable price). This will make a nice memory of my time in Antigua.

At the end of the week, on Sunday, Br. Francisco told me he would be going to Huehuetenango for the funeral of the mother of Br. Benjamin, a former Visitor of the province. I asked to go along and he was happy to have the company. It's 95 miles as the crow flies, and on these roads it takes about 2.5 to 3 hours, but since it was a Sunday, the traffic was light and we zipped right along. Along the way, we stopped at a roadside restaurant for lunch, choosing the local dish - a sort of rich chicken soup with guacamole, rice, a hefty section of chicken, and a boiled egg. Very rich and delicious. Outside, a marimba group played throughout lunch, the music drifting in through the windows. I remember thinking: "This is a nice, authentic piece of the Guatemala experience." We crossed a mountain pass at close to 10,000 feet - called "Alaska" by the locals - and saw some wonderful sights of mountain towns and villages in the distance. At one point, I could see clouds below us, covering various valleys.

When we got to Huehue, I met Br. Fernando at the community associated with the Colegio La Salle there. He took us for a brief and quick tour around downtown prior to the burial service at the cemetery. We especially visited Casa Miller, a school for indigenous youth dedicated to Br. James Miller, FSC, who was shot in front of the school in 1982 as he was painting the wall, most likely by plain clothes military personnel. (Link) His story is now well known to most of the Lasallian world, and his name was added to a list of 70 martyrs that were presented to Pope John Paul II when he visited the area last.

We were shown the exact place where he had been on the day he died, along with a bulletin board filled with photographs from the event and the shirt that he had been wearing at the time - with the bullet holes clearly present. The whole thing was rather sobering and a good reminder of the state of the country in the early 1980's when civil war and genocide were the common experience. The school remains a schools for indigenous youth and includes a dormitory for those kids (17 at the present time) who cannot commute from their homes on a regular basis.

After a quick visit to the cathedral, we walked to the cemetery (located very close to the school) where several Brothers were already waiting. After another 20 minutes or so, a procession came walking down the street and the mourning part arrived. One thing that was different from my experience with funerals in the past was that the casket what borne by a group of women who had been family, friends, or acquaintances of the deceased. It was the first time that I'd seen a group of women as pall-bearers - and who really did carry the coffin.

The cemetery is above-ground and quite colorful. It reminds me of the cemeteries in New Orleans. There are many plastic flowers or wreaths. Compared to the noises in the streets outside, the inside is tranquil and peaceful. No grass or plants, but still a quiet atmosphere.

The casket was brought to the crypt where it was set down for a short 10-minute service led by some of her sons, including Br. Benjamin. Then, while those attending sang several songs, different men in the crowd came forward to hoist the coffin above their heads and insert it into the crypt, after which everyone stayed while workmen sealed the crypt with mortar and bricks. Only at the end, after singing the Salve Regina, did people begin to drift away.

After the funeral, there was a short time for conversation among the Brothers, but then it was time to return to Antigua. There were 18 Brothers who attended the funeral, many of them from the Guatemala City area, and it would be a lengthy journey back. On the way back, evening fell and pretty soon we were driving in the dark. Lower down from "Alaska" there was quite a bit of construction, usually indicated by a quick sign and some rocks (no lights on the highway at all) telling us to move into the other double-lane road and share the road with oncoming traffic. At one point, lights from a big-rig trailer and some cars hit us in such a way that we briefly went off the side of the new pavement (a drop of some six inches), veering away but then coming back onto the road. Luckily, we didn't lose control of the car, although we were going quite fast.

However, another 200 feet and we could hear the results of this little mishap - a flat tire. Brother Francisco moved to the side of the road and confirmed it. So here we were in the middle of Guatemala on a dark highway with a flat and no AAA in sight or available. There was only one thing to do, of course, change the flat. Brother Francisco called some of the other Brothers who were driving back and soon we had a whole gaggle of Brothers helping us out. Prior to their arrival, it took Francisco and I a while to figure out how to get the jack out of the back of the car. (I finally looked it up in the manual; desperate times call for desperate measures - even in Spanish.) After about twenty minutes, we had the tire changed and were back on the road.

The current Visitor, Br. Cecilio, had suggested that we all meet at a restaurant along the road for an evening meal, and so some time later we were upstairs in a roadside restaurant enjoying a meal in the company of the 10 or so other Brothers. Needless to say, we returned to our community in Antigua rather later than expected, although not ridiculously so. As Francisco said at the end, it was buena adventura. And so it was.

For those who are curious about the Brothers house here, I made a short video some weeks ago of both where the house is and what it all looks like. If you go to this link, you will be able to see it. However, it's password protected, and I'll remove the video in a month or so. The password is "antigua1".

The slideshow below has more of the pictures that I took. Click on the show to go through the pictures yourself and to read some of the captions.

Fourth Week in Antigua

This was the fourth week in Antigua for both of us, but it was the last week for Br. John. And it was a short week. Last Monday (July 25th) was the day that Antigua celebrated its original name day - St. James, or Santiago - and all the schools in town were closed, including the language schools. But there was plenty going on in town.

Two of the major public events were the two parades, one in the morning and the other in the late afternoon. The morning one was the very long one, with all the schools of the city represented through bands, student groups, pious displays, the equivalent of prom queens and kings, along with a host of other things. Seeing Miss Teen Antigua in the plaza that morning, Br. John commented on the dubious privilege of competing so as to be able to walk through cobble-stoned streets in high-heels. It's clear that this whole thing is a long-standing occasion and everyone gets into it. All the students from Colegio La Salle lined the main street during the parade, with their logo wear quite prominent, cheering on their band and generally having a good time.

That evening, another approaching band drew my attention and I went outside to investigate. The shorter evening parade was approaching. Led by dressed-up characters and representatives of the society overseeing the parade, this was a giant float with the statue of Santiago, taken from his normal location in the cathedral and placed on this 1000 lbs. platform. Those carrying the float looked to be students from various schools, and they would switch out with another group after going a certain distance. The whole thing took very careful planning and supervision, since it was like moving a schoolbus-sized float with 40 drivers. But it went off without a hitch, with the civic band bringing up the rear and breaking out into a Souza march every now and again.

Br. John had a new teacher this week, Mercedes, and so he planned to attend school on Tuesday. Br. Francisco had invited us to join him and Julio for a trip to Lake Atitlan, since Tuesday was a holiday for the school. I decided to go along, using my rule: "Do that which you would most regret not having done later." I don't follow the rule all of the time, but this time I did and I'm glad I did.

We left very early in the morning and drove north. Along the way we stopped at a popular road-side restaurant for a traditional breakfast. Inside, I was reminded of a lodge in Yosemite. In the corner, but fairly prominent, were two ladies who were making tortillas without stopping. And when you received your tortillas, you could tell that they were right from the grill. It was a fine way to begin the day.

After a lot of driving, the lake was in front of us and we stopped to admire the view and to take a few pictures. Every nook and cranny along the road had vendors lined up, ready to sell you something. But they were nice enough and after a while we simply drove on to our destination, Panajachel, one of the lakeside towns. The place was real busy around the market, but the beach area was practically abandoned. Apparently, the action doesn't really begin until later in the day, and this tourist season hasn't been all that good anyway. We parked the car and were immediately offered a place to eat, a boat ride, a tour, whatever. Francisco and Julio are pros at this and simply feigned some interest.

After speaking with one man, we were led to one of the private boats and they negotiated a price to travel across the lake. If we'd taken the "public" boat, it would have taken half a day to get to Santiago Atitlan, our destination, since that boat stops at every town along the lake (and there are 12, with all of them - except Panajachel - named for the apostles). It was great to have a private ride across the lake on a wonderful day with a steady breeze and a great temperature. The lake was practically deserted, with only the occasional boat far away.

On the other side, we made our way into Santiago Atitlan, where we spent some time wandering the little streets, stopping by various vendors, and generally enjoying the atmosphere. We visited the ancient parish church, dating back to the early 1500's, where an American priest was martyred some 25 years ago and is still remembered and venerated. One of the photographs I took includes a lens flare that appears above the banner of him that hangs outside the church. Inside, even though it was morning, a number of people were praying. The place was still decorated for the feast of Santiago, since that had also been their patronal feast the day before. Outside, a carnival had been set up for the evening's activities.

Gradually we leisurely made our way back to the dock and from there back across the lake. The gas for the outboard motor ran dry in the middle of the lake, but the boat operator had an extra can of gasoline handy. It would have been an interesting adventure to be marooned in the middle of Lake Atitlan for a while. Once back on the other side, we drove back to Antigua, stopping at another restaurant for our lunch. This one was also quite impressive - although very reasonably priced - with a wide open kitchen when you walk in, and seating areas radiating out from that central kitchen. We returned to the community in good time to have a short siesta before evening prayer.

Classes continued as usual as the week progressed. Yes, that is the main reason I'm here, but it makes dry reading for a blog. My understanding of Spanish is improving bit by bit, especially when my teacher is able to make connections between a variety of word forms or sentence structures. It's those kinds of relationships that I find most helpful. Not that I think about those rules all the time, but I believe that for adults, rules or relationships provide a supportive structure around which we can build our conversation journeys. That's what's working for me right now, anyway.

On Thursday, John and I and our teachers were invited to join a group going to a local pueblo called San Juan del Obispo, where there is a convent that used to be the bishop's residence and where there are many shops and craft tiendas. So we decided to take the class on the road. Each of us continued to talk with our teachers, and they continued to teach us, only now using the experience itself as the basis for our conversation.

I thought that we were going to take a camioneta again, but instead an apparently full van stopped and we were all urged to stuff ourselves into it. The place was a sardine can, but it seemed to work. I counted 25 people in that converted van, all quite cozy (if you like that sort of thing). Thankfully, the journey was short and soon we piled out near the old convent and had a tour from one of the sisters there. After the extensive tour, which included the preserved rooms of the former archbishop, we were led to a nearby house where the man made wines out of various fruits. We were urged to take samples, but John and I decided not to participate. (We were prejudiced for the grape, don't you know.) That little visit took a while, but gradually we left and went to another house where the proprietor was the third generation to make chocolate from scratch. She showed us the entire process, complete with samples, and many of us ended up buying chocolate blocks. Who can resist?

The final stop was at a carpenteria, which took a little searching. At the time, they were making bookcases and serving trays. One of the workers gave a complete description of the process (in Spanish, of course, always in Spanish) while John wandered around the shop like a kid in a candy shop. He's a long-standing woodworker and enjoyed being in his element. He asked questions, tried some of the tools, and checked out the wood. His judgment: a pretty good place. Then it was back to school in a real, relatively roomy camioneta and on to the afternoon classes.

On Saturday, John had arranged for the two of us to take the bird-watching tour at Filadelphia, a local coffee plantation that is covers over 650 acres of the valley and hillsides, reaching way up into the cloud forests above Antigua. We were picked up at 5:00 AM outside of our door and spent the subsequent 7.5 hours wandering around their very impressive property (coffee factory, 5-star hotel, restaurant, recreation facilities, horses, etc.). Our guide, Roberto, was an avid bird watcher himself. As he was driving he would often stop and point out a bird he'd noticed from the cab. The other passenger was Carlos, our guard. Against what, I don't know.

Every once in a while we would stop and walk around a bit, waiting for birds or following their songs in the hopes of seeing one. We heard many more birds than we saw. Both Roberto and John could pick out particular species simply by their song. I thought their music was nice but often could go no further. We spent a good deal of time at an observation deck that doubled as a restaurant on the weekends, and later on went up into the high country (8,300 feet) and the cloud forest. Lots of lush vegetation there, along with natural orchids, dense undergrowth, and chiggers (more later). We would walk the paths or follow the songbirds, gratified with just a peek of one of them. John thought it was great simply to be able to see so much of the property and the natural surroundings.

The following day, and especially today, the evidence of that journey is tattooed on the lower half of my body. The chiggers (or niguas, as they call them here) have implanted themselves in about 100-150 places on my skin. They're less than a millimeter big, so you can't really see them. But I can sure see the evidence of their presence - worse than mosquito bites and itchy / painful to a significant degree; reminds me of poison oak. Apparently, this will last for two weeks with the main symptoms lessening after 3-4 days. All I know is that right now it's almost impossible to sleep, let alone lie down. But I'll spare you the gruesome details. Suffice it to say that next time, if there is a next time, that I go somewhere "natural" or with tall grasses, I'll take all my clothing and wash it immediately after such a trip, along with taking other measures.

On Saturday evening, we went to Mass next door at La Merced. Right next door, at the arch, they were having a political rally with music, speeches, bombas, and everything else thrown in. It was a rather interesting experience of our contemporary church to have the priest drowned out occasionally by loud explosions, music, and speeches. Thankfully, the homily was short. Afterwards, we were in time to see the fireworks, which were sent up from the street. OSHA would have had a field day.

On Sunday, we had a goodbye party for John. That afternoon, he had taken the community out for lunch - we took a community photo on the street along the way - and that evening the Brothers decided to have a little fiesta for him. It was a fine evening affair outside along the courtyard of the house, with the sharing of favorite songs, stories, and the like. Between the Spanish we knew and the Spanish that we should know, we did just fine.

This morning, at 5:00 AM, John was picked up outside of the house and brought to the airport for his journey home. We said hasta la vista and that was that. It was great to travel here with him and to share our time together in Antigua. Now we just have to speak Spanish to each other when we're both back in Napa.

For more photos than you might like, with their captions, click on the slideshow below:

A Weekend in Tikal - Guatemala

Part of our humanity seems to be our capacity to be inspired beyond our expectations, and while this may happen more frequently than not, it still seems to be new every time it happens. The trigger could be a daily scene, an encounter with a set of puppies, a stirring verbal exhortation, or an amazing natural vista. They are each unique catalysts towards an integration of sights, sounds, feelings, history, and thoughts that soon swell into a "something more" than we thought possible. And since each is utterly unique, comparison is fruitless and simply unimportant.

Our visit to Tikal was one such experience during our stay here in Antigua. It's an experience that also seems to require very early rising, by the way. On Saturday morning, we were standing in front of the house in Antigua at 4:00 AM in the early morning darkness and almost complete silence, with just a dog wandering down the street, a passing police truck whose occupants waved to us (I'm sure they knew exactly what we were about), and a couple of weaving men at the corner having a cigarette and gesturing to one another. After a couple of minutes of standing, a tour van appeared and soon enough John, myself, and the other passenger (Lindsey) were on our way to Guatemala City and the early morning flight to Flores, the nearest town to Tikal.

Thankfully, TAG airlines had facilities on the other side of the Guatemala City international airport, so we were saved from long lines. There were no seat numbers, just a boarding pass with a 1, 2, 3, or 4 on them. An hour or so after arriving, our group was called and directed to a small plane - open seating. Then it was off into the air, the little plane slewing from side to side, and the 45 minute flight to Flores. Once there, the helpful taxi drivers and hotel drivers outside the terminal pointed us to the person with the "Tikal Inn" bus, and an hour later (he had to wait for another flight) we made the 90-minute drive to the park, with "Nixon" our tour guide talking most of the way in Spanish and in fairly good English.

At the Tikal Inn, within the park itself, we checked into our little cabana by the pool and settled in. The "regular" tour would begin 20 minutes later and go for 3-4 hours, visiting 70% of the park. Then the afternoon and following day were meant to be for visiting local shops and the like. The other option, which we chose, was to "upgrade" to an evening tour and an early morning tour, covering the park at a more leisurely pace and avoiding the crowds (600 people on average per day). Since John was particularly interested in watching birds, the evening tour was the better option.

There was no regular electricity at the Tikal Inn, but the generator was run in the early mornings and from 7:30 - 10:00 PM at night. While most of the group went on tour, John and I wandered around the property, he looking for birds and myself checking out the visitors center and buying a floppy hat for the hot, humid, insect-happy environment. The midday meal was provided as part of the package, and here we were well surprised. The food was exceptional in every way. Nothing fancy, but very fresh and well-prepared. From what I could tell, they use orange and lime juice more than we might, and that makes a big difference. It's a fine place to stay, especially since in the park itself. (Tikal Inn Website) After lunch, a bit of siesta and then the tour.

Our tour commenced around 4:00 PM, and the nine of us on the tour met Abel in the lobby. He was a very interesting character, clearly knowledgeable and of wide experience. He spoke loudly and had a somewhat aggressive personality, although very polite and solicitous of everyone in the group. We ended up being with him for some seven hours total, so I think most of us became used to his ways. He'd grown up at Tikal, had studied accounting, had returned after the civil war - where he'd lost some siblings and been in jail - and had become a tour guide. He said he was too lazy and preachy to be anything else at this point.

The tour experience was well laid out, staring with innocent enough things (crocodile pond nearby, scale models of Tikal, nearby vegetation) and moved to some of the smaller, half-repaired parts of the site. Gradually, we came to the big stuff. And these were impressive. You would see them from a bit away, jutting up out of the canopy - everyone froze in their tracks to take their first photographs. Then we'd approach more slowly, turn a corner, and there they were in all their ruinous grandeur. As we moved along, Abel would point out things in the jungle, tell us about Mayan history, pick up obsidian nuggets and pieces of pottery from the ground, find an insect we'd never be able to see, and the like. We were gradually being initiated into the world of the Maya, where the library of nature reigned supreme.

One of the things that struck me was that most of the 20 (?) square miles that houses the park is still very much a jungle. It's only in a few places that vegetation has been cleared and reconstruction has taken place. Between the various sites, you walk along small paths, some of them along old 50-wide ancient canals (the burms are visible in the jungle on the sides) where other life predominates. And with a purported 3,000 buildings within the entire complex, they haven't even begun to scratch the surface of the potential archaeological riches under the ground. Of the buildings that have been "cleaned up" only a few have undergone reconstruction; most of it paid for by Japan. For many of them, what you see is what was there.

The plan worked out so that we could be on top of the largest building, Temple IV, at sunset. Thankfully, we didn't have to climb the stone steps - steep, high, and precipitous. A sturdy staircase had been introduced on the side of the temple, and 182 steps later we were on the top level, overlooking the jungle canopy and seeing the sun sink beneath the clouds. I ended up sitting on the opposite side, overlooking the tops of Temple I and Temple II, since that was really the impressive scene. Looking over those trees, sitting at the apex of the largest temple and seeing the tops of the other temples as the sun was setting, one thought many thoughts, none making much sense - but that was okay in this kind of setting. Not only thoughts about the people who dwelt here from 800 BC until 700 AD, but also about why they moved elsewhere and left everything behind. The most popular theory has to do with drought and simple migration. A shaky video of my arrival on top of Temple IV is here.

We walked back in the dark through the jungle along a different path, one that was really a small trail. There were interesting sounds every once in a while from the wall of green on each side. It's amazing to think that if any one of us had veered off the path for even 10 feet, we'd be utterly lost. Once back at the Tikal Inn, we took our showers since the heat and humidity had been intense. John decided not to do the early morning hike but simply to go bird watching on his own, and pretty soon we were both zonked out, fast asleep.

Although John had forgotten to set his alarm for 3:30 AM so that I could join the early bird crowd, I woke up at 3:38 AM when I heard sounds outside. The rooms had thatched roofs and open-air "windows" all around, with screens thankfully, so that you heard everything from the outside. What had awakened me were the others going to the lobby for the 4 AM departure. I hurried to get dressed in the dark (no electricity, remember) and got to the lobby in time to have a cup of coffee that Abel had prepared. At least it tasted like coffee in the dark.

Then off we went along a different path to go back to Temple IV, the one furthest away in park. This time, Nixon came along quietly too, staying at the front while Abel kept up the rear. This turned out to be a good thing, since one person in our party was a bit overweight and elderly needed to go more slowly. An hour or so later, hiking in that dark jungle, we reached the stairs and made our way to the top of Temple IV where the now-familiar area was quickly covered with quiet folks watching the darkness before us.

This is the experience that I'll remember for a long time. As the night turned to grey dawn and the mist lightened, you could hear Howler monkeys sounding their deep-throated, gurgling calls from very far away, interspersed by 3 - 5 seconds of silence. Then another troupe would respond some distance away. And so it went for 15 - 20 minutes, echoing throughout the jungle canopy and gradually getting louder and moving more closely. Then all of a sudden, a troupe that seemed not 100 yards away began their roaring as well. It was as if someone had cranked up the stereo. At one point, there was a sonic track of Howler money calls reaching from my near left to the far right, punctuated by a profound silence, with an expanding view of the jungle canopy and an increasingly lighter mist that hung over everything. (Temples I and II were obscured entirely and we never saw them.) Once it had become lighter, the sounds changed and the monkey calls from far away began to stop or fade away. But the bird chatter began. It was as if all the bass instruments in an orchestra had carried the theme, brought it to a crescendo and were now gradually handing it over to the flutes. A wide variety of bird sounds filled the air, sharing the sonic spectrum for a while with the Howlers but then dominating the dawn and filling it with eager anticipation of the day.

Once it was light enough to move around, Able pointed out a number of bird species to me, most of which I forgot. I do however remember the Keel-Billed Toucan (the beak is shaped like a boat keel, hence the name), two of which were poised on a dead tree below us. And there was red-crowned song bird not 20 feet away from the top platform in a nearby tree, singing its little heart out. Just before leaving, we heard the resident hawk take off, screeching across the canopy on its daily rounds.

Somewhat reluctantly, we left Temple IV and continued our tour now that it was light. Since it was still quite early, we pretty much had the place to ourselves, and for the next couple of hours we visited a variety of sites and Able told us a lot about the Mayan system of counting, their astronomy, and some of their religious practices. Basically, you don't want to play their "volleyball" game, and you certainly don't want to lose. If you do, you're painted blue and beheaded. Puts a whole new twist on "sore loser" doesn't it? The Mayan cosmology, let along its culture, are as fascinating as they are mysterious. You could spend a lifetime studying them and still only scratch the surface. Just think of how strange we think our own culture was when we look at photographs from some 50-100 years ago. Project that about 2500 years back and you've got a cultural chasm that lies beyond our ken.

One of the things we did was pursue a nearby troupe of Howler monkeys, walking into the jungle and following their calls, most of which were responses to the calls that Abel made - and he did a pretty darn good imitation. Finally, they were right above us, excited as can be, thinking that we were poaching their territory. Of course all we poached were pictures.

We got back to the Tikal Inn at around 8:30 AM. Abel had done a fine job in showing us around. He'd been dropping hints about tips all along and most if not all the people in the group gave him a 5-10 dollar tip, which he appreciated. In that environment, every little bit helps.

John had spent his time bird-watching but had waited for me to return so that we could have breakfast together. Again, it was a wonderful meal. I was especially impressed with the syrup for the pancakes. John was asking the waiters about some birds he had seen, and they were kindly trying to figure out what he was asking and looking at the pictures he was pointing to in his bird-watching book. Finally, a lady at a nearby table cutting a melon section into tiny pieces (for the Coati in her room) came over and explained, in very good English, what John wanted to know. Her name was Roxy and she was a naturalist who gave tours in the area and knew at least as many birds as John did.

John, being the friendly guy he is, soon had her engaged in a conversation about birds, and we ended up talking with her quite a while. John asked if she would do a morning naturalist tour of the area with us, since we wouldn't be leaving the Tikal Inn until 2:30 PM, and she agreed to spend a couple of hours with us. And so we had a wonderful "extra" tour by this naturalist and archaeologist who really knew her stuff. She'd spent six years in Atlanta during her high school years and knew English real well, although it took a while to lose the southern accent that tour groups found funny ("If y'all look at that there pay-ra-mid ..."). She took us all around the property, to places we'd passed by earlier and didn't know existed, pointing out native birds from 100 yards away with her naked eye, highlighting vegetation and medicinal herbs, pointing out animal tracks in the mud, tracking a rare bird that they had both heard but couldn't find even after 30 minutes of quiet movement into the trackless part of the jungle. This little excursion was one of the highlights of the trip.

The thing that I particularly liked is the "formula" she gave for that breakfast syrup. It wasn't maple syrup at all but was made from Allspice. Abel had crushed up Allspice leaves on the tour and had each of us smell it. Roxy pointed out that the Allspice berries, which we can get in the U.S. are what's used for this "miel" as they call it. You take a handful of Allspice berries, put it in about 2 cups of water and let it sit for 3 hours, letting the berries expand into the water. Then you heat it up, filter it, add sugar and cinnamon, and reduce it down to a syrup-like consistency. Now you have wonderful syrup for pancakes and the like. I know I'm going to try this one when I get home.

As a kicker for our "extra" naturalist tour, Roxy took us to the back of the the Tikal Inn, where the staff is housed, and brought out two juvenile Coati. These are of the ant-eater family, and these two little buggers would not have survived if Roxy hadn't taken them from the wild. She's now their "mother" and they follow her around like puppies. She's bottle-feeding them, and as they were exploring the grass around her, she would catch the occasional cricket and feed it to one of them. Her plan is to wait until they are beyond bottle feeding and then re-introduce them to one of the Coati troupes that live among the ruins. Since these are two females, the troupe will very likely adopt them and "educate" them as their natural mother would have. We stayed out there talking about nature and Coati and taking care of wild animals for a while and then went back to the restaurant for a bit of refreshment (I had my second Licuado, made of papaya and milk and ice; much better than my first).

If you know of folks who would like to see Tikal or any other Mayan site, have them contact the Tikal Inn and ask for Roxzanda Ortiz (Roxy). As an archaeologist, naturalist, and guide with 32 years of experience, she can arrange and guide trips in Tikal or other remote sites such as Nakbe, Nakum, Yaxha, Mirador, and a host of others. John and I would recommend her very highly.

Soon enough the bus was loaded and we were on our way back to Flores and our return flight, this time on a slightly larger plane.

So that was the trip. Lots of words, I know, but realize that there's a lot more behind the words and I'm only sharing tidbits of the experience. The more interesting impressions may be found in the photographs below (click on the photographs in order to go through them individually, with their captions):