If I could use two words to describe my experience in Guatemala thus far they would be sensory overload. So much is different here and it’s amazing how hard the mind has to work to make sense of being in a completely new environment. Not only is the language foreign to me, but so is the food, the streets and their seeming lack of rules, the people, the volcanoes on the horizon, the altitude, public transportation… I could literally go on and on. What strikes me as equally strange, however, is how many things feel similar to back home.
This past Tuesday was the actual Independence Day of Guatemala and everyone in the country was given off. With no classes to attend or teach, my housemates and I decided to check out La Feria – the annual weeklong fair on the outskirts of town. It was about a two hour walk to reach La Feria so we decided to take our chances with the “Chicken Buses.” (Imagine if Pimp My Ride got a hold of an old US school bus but ran out of money before they got to the interior. That’s essentially a chicken bus).
Across from the Parque Democracia we found the suicidal shuttles and the masses waiting to hop on. We were herded onto this old school bus and my jaw dropped when I saw how crowded it was. There were literally four or five people crammed into almost every seat, and we still had room to stand in the aisle. It made rush-hour NYC subways look like first class seating.
The bus popped into gear and I literally had more weight supported by my arms than my feet as the bus stopped and accelerated without any predictability. I noticed a little white sign in the front that read “Do not stand past the white line” and then counted seven people standing next to the bus driver. I smirked to myself, and then we slowed – not stopped – and picked up two more people. Holy shit, I mused to myself, not even considering the possibility that it was going to happen three more times.
We got dropped off a mile from the actual fairgrounds and on any normal day you could tell that the road leading into it would be empty. Not today. Hundreds of vendors lined the street as we tried to make it through the impassable crowd. We were offered golden fried chicken, fruits and veggies, cheap wallets, purses, cell phone covers, blankets, clothes from Hollister and American Eagle – it was like Canal Street Xela style.
After about ten minutes of people-weaving through the crowd we made it to the hidden fair entrance. We squeezed through an alley with Mayan women selling hand-woven blankets and a crippled beggar until we reached the actual fairgrounds. We had “Apple Bottom Jeans” providing the soundtrack to our first steps past game stands, food carts, and scores of fairgoers. Everything felt so familiar yet completely foreign at the same time.
We wedged our way through the crowd and did a quick tour of the rides there. There were salt and pepper shakers, bumper cars, a Ferris wheel – everything you’d expect to see at a fair in the States, except most of the rides looked like they had been decommissioned and banned from the US a decade and a half ago. The queues were very informal and there were no safety fences letting you know how close was too close (I almost got decapitated by a kiddy-Tigger airplane). Too scared (and too cheap) to trust our lives to whatever safety belts were inside these rides, we decided instead to watch. I couldn’t help but smile as I watched families donning the colorfully ornate traditional Mayan garb smile and cheer spinning round on a Ferris wheel. After a couple refreshing beverages we decided that we’d had enough La Feria for one smoldering afternoon.
While clinging for dear life to a greasy chicken bus pole, unfortunately, the heat broke as the skies opened up. We scurried off the bus and took refuge under the closest shelter we could find – the small umbrella covering a taco stand. Earlier that afternoon the three of us had purchased a small drum for our little Guatemalan housemates – Javier, 6, and Diego Andres, 3 – and now Andy was carrying it under his shirt to protect it from the rain. As we huddled awkwardly next the vendor, Andy started playing the drum and not one of us – the Guatemalan woman included – could hold in the laughter. It was one of the many moments made much better by Andy’s ability to bring out the humor in any situation.
The rain let up and we made it two blocks before we had to hide again. Our next place of refuge: a Wendy’s. Standing by the doorway I saw dozens of Guatemalans feasting on the same Homestyle Chicken Filets and Double Bacon Cheeseburgers that I’d devoured on countless occasions back in the states. I looked directly across the street and, lo and behold, there was a McDonald’s. I thought to myself once again, Maybe I’m not so far from home after all.
Before heading home, we ran into a mall with a supermarket inside. The mall was quite small, but had all the types of stores you’d expect to find at a standard mall – electronics, clothes, cell phones. The grocery store contained so many familiar brands and products – Crest, Cheetohs, eggs, milk, juices, fruits and veggies – and the aisles were organized just like at home. The only difference was that most patrons were Guatemalan.
It wasn’t until the following night lying in bed again that I thought more about all the similarities and differences that I had been noticing. Down here Javier and Diego love Pizza Hut as much as I did when I was there age. Nancy – my host mom Paty’s sixteen year old daughter – plays with a cell phone at the table like my sister while the rest of her family eats and talks. Abuelita, as we affectionately call Paty’s mother, dyes her hair just like every woman in my family.
The more I thought about things the more I accepted that I’ll always be an outsider here; my personal history and that of everyone living here is so drastically different that I realized I’ll never be able to truly understand the struggles and joys of the people here. But the more I thought, the more I also realized that I have much more in common than many superficial details might lead me to conclude.
It’s this deeper ground that I hope to discover here.
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