Chichicastenango

Chichicastenango, Guatemala 16-3-98 EXIT

Dear Guardians,

To travel opens the receptive mind to unimagined vistas revealing the richness and variety of the natural world and human experience; but there are times when even I dream of England's green and pleasant land. And sitting in the Guatemalan jungle with a masked bandit sticking a machine gun in my ribs is definitely one of them.

It all began in Belize where I was out on the cays diving. I met up with a group to go and see the Mayan ruins in Guatemala and Mexico. There were 10 of us: Ron and Mike, a gay English couple in their fifties, middle aged Helen and her daughter Jemma, five other delightful young ladies also in their twenties and me. As swim wear is de rigueur in Belize from dawn to dusk it was like walking around with your own personal beauty pageant.

We boarded the local chicken bus one morning (it's called, appropriately enough, the Batty Bus) and rattled our way to the Guatemalan border. I had been reading in the local paper about a drug rehabilitation charity doing good work in Belize City. At the border bus stop I saw a priest collecting for them and talked to him a bit about it. So on the bus I collected all our left over Belizean dollars and gave them to him. He was so delighted he came onto the bus to bless us all and tell us that Jesus would pray for us.

Some day I must remember to go back and ask for a refund.

Having crossed into Guatemala we hired a minibus to take us to Flores, the site of Tikal, one of the great Mayan cities. We gave a lift to two young Guatemalans and with a full bus set off on the road through the endless, uninhabited jungle of Yucatan.

All you can see are tees. Just impenetrable jungle lining the almost straight, flat road. Occasionally a slight rise lifted us above the canopy to reveal the unbroken flatness of the forest.

The swaying of the bus, the heat and the monotony have an almost hypnotic effect, awake but not noticing.

Then a log drops across the road. The bus screeches and skids to a halt catapulting us out of our torpor. Two masked men, armed with assault rifles, materialize in front of us and order the driver to stop the engine.

Since those at the back could not see what was going on and I was the only one who spoke Spanish there was, at first, a little confusion.

"What's happening?"

"We're being robbed" said Helen in such a low, calm voice that no one comprehended the message.

"Quick" I said, "get out a few dollars in your hand."

People scrambled for their cash as one of the gunmen moved towards the side door of the bus.

The tactic is of course to give up a few dollars easily and hope that will satisfy them.

However the full reality of the situation had yet to penetrate. As the bandit opened the door, Ron, sitting in the front seat turned round waving a note and said "I've only got a hundred, has anyone any change?" Whilst at the back Gill, seeing everyone taking out cash and thinking it was some kind of toll called "Do they take Visa?" That cracked us up and a very surprised robber looked in to find two terrified Guatemalans and a bunch of laughing gringos.

The girls were pretty quick. They had stuffed their passports and most of their cash in their clothing. Maja, a Danish girl sitting next to me whispered" [in English!] "I've only got a hundred note," pushed it into her knickers, took some of the small bills I had in my hand and then sat there and flowed tears--admirable girl.

Our first offering was collected but then one of the bandits started to pull away bushes between the trees revealing a concealed track leading off into the jungle. The driver was ordered to drive off the road onto the track, a direction reinforced by shots across the front of the bus.

The Guatemalan in front of me started praying. I found out later that because they were young, short haired and reasonably dressed, if the bandits thought they were off duty policemen or soldiers they would have been shot.

I really thought we were in trouble then, there have been a number of cases of tourists being raped and murdered in the region.

The girls must have been terrified but they didn't show it. All I could do was say "It's all right, they just want to search the bus for valuables, it's only money." At least I've been shot at before but even I wondered if I was to die in some forgotten corner of a foreign field babbling, as did Falstaff, of the green fields of England.

Who can say what might have happened. I was holding onto Maja with one hand, Karen with the other, both beautiful, blondes (there's a contradiction in terms but never mind) trying to work out the odds of jumping one, taking his gun and shooting the other. How James Bondish can you get?

However the goddess of farce smiles on far treading fools. More shots so frightened the driver that he ran the bus into a ditch, stalled it and couldn't get it going again.

Making the best of things the gunmen came back to the bus. The Guatemalans were, by this time being sick on the floor so presumably I was the only obvious threat. So one stuck a gun into my stomach whilst the other went around the bus holding a machete to each person's throat demanding cash. Babeta looked as if she was going to tear his head off but fortunately Karen held her back and I told them just to give up the cash.

Leaning across to take Helen's offering the bandit came to Jemma (her daughter) who quickly pointed at the money and said "That is for both of us." That eased the tension and caused some laughter.

What capped it was Ron turning round and saying in a very camp voice "Don't laugh, you'll upset him."

Poor bandits. I don't think they'd met anyone like this lot before. They'd showed no fright and now started to have the giggles.

Both stepped back, looked at each other, turned and vanished into the jungle.

A moment's complete silence. Then we jumped out, heaved the van out of the ditch, started it and drove like hell out of there until we reached an inhabited area.

Then the reaction set in. There was anger, a few tears and lots of laughter. They're a great bunch and will get over it.

Maja's quick thinking had its downfall however. When we reached a garage on the highway they all rushed for the restroom. She forgot she had hidden the $100 note in her pants and flushed it down the toilet.

Tomorrow will be a rest day. We're going to climb a live volcano.

John

*********************************

Vienna 18-4-98
Dear Friends,
Well, one or two brave spirits [usually termed idiots] decided to come with me to climb the volcano. A perfect day, clear with just one, artistic cloud hugging the cone, posing for some Japanese print and leaving the crater rim just peeping over the lake below.
Climbing was like walking up a cinder heap, two down for every three up, exhausting with no sight of the wreathed summit to mark our progress.

Then suddenly we're at the top, in stark bright sunlight sitting on the hot, black rock sundered by the enveloping cloud from the greenness of the world below. Sitting still I could feel the heat seeping up through my soles, when with the inevitability which seems to pursue me--the damn thing decided to blow up.

Rocks flew as dark, acrid smoke belched from the ground and we fled, crashing and skidding down the slopes like some mad stampede for safety [though still daft enough to stop and take this photo].

The god of the volcano rumbled and shook us to the bottom. It wasn't a major eruption but his divinity was brooking no argument that today unwanted visitors would not be acceptable. I wonder if it was something I said?

Apart from that things were really quite quiet. We toddled into Mexico and across Chiapas, visiting ruins and trying to find some decent Mexican food. I'm afraid your local establishment is far superior to the national offerings.
I had to rescue a tourist off the pyramid at Uscmal. She was struck with vertigo and became panic stricken on the narrow ledge around the top. And who was the only other person there? Me. She had my sympathy. I'm not too good at heights myself and it really is rather steep. It took almost half an hour to talk her down, on the sun exposed side of the pyramid of course. After that even I had to succumb to the inevitability of American capitalist imperialism and drink a few Coca Colas.
So I wasn't really surprised when, on the last day, I contrived to drop my camera off the top of the pyramid at Chitchen Itza. It was an unworthy thought that crossed my mind as I watched the faithful servant of many years bounce down the 91 stone steps; now at last I can buy a new one.
I've been waiting for it to give up the ghost for years but it has clung grimly on. Thinking about it, it has, with me, fallen down a mountain [Tazikistan], smashed into a snowdrift [Egypt], been dropped off an elephant [India], smacked by a broken oar [Greece], shipwrecked [Indian Ocean], hurled out of a car crash [China], trampled by yaks [Nepal], swept down rapids {South Africa] and used to club a thief who tried to steal it [Bolivia].
I'm looking for a model fitted with air bags.
And so to Vienna: opera, concerts, coffee houses and art galleries. This is the place to wander from café to café catching up on my mail and avoiding thinking about going back to work. I wonder if they'll remember who I am?
John
EXIT

Vienna 18-4-98 Dear Friends, Well, one or two brave spirits [usually termed idiots] decided to come with me to climb the volcano. A perfect day, clear with just one, artistic cloud hugging the cone, posing for some Japanese print and leaving the crater rim just peeping over the lake below. Climbing was like walking up a cinder heap, two down for every three up, exhausting with no sight of the wreathed summit to mark our progress.
Then suddenly we're at the top, in stark bright sunlight sitting on the hot, black rock sundered by the enveloping cloud from the greenness of the world below. Sitting still I could feel the heat seeping up through my soles, when with the inevitability which seems to pursue me--the damn thing decided to blow up.
Rocks flew as dark, acrid smoke belched from the ground and we fled, crashing and skidding down the slopes like some mad stampede for safety [though still daft enough to stop and take this photo].
The god of the volcano rumbled and shook us to the bottom. It wasn't a major eruption but his divinity was brooking no argument that today unwanted visitors would not be acceptable. I wonder if it was something I said?
Apart from that things were really quite quiet. We toddled into Mexico and across Chiapas, visiting ruins and trying to find some decent Mexican food. I'm afraid your local establishment is far superior to the national offerings. I had to rescue a tourist off the pyramid at Uscmal. She was struck with vertigo and became panic stricken on the narrow ledge around the top. And who was the only other person there? Me. She had my sympathy. I'm not too good at heights myself and it really is rather steep. It took almost half an hour to talk her down, on the sun exposed side of the pyramid of course. After that even I had to succumb to the inevitability of American capitalist imperialism and drink a few Coca Colas. So I wasn't really surprised when, on the last day, I contrived to drop my camera off the top of the pyramid at Chitchen Itza. It was an unworthy thought that crossed my mind as I watched the faithful servant of many years bounce down the 91 stone steps; now at last I can buy a new one. I've been waiting for it to give up the ghost for years but it has clung grimly on. Thinking about it, it has, with me, fallen down a mountain [Tazikistan], smashed into a snowdrift [Egypt], been dropped off an elephant [India], smacked by a broken oar [Greece], shipwrecked [Indian Ocean], hurled out of a car crash [China], trampled by yaks [Nepal], swept down rapids {South Africa] and used to club a thief who tried to steal it [Bolivia]. I'm looking for a model fitted with air bags. And so to Vienna: opera, concerts, coffee houses and art galleries. This is the place to wander from café to café catching up on my mail and avoiding thinking about going back to work. I wonder if they'll remember who I am? John EXIT