No. 119 bus and Darwin

[8/13/07 TANA Dear John, Elana walked me to the bus stop this morning and told me to get on the No. 119, which drives through the center of town and then out to Ho Chi Mihn Circle (gotta love the communist history here). “You seriously have to throw elbows to make it onto the bus,” she said. I didn’t believe her then, but I do now. It wasn’t until my ninth try that I made it onto one of the buses (which are really old Mazda vans, kind of the shape of the 60s VW Bus). When the vans pull in, you have to start running with them, because a crowd of people funnels straight for the sliding side door. The buses only stop for a matter of seconds. If you’re not one of the first three people in the chute, you have no chance. Even if you have one shoulder in the door, you still have to force your way past the people next to you, because they’re all gunning of the open seat. I’m usually not one for physical confrontation – especially when other passengers have babies tied to their backs – so I don’t know exactly how I’m going to get around this city. I guess I will just have to leave a big time window for a trip across town, assuming it will take me an hour to get up the nerve to slug my way onto a ride. Or I could give in and take a taxi. But that’s not the same adventure. Love you, John PS: how’s my car?]

420 stairs to the Indian Ocean Games

[8/12/07 TANA Dear Jim and Pat, At the top of a 420-step staircase, Richard leaned on a rock rail, watching ant-sized men play rugby in a stadium below. Today is the first day of the “Jeux des Isles,” or Island Games, which is sort of a mini-Olympics for the countries in this region. The games last all week, and the city is all spiffed-up for the arrival of outsiders: colorful banners on all of the roads, homeless people conspicuously missing from the tunnels that go through the mountains around the city. On top of one mountain, I asked Richard, who is an IT guy at the local hospital, why he didn’t watch the match from inside the stadium. He said the tickets were far too expensive for him. We talked for a while: I learned that his favorite sport is basketball and he learned that I would be way too short to play basketball in the United States, and then I left him there. I went down all 420 stairs, watching people on their way up huff and puff and stop for breaks. When I got to the bottom, I found out that tickets to the event were only 1,000 Ariary, or 50-cents US. The idealistic part of me wanted to trudge back up the mountain to offer to buy Richard a seat. It probably would have made his day. But I didn’t. And now I’m back to that emotion that is all-too-familiar here: guilt. Next time I meet a Richard, I will offer to help out -- even if there are 420 stairs to climb. Good thing there are one MILLION staircases in the city. Love, John]

The beat goes on, lex, just to the tune of a different drum ...

Lexey -

This son and father play in this same spot every single saturday afternoon. the music is intense, like nothing you've ever heard. the dad is on flute and the son is on drums, just sitting there waiting for his cue. the timing is perfection. you should have been here, we could have totally jammed with them. - Jessie

I'm ready to admit the thing that struck me most about the people of Guatemala was the poverty, the empty way some people look at you in the street, how their stores are filled with goods most americans wouldn't even consider, let alone put down good money for. but the more i am here, the more i realize they have fuller lives than most wealthy people you would come across in the states.

i'm not saying i've been here long enough to become numb to it, and i still feel a gnawing in my stomach everytime i run into the guy on 6th avenue north who plays the mandolin and has no legs and spends the entire day begging for change, but the thing is that now, i focus on the laughter, on the happiness i see on these very same streets.

there's this one family who runs a vending cart and the kids are never wearing shoes and they sit in the hot sun all day selling plantains and bags of juice (yes, "bags" of juice, but more on that later) but my point is, if i were to tell you about them, i would show you how they eat every meal together, always, how they pat each other's backs and display acts of love in almost everything that they do.

the drummer and his father have to play in the streets for money, for survival, so the white tourists can stop by and contemplate how much money to throw in front of them, but the bond between the two was striking, one no amount of money can buy.

watching them, i seriously felt like dancing. you would have too.

note to self: exchange currency on a weekly basis

Mom -

I'm sorry, i forgot to go to the bank on friday and all i have is 15 Q's (about $2) in my pocket. it's saturday, which means i have to make it stretch for two days. i'm sorry i haven't been in touch more, and i know your probably freaking out, but just know that i moved out of the hostel this weekend and i'm finally in a house. i should be okay ... i think. regards, pequina.

i've basically been in survival mode for the past three weeks, finding out where i can eat, where i can sleep, and when i got really sick, where the closest bathroom was. i'm 24 years old and i have no problem crying to my mom about it.

but the problem is, she's not really up for it. she's sick and nobody's really sure what's wrong with her. i'm trying not to think about it, but it's difficult when someone is so much a part of me.

i just try to focus on the fact that when i told her i was going to quit my job and live in central america for a while, she was the first person who understood my reasoning and told me to go for it and not look back. in the six months it took me to save up for this trip, every month, a check arrived in the mail. it was $30 from a 70-year-old woman who lives in north Idaho on social security, someone who brought 15 kids into this world and made each of them feel special through nicknames like "pequina."

i've decided to vote for the candidate who doesn't get shot...

Joe -

Remember two years ago when we were in washington covering the state of the union and finding ourselves blown away by the chaos? well, think that, times 100, in a tiny city in central america that just happens to be the former capital of guatemala.

viva la revolucion!

- Jessie

Guatemala is going to elect a new president in September, which means things are really crazy right now. i know i joke a lot about almost everything, but over dinner tonight another student told me 40 people have died so far in this election and this is one of those rare situations where humor eludes me. my tutor, Alenka, does real estate as a second job and said that tourism is really low this year because of the elections, which have led to execution-style killings. it's just a small reminder that i'm, in fact, living in a third world country ... in case i could forget.

there's other reminders, such as, the fact that you cannot put toilet paper in the toilet under ANY circumstances. they leave a waste basket beside the can ... enough said.

If you ask, they'll slaughter the chicken right in front of you ...

Talia -
Market days are Jueves (thursdsay) Martes (Tuesday) y Sabado (Saturday), which have become my favorite days of the week. food, clothing, entertainment, you name it and it's here. need a chicken? dead or alive. low on fruits and vegetables? you've come to the right place. Clothing from the 1980s? we've got you covered ... literally. - Jessie

ps. i was going to stick to our postcard "rule" and just post one pic per posting, but the market is one of the most interesting places i've ever been and i'm going to post a few more.

i'm pretty sure i could benchpress a guatemalan

Shawn -

Okay, i'm pretty sure we would have laughed about this for about an hour. me, sweatin' to the oldies at Gym de Antigua. the equipment here is actually pretty nice, but the music was ripped from some 1980s MTV music video (back when MTV actually played music videos) i have no idea what i'm doing here, but let's just say you can only climb so many volcanoes and walk through so many villages before it gets old. so yes, i am an actual card carrying member of Gym de Antigua. - Jessie

What's next, a Burger King in Darfur?

John - I don't know which is more depressing, the fact that there's a McDonald's here, or that i was so desperate for food when i saw it that i would have sold my firstborn for a bBig Mac. i wanted to save money this week so i've been living on tortillas y aguacates (avacados) that only cost me about 20 Q's at the market (about 2 dollars and 50 cents) it was roughly four days worth of food, but i'm kind of hungry now. - Jessie

smaller people = smaller meals

i'm not sure if it's just the economies or the fact that americans are the kings of consumption, but the meals here are tiny compared to anything you'd buy back in the states. it's actually really refreshing, and funny, when i see guys have to order twice just to get enough to fill them up.

Really should have paid more attention in Geology 101

Dear Mickey,
I know i wasn't listening to any of your lectures back at U of I, but Volcan de Fuego erupted a few days ago and it was literally the coolest thing i have ever seen. period.

signed, Jessie (aka "girl who always turned in her papers to late and asked for extra credit two days before the end of the semester when she realized she had a D in your class)

Radio disco !!! (when appropriate)

[8/10/07 TANA Dear John, My new radio, purchased at the grocery store, features indiscriminate flashing disco lights. The lights don’t care if you’re playing Justin Timberlake (it would have to be a cassette) or BBC Radio Afrique (as pictured above), they’re always up for a party. It’s great most of the time, but when things get too terribly ironic, like when the BBC is talking about kidnappings in Nigeria, you can respectfully turn the lights off … and then flip them back on for sports.
I expect it to be a great help for learning French. Now I just need a tutor or something. That will be my project for Monday. Love, John]

Traveler's D, brought to you by personification

[8/9/07 TANA Dear John, There are tenacious little elves in my gut, pinching at my intestines with pliers. They work on semi-regular intervals. For a while, they had me running upstairs to the toilet every 30 minutes. Now it’s more like every hour or so. Such a predicament is unavoidable, I suppose, when you’re traveling in a place where you must boil the water to drink it. If that is the case, then I am truly lucky, since the twisting and pinching of my stomach started just when I got off the plane here in Tana this morning. Detail that makes me slightly unlucky: no TP in the restroom at the airport. But it was a quick taxi ride, thank the Lord (and the elves).]

Haiku 2 (Jack Kerouac is so ashamed)

[8/7/07 → A day in haiku … well, close.

Toyota tires slip through muddy turns;
dusty tape deck
never skips a beat.

$300 million from the World Bank
to grow wretched troll trees
-- in symmetrical villages.

Boat full of hangovers
putts across a turquoise paradise.

(OK, so maybe I’m not much of a poet … sorry the phone call got cut short this morning … I’ll call soon … and I’m sure that call will happen way b4 you get this.) Love, John]

Biodiversity scares me sometimes ...

No sleep

[8/7/07 NOSY KOMBA --- Dear Monies/Mock, I tried everything – falling asleep with my index fingers in my ears, smashing pillows on both sides of my face, breathing exercises to distract my mind – but when there is a bombastic Malagasy “sallegy” concert going on 100 feet from your thatched bungalow, there is really nothing you can do to sleep. I joined the party until about 1 a.m., but since my boat left early in the morning, I thought I would try to sleep at least a little. But Fandrana, the band, and its constant banging bass drum and asinine accordion riffs definitely won the slumber standoff, rattling my chest and making my ears scream high pitches until 6:23 a.m. (yes, I wrote it down). I think the band is kind of like the American or Euro version of techno, or it fills the same role. The chords and patterns repeat over and over. They pick up and drop off, but never go away, so you can dance until dawn. The dance that goes with sallegy appears to be inspired by the America’s own ass-shaking wonder, Beyonce. Endless booty shaking. Can’t get enough. For much of the night, the part where I wasn’t on the verge of lunacy, I wondered what the finale would be. Fade out? Big bang? Screams? What time? (not dawn, please God, not dawn). I never would have guessed a rapid-fire accordion solo of “Frere Jacques,” but that is what is so great about Madagascar. You never know what to expect. Hope you guys are doing well. Tell Hunter hello. – SUTTER]

No lemurs

[8/6/07 NOSY KOMBA (LEMUR flipping ISLAND) --- Dear Molly, I am the only person in the world who can go to a place called “lemur island,” hike around for 6 hours, spend the night, and not see one damn endangered primate. Apparently the lemurs know that all the banana-toting tourists show up between 9 a.m. and noon. At noon, they vanish into an underground lemur lair, not to emerge until the next morning, unless bananas are spotted. And while they’re hiding out, I’m traipsing all around the island with my eyes pointed up to the trees, hoping to see one, and tripping because I’m not looking at the path. I’m sure they watched on their digital surveillance system and laughed their lemur asses off. – John]

Shoes are for the weak-footed; that's me

[8/6/07 NOSY KOMBA --- Dear Christian, “Slippery, eh? Very careful, John.” That’s Gedeon, a 21-year-old Malagasy dude I met on the boat to this island and then climbed over its mountain with. He called out to me on our path down a steep slope of wet rocks. He then proceeded to skip down the trail with the grace of a gazelle. No need to heed his own advice, even in sandals without backs on them. I klunked my way down one cautious foot at a time. When we reached the base of the mountain, we had to climb across a rocky coastline to find the island’s main city, where we had started our journey about six hours earlier. It was all I could do to keep from rolling an ankle, but I saw several Malagasy people traversing the jagged terrain barefoot. Gedeon said it would be a pain to carry his sandals in his hands, otherwise he would be doing the same shoe-free waltz of death. (And this is coming me, a guy who hates shoes). Oh, and I almost forgot: on the way up the mountain, some of the inclines were so steep that a person with a large nose would be in a good position to smell the ground in front of him (or her), while walking. I saw a woman trudging up to her village, on the mountainside, with a bucket of laundry balanced on her head and no shoes on her feet. Boy do we clumsy Americans have things easy. This is a place of very impressive balance. ---SUTTER]

Rooster, party of one

[8/6/07 NOSY KOMBA (LEMUR ISLAND) --- Dear Dad, I just took a boat with 29 people, two ice coolers and one rooster across a turquoise bay to an island called Nosy Komba, or Lemur Island. The rooster was, surprisingly enough, a good passenger. Maybe that had something to do with the fact that his feet were tied together with twine. When a man picked the rooster up by his feet, to take him out of the boat, the rooster craned his neck all around to see what the hell was going on. The boat was the same shape as a pirogue canoe, but was fiberglass and had a 15-horsepower motor on the back. Still not as cool as the 1960s olive green boat we used to take to Lake Arcadia. Love, John]

a small prize for anyone who can finish a burrito de rosa ...

Rosa - see you in six weeks. love, Jessie

p.s. your burritos may be the size of a small cadillac, but they're literally the best thing i've ever put in my mouth.

when i first came to the black cat hostel two weeks ago, i was kind of at a low point in my travels. they stuck me in the room across from the kitchen (which i hated) and it smelled like guacamole (which i love) and every morning i had to listen to the head cook and her crew of workers come in at 6 a.m. to start the day.

breakfast here is free, so EVERYBODY and THEIR DOG orders it.

i would lie in my bed for at least two hours listening to how someone's cousin is pregnant, and someone else's relative is just plain getting fat. jose is working again, but paz has fallen on hard times. don't get me wrong, it's helped my spanish immensely, but i find myself more fluent in local soap operas than actual conversation.

until i met rosa.

she's the head cook, works at least nine hours a day, and tonight, on my last day here at the Black Cat, she sat down with a stupid gringa and we spoke spanish for 30 minutes. i'm leaving the hostel tomorrow to go stay with a family in Antigua as part of my immersion program, but i'll be back in six weeks. i study for four hours during the day and then i'll be at the black cat bartending at nights. free room, free food, and the company of a woman named rosa who wakes up at 5 a.m. to make food for about 90 people every day. it's really all i could ask for.

say heyyyyyy ahhhhhh....

To every white kid who ever got made fun of for listening to hip hop-

I feel you ... just keep bobbing your head and waving at the haters. because tonight, when i found myself completely alone in a foreign country, loving the culture but hating the hostel and the countless mistakes i've made so far, hip hop made my 4 x 4 feet room feel like home. so i kept packing, and flipped the glass windows open so kanye and his rhymes could flow out into the hallways to the swedish and canadian tourists, who peered in and were surprised to find a white girl bobbing her head and shakin' it like a polaroid picture ...

Amy -
Hostel living was fun for about two days, agreed? just wanted to let you know you definitely made the experience. thanks for your company, slipping me drinks while you were working bar, sharing the surreal experience of working out in a Guatemalan gym while listening to music from the earlier 1990s, and saying what needed to be said to that one jerk when i didn't have the guts to do it for myself (that last one is somewhat of a tangent, so i'll only divulge if asked)

i leave the Black Cat with extensive knowledge of the magic that is a cuba libre cocktail, an intense appreciation of my privacy after finding i had none, and a certain liking for bootlegged dvd's that the german kids brought and watched in the tv room, totally pretending that the film wasn't taken by a shaken hand in some theater in Normandy ... and in case there was any question as to the movie's authenticity, please know that in a copy of "Ocean's Twelve" people repeatedly were captured on film, walking across the screen. when i asked Hans about it he pretended he didn't know what i was talking about: "Vat? Vat du you mean?"

27 - countries the people i met at the Black Cat were from
43 - drinks consumed to forget about hostel life
12 - times i was shocked by the electric-heated showers
5 - really cool people who run the place, made the stay worth while, and offered me a job and a bed after i'm done taken spanish courses in six weeks.

thanks guys, Jessie

Dear Lady at the Army Navy Story -

Thanks for your advice. The bag you sold me literally fits everything i own. but it's so heavy, i've realized it's either going to be the death of me ... or help me smuggle a full sized guatemalan back into the states before i leave. - Jessie

sidenote: selling everything to go live in a foreign country? sounds really cool in theory. realizing everything you own fits on a small bed? disconcerting in every way possible.

To be dirty, or to be without feeling from the waist down ...

Cameron -

So, you forgot to tell me about the electric-heated showers in Latin America. i've freaking shocked myself about 12 times. i didn't even know i was doing it until i told a friend that my arm kept going numb everytime i turned the shower on and off. one day i literally stopped feeling from my elbow down. my friend offered the following advice over breakfast the other day:

"Dude, I think you're getting electrocuted..."

i'm willing to give up certain necessities in living the traveling lifestyle. i will live in communal housing, i wander through a city fumbling through spanish as i try to find a bank willing to convert my money into local currency, i will brace myself in dealing with the ... "upfront" ... gestures latin american men use to get your attention, i will buy papas fritas from a street vendor and call it dinner in order to save money, but i seriously almost lost it with the shower thing.

just don't be surprised if my next post is from a hospital.

Don't like being called Vazha

[8/3/07: Dear John, I was feeling so good about myself until she walked in the door. Just moments ago, I wrote a postcard about how I am practicing my French even though I look like a fool. I was starting to communicate, starting to feel at home. The power went off in my hotel, so I decided to go hang out in the bar up on street level (my room is two floors below the street), one building over. I heard them playing reggae music last night. I brought my book, postcards and camera to the bar since it’s 5 o’clock and I figure I might have some time to kill. I guess, in retrospect, I couldn’t have looked more of a tourist. And I’m sure my nose is sunburned to a Rudolph red, since I’ve been walking around outside all day. Here’s what I wrote from the bar:
This woman walked in a moment ago. She has stained-blonde braids in her hair and a light-blue tank top that says “BOOST STYLE” on it. I can’t tell what she’s saying, exactly, but I do know that she is staring straight at me with cat-like brown eyes, and is squawking like a toucan. This is not an “I want to get to know you stare.” I can tell because every other world out of her mouth is “vazha.” Vazha this, vazha that. She laughs, her friends laugh, then they all look back to me, and laugh again. Vazha means white person in Malagasy, and it’s not a nice thing to say. Just as the situation was making my shoulders tense up and my hands fidget, she decided to make her point readily clear: “I want for you to leave here, VAZHA.” She pursed her lips. My shoulders are now more tense. I don’t know where to point my eyes, so I am planting them, and my pen, on this page. I will drink my beer. Then leave. Don’t let her win. When I do go I will say “aza fady Madame” (my bad, ma’am, in Malagasy), so she thinks I understood everything.
I didn’t. And I don’t.
I stayed in my room the rest of the night. – John]