“So how bout we grab a couple a bee-ahs and head ova to Tom and Claire’s place?” my Australian housemate Andy suggested. My first full day in Xela was September 14, hands-down the most popular day of the year in the city. At night, thousands of Guatemalans, Central Americans, and travelers alike flood the streets of the mountain city every year to celebrate the eve of their independence day. Wanting to be part of the festivities, I – along with Andy and his girlfriend Beth from England – were heading over to join some of the other El Nahual (my language school) students and volunteers.
Even near our Guate-home on the outskirts of the city the streets were nearly impassable. Everywhere I looked there was either someone jogging with a torch, people wearing the beautifully ornate Mayan clothing, Guatemalan flags being waved, or a high school marching band banging away on their drums with triumphant beats. Cars drove on the wrong side of the street and parked on curbs, motorcycles carried entire families, and the streets smelled like the inside of an exhaust pipe on a running car.
It sounds like chaos – and to my foreign American eyes it definitely seemed that way – but there was a strange order to it all; everyone there seemed to know the deal. It was then that I really started thinking about how alien all this was to me, or maybe how alien I was to it all. I had heard that it was a huge celebration, but I didn’t know what I was really celebrating. I had read a brief history of the day, but I had no way of feeling what the Guatemalans felt as they flocked to the park. I had heard that Guatemalans are distrustful of the government and of each other since their civil war finally ended thirteen years ago, but I had never seen people displaying so much pride for any city or nation.
We reached the other students’ home and joined them in the courtyard dividing all the rooms of the house. I sat among my fellow gringos drinking cheap yet refreshing Brazilian beer (less than 70 cents a can) and taking shots of the locally distilled and potentially lethal Quetzalteca (a type of rum without any flavoring or spices… it’s as awful as it sounds). One of the reasons I went alone on my trip was because I wanted to be as immersed as possible, but as I tried to make friends with my fellow travelers I wondered if I had just jumped from one bubble to another.
After a bit of drinking, our band of whiteys flocked to the very Spanish-looking Parque Central where all the fun was to be had. Walking up the wannabe cobblestone street we were faced with an impenetrable crowd. We headed four blocks over to the back of the square and sidled behind the long strand of street vendors. Fried tortillas and grilled meats polluted the air in the best way possible. Each stand’s food looked more appetizing than the last. There were churros and pupusas and tacos and “crazy corn” and fried corn and… well, you get the picture.
We heard there was a free concert on the other side of town so we decided to forego the square for now. While drinking my fresh Gallo (the Guatemalan beer of choice) courtesy of Andy and walking toward our mini-musical mecca for the night, I couldn’t believe how big this party really was. The concert itself was even more unbelievable. The only larger crowd I’ve ever seen in person was the Rage concert I went to two summers ago. On a separate note, Guatemalans themselves are quite small and, for the first time in my life, I was the tallest person in a crowd.
The entire crowd sang along to every song, and I once again I became too aware of how much of an outsider I was here. As this Guatemalan version of Three Doors Down rocked the stage with their guitars and pyrotechnics, I took comfort in being close to my fellow foreigners and knowing that they didn’t even know the band’s name either.
We headed back to the Parque Central to catch the midnight firework show and stuff our faces/punish our bowels with as much street vendor food as we could afford. The fireworks made me feel like I was in Joe’s backyard on the Fourth of July again and, for about ten minutes, I didn’t feel so far from home.
Instead of going out to some clubs Andy, Beth and I decided to walk home. The key to my room was broken when I arrived so Beth and Andy were my only way back into the house for the first couple days. This turned out to be a total blessing in disguise because they are two incredible people. But I digress, and I will undoubtedly write much more about them in the near future.
Lying in bed and quickly drifting towards sleep, my mind started worrying about my ability to immerse myself here. Would I always be an outsider? Would I connect with any actual Guatemalans or would those relationships be inevitably superficial? Would I be tempted into surrounding myself with English speakers or would I push myself to really learn the language outside of class? Could I even learn enough to have a real conversation?
I finally fell into a much-needed sleep and these questions no longer mattered, nor should they have. After all, it was only day two.
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