La Guía de Gringa a Guatemala

Tikal

 Towering above the rain forest, Tikal is possibly the most magnificent of all Maya sites. The ruins, 68km from Flores down a smooth paved road, are dominated by five enormous temples: steep-sided limestone pyramids that rise to more than 60m above the forest floor. Around them are literally thousands of other structures, many semi-strangled by giant roots and still hidden beneath mounds of earth.

                                                                        -from The Rough Guide to Guatemala

 

Getting There

Yes, on your two-week jaunt around the country of course you are to visit Tikal, that guide-book-lauded, tourist-run mammoth of a stop on the Grand Tour of Guatemala – you will slowly make our way up there, having gone from San Marcos to Antigua to Lanquín to Flores, enduring Tourism, Backpackers, Giardia, Stupidity, A Failing Sex Life, Sand Fleas and Drunkenness.

            Sitting in the ‘breakfast’ area of the hotel you should stay at, where you can get a complementary breakfast, as advertised on the bill, you should know that ‘complementary’ breakfast at the Hotel Doña Goya Two means that breakfast is not actually served there, where you will awake, but rather around the corner at the (worse) Hotel Doña Goya One (the original). Having arrived at Hotel Doña Goya One, you will sit and await the ‘complementary’ breakfast which will cost you the equivalent of two U.S. dollars, and is actually quite wonderful: two eggs, beans, coffee and a couple of fruit pieces if you want them. Across from you, seated quietly against the wall, will be a robust woman with her curly brown hair pulled back, reading something, dressed very cleanly. You will be discussing Tikal and how to get there, when, in all likelihood, she will strike up a conversation with you. You will learn that her name is Mareike, Mareike from Germany, and not only is she Mareike from Germany but she will be going to Tikal in the morning as well, and not only that but she is an archaeologist, and not only that but she has done her master’s thesis on Tikal and will be going to see it for the first time, after years of study and toil and looking at the stelae in books halfway across the world, analyzing and theorizing and never actually seeing it. “Excited” cannot describe the joy she will radiate when she speaks of visiting Tikal in the morning. Captain, your travel companion (ever-watchful of opportunities for self-advancement) will ask Mareike if you both might be able to accompany her and … learn from her? She will agree. Not only will she agree, she will be ecstatic.

 Site Practicalities

In the morning, when you arrive at the entrance to the mythical city with Mareike, Captain, and Mareike’s army-fatigue clad, male partner of undisclosed relation (P.O.U.R.), be sure to stand outside the white van in the blazing seven o’clock sunlight, so that everyone can wait for you to tie your hiking shoe. Since Mareike won’t be able to wait for you to tie your shoe, she and P.O.U.R. will hurry off to the gate, while you and Captain decide to check in with EL CAMPING, with a resolve to meet again inside the park, in the acropolis, at eleven o’clock noon.

 Accommodation, eating and drinking

Be sure to investigate, thoroughly, the EL CAMPING situation. Most likely, the situation will be that there are several slabs of rectangular concrete, arranged in a semi-circle, each shaded by a thatched roof. Each hut is equipped with hooks for you to sling your hammock; otherwise, the concrete will do for a tent floor. Most travelers find that it is important to spend some time lying in the hammock with your travel companion, gazing at the inexplicable wildlife emerging from the nearby forest.

 Do not be alarmed.

 Also emerging from the woods are what appear to be giant squirrel-rabbits at play. Don’t pay much attention to them, and they won’t pay much attention to you.

It is important that you find a place to stow your giant travel backpack while you explore the ruins of Tikal. This is most easily accomplished by spending an hour or so hunting down the custodian, who will then open the janitorial closet for you and offer to keep your luggage in there for fifty quetzals (six bucks). Then get moving into the park, where Mareike and P.O.U.R. will be waiting for you.

 The Great Plaza

Climb Templo Dos. Take some photos with your disposable camera of you looking adorable, with Templo Uno in the background (your grandmother will later enlarge and frame it). Climb back down. Meet Mareike and P.O.U.R. Mareike will have prepared a handout. Follow her blindly.

 Stelae

Stelae is the plural form of the word stela, meaning an upright stone or slab with engravings on it. Make sure to ask Mareike lots of questions about the art on these stelae, as she will be more than happy to share her knowledge. Again, document her wonderfully German unshakeable enthusiasm as she showcases the art. Watch out for monkeys throwing fruit on you from above.

 Water



Obviously, you are not to drink Guatemalan tap water. Captain drank cave water earlier and got giardia, so you know how that goes. You must therefore carry a water bottle of some sort with you at all times. It is advisable to carry around the largest bottle of water possible. Make sure you are constantly carrying it and constantly drinking from it. Drink as much of it as possible, as often as possible. Don’t sip it, chug it. Mareike will tell a short story about water: as an archaeologist, she is constantly having to go to hot, exotic places such as the one you are in now. She, being a large, white European, is always guzzling water. But she noticed that the Guatemalans who work with her at the field sites almost never drink water. They don’t need it. They don’t sweat. Or at least, they don’t sweat as much. It’s truly amazing.

Keep drinking water.

Bathroom facilities are few and far between, so when you spot one among the trees make sure you spend some quality time there.



 Temples and similar structures



There are lots. Don’t even try to pinpoint your location on the map. Just wander around and climb the interesting ones. Watch out for black mold. Also, bats. Think about how great it would be if you could somehow sleep atop one of these temples instead of in the crappy hut in EL CAMPING.

 Templo IV



This is the biggest temple. It rises above the trees like something out of Star Wars. The only one higher than this exists at El Mirador, a ruin accessible only by a seven-day trek through the jungle, which you have neither the money nor the stamina to undertake. Climb it when the sun is setting. Wander around to the back of it. The rainforest canopy will spread below you in all directions. Watch the pink sun setting in between the clouds. Captain will probably be smoking. You are all alone, gazing at the green below you and the scaffolding above you (they will be renovating it). A glimmer of an image will come to you, and you will suddenly suggest the following as though it were the most obvious thing in the world: Why don’t we just tie the hammock to the scaffolding and sleep up here?

 Bribing the Night Guard and Lying to Officials: Dos and Don’ts

You are about to engage in one of the most well-known secret tourist activities of Tikal: Bribing the night guards to let you in to the complex after visiting hours to sleep atop the ancient ruin of your choosing. This lies somewhere in between adventurous and commonplace. Here is a quick list of handy tips for safely navigating your way through the process:

 Do:

Þ   Discuss with Captain your idea and how you will execute it. Be on the lookout for guard bribery opportunities.

Þ   Strike up a conversation in very broken Spanish with the small uniformed man walking next to you with a huge rifle. Allow him to casually suggest letting you in to the park after hours. Explain in hushed tones that “we would like sleep here in the night please.” Pay him the equivalent of 50 dollars.

Þ   Allow him to suggest places you could camp in the complex. Observe with silent acceptance the damp and foul-smelling spots he recommends.

Þ   Slowly introduce your desire to sleep atop Templo IV. He will be shocked and will try to talk you out of it, citing such factors as losing his job. Be firm. Meet his hesitancy with steely resolve.

Þ   Make sure you come up with a believable story for the night watch at EL CAMPING about why you paid for a hammock hut and never slept there. You may or may not have to actually explain yourself; chances are they won’t notice or care and you will have gone through these sneaky preparations for nothing.

Þ   Slyly ask the custodian to open the closet for you so you can get needed night-things out of your giant traveling backpack (extra set of underwear, sleeping pants, extra shirt, contact lens case and solution), etc.

Þ   Arrange a meeting time with the night guard for him to let you in to the city after visiting hours.

 Don’t:

Þ   Ever wear contacts in the rainforest.  

 Do:

Þ   Eat a hearty dinner at the Jaguar Inn before your jungle trek. 

 Don’t:

Þ   Get heatstroke during your hearty dinner. 

Þ   Argue when Captain tells you it’s because you’re dehydrated. Apparently, chugging water does not hydrate you. You are supposed to sip at intervals. Everyone who has ever been a Boy Scout knows that.  

 

Do:

Þ   Enjoy the first nice thing Captain has done for you in a while: place cool paper towels on your chest, back and forehead to take your body temperature down. 

Þ   Recover from impending heatstroke and proceed with the evening.  

 Illegally Navigating Ancient Ruins

When stepping into the jungle at eleven p.m. with Captain and the night guard, you may find it useful to keep your thoughts on a positive track. Hopefully by this point in your trip you’ve spent some time in the highlands, preferably in lovely San Marcos La Laguna next to Lake Atitlan, where there are plenty of meditation centers, spas, and massage therapists to help you relax and learn to control your breathing. It is precisely for moments like this that you have done your preparation. Do not allow your mind to wander into dark territory. The following thought topics are not recommended:

 

-   the black darkness of the jungle

-   jaguars, and how they can climb things

-   scorpions, how they are everywhere, and how they can also climb things

-   everything you’ve ever heard about Guatemala being a dangerous, crime-ridden country

-   the rifle the night guard is holding

-   how no one knows where you are

-   how your cell phone is dead

-   how Americans are usually stereotyped as being made of money when they travel abroad

-   how when you opened your wallet to give the guard bribe money earlier, there were a lot more bills showing

-   the dinosaur sounds emanating from somewhere not too far away

 

Instead, this guidebook recommends calmer fare such as

-   the beauty of your unique travel experience

-   the stories you can tell when you get home

-   the sheer wonder and excitement of everything!

 

How to sleep atop a Mayan temple

Because of the power of positive thinking, you will most likely arrive safely at Templo IV. The guard will give you some simple instructions that will allow him to keep his job and keep you out of trouble with the Guatemalan authorities. Guatemalan prisons are no picnic. These instructions are, briefly: no light on top of the temple. None. If there is any light, anybody below you for miles around will see it and all is lost, for clearly there has not been anyone regularly existing at the top of the temple for hundreds and hundreds of years and any indication otherwise would cause quite a stir. The second instruction is that you must rise no later than 4:30 a.m., in order for the daily Sunrise Tour not to catch you asleep in a hammock when they arrive, having ridden in cars from Flores and Santa Elena and El Remate for hours in order to catch the spectacular sunrise from atop the second tallest temple in the ancient Mayan world. Your sleeping in the hammock would certainly not be what they expect to see. So your hammock and other equipment must be safely packed and stowed away, and you must be sitting quietly and nonchalantly on the stairs when the tour arrives in the morning. Chances are, the bleary-eyed travelers will be so confused from their long trek they will hardly notice you.

            Back to the night before – be extra certain your hammock is tied tightly to the scaffolding. The wind is warm but heavy. A death earned by falling off Templo IV, while spectacular, is probably not what you’re looking for right now.

            If your travel partner agrees, you should do everything you’ve ever wanted to do on top of a temple overlooking the rainforest. Everything. This is an all-ages guidebook so we won’t go into further detail, but we encourage you to consider the bragging rights later.

Howler Monkeys   They sound like dinosaurs. Do not be alarmed. The sound you hear is that of male howler monkeys fighting for territory. Even though we here at the guidebook think you will probably never again hear such a harrowing, soul-murdering sound in your life, this is another opportunity to practice your unwaveringly sunny outlook – the kind of outlook that brought you to Guatemala in the first place. Taking Care of Business On the Temple If you have to urinate, do so – as you should do everything on Templo IV – with great caution. The wind is sharp, it is dark and you will not be able to see what you are doing. Apologize to whatever ancient and merciless gods are watching over your disrespectful activities.

 

 

 

Morning

Gently awake to dark clouds floating in front of you. The forest below does not exist. Silently pack up your hammock and change into day clothes. Await the dawn. All is quiet. Slowly, slowly, light begins to invade the space around you, not quite, but almost. You are wanting so badly to fall asleep. Captain gives you his raincoat to wear because the early morning is chilling your bones. You rest your head on his shoulder and let your mind drift, barely noticing how quickly it gets lighter, barely noticing the dazed looking woman in pink suddenly emerge at the top of the stairs and wander over to you, barely noticing when she plops herself down next to you, barely noticing the enormous volume of people who follow her, barely noticing when they find spots on the stone to sit and stare at the clouds. At one point the sun looks like it may have risen. The tour guide finally gets up there and starts lecturing about Templo IV. No one notices you – you have successfully camouflaged yourself among the rest of the tour. Fifteen minutes in, you and Captain decide to take your leave. On your way down, a grumpy tour guide asks why. You should reply that you are tired. He will try to impress upon you the unfortunate circumstance of your leaving, as you are missing out on many interesting facts about this extraordinary temple. At this point, for sincerity’s sake, you should tell him that you already know a lot about the temple and are quite ready to leave.

            Descend into the rainforest. Find some breakfast.

 

Letter from Guatemala, May 16, 2008

Hi Ariel!

Sorry for the long delay in communication! We’ve been doing a lot of traveling and I neglected to find a good time and place to write. But now we’re back in San Marcos and things are a more settled, so here is an update:

-Two weeks ago Kirk and I left La Cambalacha to do some traveling around the country, to get a broader perspective on Guatemala outside of the tiny town of San Marcos, with the intention of returning here to finish our volunteer work. We made a big loop northward and visited both big cities and small rural areas. Our itinerary was thus: Antigua, Lanquin, Semuc Champey,  Flores, Tikal, back to Flores, Rio Dulce, Livingston, Guatemala City, then finally back to San Marcos.

-in Flores, we met a German archaeologist named Mareike who was doing her PhD work in modern Mayan art, and had written her master’s thesis on Tikal (an ancient Mayan city in the rainforest of El Peten, northern Guatemala. Guatemala began marketing it as a tourist destination in the 1970s, and even though it’s still not fully excavated it’s extremely accessible.) We went with Mareike to Tikal and the ruins of Uaxactun (a military rival of Tikal). She gave us incredible lectures on Mayan history, the iconography on the temples, the structure of the pyramids and the social / political structure of ancient cities like Tikal. I have many notes. I also managed to convince the night guard (with very basic Spanish and some extra quetzales) to let us spend the night on top of Templo IV (the tallest pyramid in the complex). It was incredible, if I can sum it up in a word.

- in Livingston, on the Caribbean coast, we immersed ourselves in Garifuna culture, which is a mix of Afro-Caribbean and Guatemalan culture. I became friends with a local named Luis, whose family is descended from the African slaves that were shipwrecked there, and he taught me a lot of the garifuna language, which I have written down safely in my notebook. Garifuna is only spoken in Livingston, in a couple of towns on the coast of Honduras, and in Cuba.

- The rest of the trip was an education in what it means to be a tourist in Guatemala. It’s a very strange culture and I don’t like it. During the times when I was traveling and not doing anything very specific, I read a lot from a book I found in Antigua called Voices From the Silence: Guatemalan Literature of Resistance, which descriptively paints the picture of Guatemalan social and political history since the Spanish Conquest. It was hard to enjoy myself and read this book at the same time.

-Back in San Marcos, at La Cambalacha, I am starting up again with my Spanish lessons and with teaching classes. I helped two students, Diego and Juana, to write a short skit in English for Teatro en Ingles, which I hope they will be able to perform next week. I am having very intense discussions with my Spanish teacher about Guatemalan politics, the state of the Mayan people, the problem with capitalism, the tourist industry, and life in general.

I am overwhelmed with knowledge and I don’t quite know what form to put it all in. I am thinking about writing a series of essays when I get home, but much of my knowledge is experiential and not solidly researched in terms of academic texts, so I almost want to make this a writing contract and just write about everything narratively. Any advice about how to put it all together would be most appreciated, since the learning here spans many different subject areas. (Maybe that would be a more productive discussion when I get home, too).

Okay. I apologize for the lengthiness. I’ll keep in touch!

Blythe

 

Antigua – pardon the profanity, grandma.

     Antigua is a bustling colossal colonial city in comparison to San Marcos. Pastel buildings. everyone looks more spanish than maya. have heard almost no kaq’chikel. am staying in black cat hostel, a terribly ´”backpackery” place that constantly plays oasis and fiona apple, drinks on the tab, bros and she-bros hanging in the lobby drinking beers smoking cigarette talking about the chick they hooked up with last night, KiKi from somewhere in Eastern Europe ooh what a Slavic beauty, “i accused her of stealing my toothbrush and she freaked out, man. Not only is that fucked up, it’s fucking gross!” and lots of backpackers that say they want to see the world and have lots of ideals and reasons why they are here but what it all boils down to is that they want to party in guatemala. Last night we attended a drunken oddly european irish bar tequila drinking bar dancing extravaganza and sat in the corner nursing our beers with sad looks on our faces because we didn’t know what to do with all the insanity. I said to Ronan (our irish friend from the organization in san marcos), “If I wanted to go to Europe, I’d go to Europe.”

Kirk is still following Ronan around like a lovesick puppy, and I haven’t the heart to tell him no, really, you’re completely in love and you and ronan are dating. It’s annoying.

      Meat market – they just let the chickens hang out on the counter for god knows how long. The market is disturbingly organized (or unorganized, rather) and the sights and smells that encounter you as you wind through the dark cramped building are thus: jesus trinkets, machetes, tools, vegetables, pastries, fruits, spices, raw chicken, eggs, giant slabs of cow hanging from a wire hanger like on a clothes rack, then DIAPERS and BABY SUPPLIES, toilet paper, personal grooming, then finally the giant comedor in the middle where about twenty competing lunch places all share the same room. Almost all are catholic and in the middle of the menus are huge pastel smiling pictures of jesus with accompanying slogans telling you to repent but that jesus loves you and that jesus supports the food you are about to eat. When eating in the comedor you’re cramped into picnic style tables next to all the locals (no tourists dare enter here), and everybody shares chile and salt and everything is dirty and messy and the tables aren’t clean and everybody’s happy and eating and the food is extraordinary and cheap and it’s just a big giant pile of humanity which is why I love guatemala.

XOXOXO

blythe

 

Letter from Guatemala, April 20, 2008

Hi Ariel!

I’ve decided it’s too monumental of a task for me to describe in a single email every aspect of my time here, so I think I’m going to do it in installments. There is so much to write about, with only one computer shared by about 20 people so I can’t in good conscience take up the computer for three hours at a time. For right now I’ll write as much as I can about my observations of the town we’re in, then eventually move on to La Cambalacha, art and theatre, what I understand about the economic situation, and personal social and cultural adjustment.

San Marcos La Laguna

San Marcos is one of many towns situated on the border of Lake Atítlan here in Guatemala. It is a tiny little town with a mix of inhabitants. It is a haven for “hippies with a purpose” (so says my guidebook), and said hippies color much of the “downtown” area and especially near the lake. Much of the economy here is based around New-Agey tourist attractions: masseuses, alternative therapies, retreat centers, energy cleansings, hotels that cater to the youthful and the spiritually minded. At first this arrangement seems to make sense; the natural environment is extraordinarily beautiful, the weather warm and usually sunny, fruit trees, enormous colorful insects, the Mayan women wearing bright traditional dress, music usually being played somewhere, generally blissed-out looks on the faces of anyone who isn’t a local. If there is any place more condusive to embarking on a spiritual journey towards finding yourself / ultimate enlightenment, I don’t know where it is. The town is nestled in a valley at an altitude of 7,000 feet, surrounded by tropical forest, and around the lake rise three (active, I believe) volcanoes, the tops of which are always surrounded by clouds. At night the forests light up with thousands of fireflies, and the moment the sun goes down the churches erupt in (off-key, but well-intentioned) singing of evangelical American hymns translated into Spanish and sung with all the gusto of a Mayan chant (which is a good sound for Mayan chants but not necessarily for English hymns). The mornings greet us with a cacophony of tropical birds (and, more recently, the very loud construction of our French neighbor’s two-story bungalow). It’s a remarkably beautiful place to live and work. The inhabitants of San Marcos are extremely diverse and come from all over the world. There are the indigenous Mayans whose economic situations vary from poor, self-employed artisans (selling flutes, jewelry, bread, tablecloths) that cater to tourists, to fruit and produce sellers (the majority of whom are women), to small business owners (tiendas) to city employees who are paid a livable wage (although it varies month to month) such as policeman (all four of them), city administrators and secretaries, etc; to teachers, doctors and other professionals. My own existence here as a visitor (I consider myself a visitor rather than a tourist because I am actually working here, not going on three month meditation retreats, sunbathing all day and “finding my energy” in various hotel bars) puts me into contact most with the Mayans living in poverty – those on the street who petition me for money for all sorts of things. Gabriela Cordón, the director and founder of La Cambalacha, says that unfortunately there’s no avoiding the fact that, as outsiders and especially as Americans, we are viewed largely as big dollar signs. Part of the amazing thing about working at La Cambalacha is that it provides an opportunity, to some extent, to break down those barriers through daily contact with local kids and teenagers, teaching but also learning. They are very patient Spanish teachers.

All right, there are about four people waiting to use the computer (as it is Sunday and everybody’s day off), so I’ll send this off to you and hopefully be able to get the next installment to you soon!

Hope all is well and sunny in Olympia,

Blythe

 

Letter from Guatemala, April 4, 2008

Padre y Madre y grandma y dave,

Everything is wonderful. I live in the rainforest. At night the trees light up with fireflies and voices rise from all around the woods. The Mayans start to sing when the sun goes down, and they sing for an hour, and you can hear it wherever you are because the voices echo off the hills. The lake is surrounded by three active volcanoes, and when hikers hike it their shoes melt from the heat of the lava. Last night before dawn, a small earthquake rumbled my cabin. Kirk and I share a small hut all to ourselves with a mosquito net and a red lightbulb. The town is tiny and everyone greets you with Hola, and sometimes Tu Es Mucho Guape, Señora. (you are very beautiful). I will be teaching choir, english and theatre to the niños. Today we played ¨Pato Pato Pollo¨´ – duck duck goose!

everything is relaxed and warm and almost no mosquitos. It is, however, scorpion season, and I haven´t seen one yet, but one girl killed had to kill three the moment she woke up, and another girl came crying to the director at midnight because one stung her. UPSIDE: Apparently a scorpion sting feels like nothing worse than a beesting, and hurts for about twenty minutes, and sometimes makes your tongue go numb, and the locals say it is good for your health to be stung by a scorpion because it adds five years to your life. I am off of Zoloft and doing just fine. I have daily chores and am getting used to being fairly dirty most of the time, but it´s really not bad. Again, as for the scenery, look at any prehistoric painting and that´s pretty much where I live, minus the dinosaurs (though I secretly hope they still exist and are lurking in the bushes). I am picking up Spanish like the little language sponge that I am, and dad, your wordless travel book is a godsend. Everyone is enormously friendly, calm and trusting. La Cambalacha is also enormously poor and need lots of help and everyone should donate $100 to them because when we got here they had to wait for us to pay them because they didn´t have enough money to buy food for everyone that night (they are without funding this year).

We picked up a traveler from Korea named David who just gave me a soothing speech about how I think a lot and it´s okay not to spend so much time thinking, because it prevents me from spreading my wings.

I think I agree.

Tonight we´re going to a Mayan sauna, meaning a sauna in the caves next to the lake. to get the the other towns around the lake, one takes a boat. There are lizards and butterflies and a kitty that falls asleep in your lap. I am learning how to relax. Also, banana flowers are so big I´m scared of standing underneath them because I feel like at any moment they´re going to open up like in Jumanji and eat my face. Pictures from Kirk´s camera coming soon.

XOXOXOXO and wishing I could transport all my loved ones here,

Blythe

 

La Vie Bohème (Doing Things As Though You Know What You’re Doing When You’re Doing Them)

La Vie Bohème

 

(Doing Things As Though You Know What You’re Doing

When You’re Doing Them)

 

I used to be Catholic.

I was Catholic for three years.

 Father Williams took us to see The Exorcist when it was showing at Cinema 21. He laughed hysterically through the entire thing.

I was baptized at St. Mark’s. As I approached the font, the bishop, in his most important outfit, gestured at me. He dipped his old fingers in the holy water and made the sign of the cross on my forehead, then again at the base of my throat.  

 In Paris, I am stepping down the spiral stone staircase deep into the earth, circles after circles after circles. No signs to tell you how far of a descent. We enter the equivalent of the green room, before the crypt, with stories on the walls and historical pamphlets to fill your fingers with, it gets colder, I’ve planned ahead and am wearing my rosary around my neck (because anything involving death means you’ve got to prepare yourself for the inevitable onslaught of spiritual mess). I step into the corridor and the damp ceiling of the caves is familiar, ever since the caves in Germany when I was five caves have felt like familiar territory, comforting, silent. Silence like the kind of muffled silence I imagine exists in a padded, carpeted room in the basement of a cathedral or hospital or psych ward or funeral home or womb. The wall to my right, I realize, is not composed of stone but of bone. Skulls and crossbones. Those skulls are browned, as though they basted them before arranging them. I run my fingers along them and wonder what time they will break into Disneyesque song and dance. All is quiet. I am

 Alone in the chapel with Father Williams.

“Are you sure there’s nothing you want to confess before you leave us?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure there is nothing you want to get off your chest? You don’t know when you may next have a chance to confess. It could be two years. Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Well.”

 I am acutely aware of my own skeleton. The inscriptions in the crypt are in French and Latin. Some Body is telling me the Catacombs exist because of the plague, and they ran out of manpower, willpower and space to bury the bodies. Some Body else is telling me that the Catacombs exist because of the French Revolution. I’m clutching my blue-beaded rosary. The ceiling is dripping but it doesn’t drip on me. So many skulls. I stare right back at them and try to decide who they were.

I felt suffocated. There was a sign asking me to please not touch the bones. Why would I want to touch the stained bones? I couldn’t breathe down there. Upon my re-birth into the light of day, all I wanted was water. And a church.

 

The Glitter of Tourism

(1985 – 2003)

          The glitz, glamour and glitter of Tourism was much beloved in America. She was famous for spicing up the Hollywood industry and enjoyed a long and illustrious Disney career. A memorial service will be held at 2 p.m. Monday at the Moulin Rouge, with burial following at Sacre Coeur. She was preceded in death by her parents, Colonialism and The Thrill of Large Crowds. She is survived by her husband, Romanticism, her children Quirky Guide Book, Travel Writing and College Kids Backpacking Around Europe, and her sisters Money and Marketing.

     Visitation will be on Monday from 10 a.m. until time of service. Please, no flash photography. Food and beverage prohibited. Informational brochures available for only ten Euros. Sketch artist will draw a picture of you next to the corpse of Tourism for free (it’s for his portfolio. Donations demanded.) Keychains, posters, and t-shirts for sale

during reception. Please do not touch the body of Tourism. Restrooms down the hall and to your left. Please use the escalator. Please keep the line moving. Free notebooks and pencils available on your right so you can immediately chronicle the magic of your experience. Please hold still for photo. Photo will be available on the Tourism website until 5/6/04. Please use this confirmation code to access your photo. Photos available in matte or glossy formats. For an additional forty Euros, photo available in black and white. Thank you. We look forward to seeing you again.

 

          In the Louvre, it wasn’t the painting of the Mona Lisa that really got to me. The Mona Lisa was too small for the giant room they gave her, and too difficult to see in front of the hoards of Japanese tourists with digital cameras and video cameras and cell phone cameras and disposable cameras. I only got a glimpse of her. I remember hoping to feel something when I saw her. I remember hoping that maybe the paint would sparkle. She looked like every Mona Lisa I had ever seen in any textbook. I don’t even remember her all that well. But I do remember the Japanese tourists; their camera flashes were so bright. In the photo album, later, I wrote “An old painting nobody cares about” for her caption.

I saw Monet’s Water Lilies. I don’t remember.

Another painting I saw was … I don’t remember.

I saw a Rodin sculpture and that was good.

At Versailles, I saw the sculpture garden. I liked the sculptures more than any painting I saw. I also liked the gold.

I don’t really remember about art.

 

Homework: Fill in the blank.

 

1.              The Mona Lisa made me feel ____________ (overwhelmed, underwhelmed, confused, unaccomplished, pretty)

2.              The Eiffel Tower was ________________ (impressive, phallic, hard to climb, a must, cold)

3.              The Chateau at Versailles is a perfect example of _________ (having way too much money, romanticism, the good life, how to use as much gold as possible in your home decorating, impressive garden hydraulics)

4.              The Moulin Rouge is not ______________ (a safe place to hang around after dark, cheap, in a good part of town, easily accessible, romantic)

5.              The Seine is an excellent place to _________________ (have a bottle of rosé, learn how to stand on someone’s shoulders, cry, fall in)

6.              Notre Dame ________ (is beautiful).

          Sometime after my nineteenth birthday, I bought a Beta fish, a Beta fish and I named her Medusa. She was beautiful. I don’t remember why I bought her, I do remember that a lot of French was spoken that I did not necessarily understand. Something about how often to feed her. I bought a glass bowl for her, set her on top of the VCR, and that was her spot. I would greet her every time I came home, talking or singing to her as I did the dishes.

After a month of solitude, I decided that Medusa was lonely and needed a friend. I knew almost nothing about the Beta fish; I was too preoccupied with my various Parisian commitments, being a nanny, not going to French class, neglecting my homework and concentrating on the men in my acting class.

             

 Daily Schedule – Paris, 2003 – 2004

0900. Awake

0930. Metro

1000. La Classe de Français

1300. Fin de La Classe de Français

1330. Dejeuner (Lunch)

1430. Fin de la Dejeuner

1545. Metro to the Tisserand’s

1550. Get the Dog

1555. Run with Dog to Pick Up Romain from School

1556. Dog Slows Down

1557. Encourage Dog to Hurry

1558. Get Angry, Sweat, Receive Disapproving Looks for Running on the Sidewalk

1559. Romain’s School is Three Blocks Away

1600. Romain’s School is One and a Half Blocks Away

1602. Arrive at L’Ecole de Romain.

1603. Romain emerges. Commence long, silent walk home

1630. Arrive Home. Prepare Le Snack

1635. Pretend not to Notice Romain is Regarding Le Télévision

1640. Announce Le Snack.

1700. Regard Le Télévision with Romain, Pretend Not To

1715. Suggest Le Télévision Be Silenced

1720. Demand Le Télévision Be Silenced

1725. Silence Le Télévision

1730. Encourage Romain to begin his Poésie Homework

1735. Demand Romain begin his Poésie Homework

1745. Sneak Chocolate Cracker from Cupboard

1800. Fin de Poésie Homework. Commence Preparation of Le Dinner

1810. Sneak 2^nd Chocolate Cracker from Cupboard

1820. Cook the Zucchini the Wrong Way

1822. Receive Wrath of Adrien for Cooking the Zucchini the Wrong Way

1825. Commence Correct Zucchini Preparation

1830. Run Romain’s Bain (Bath)

1845. Announce Le Dinner Time

1850. Le Dinner.

1900. Romain – Bain – Water is Too Hot / Cold / Water-y

1903. Alter Bain to Meet 10-Year-Old’s Specifications

1915. Dominique Arrives Home

1920. Get out of Apartment as Quickly as Possible

1927. Smoke Cigarette

1933. Read Candide on Metro

1948. Purchase Beer from Local Superette

2000. Arrive Home. Open Wide French Windows. Light Incense. Smoke Cigarette. Put

            On Music. Drink Beer. Gaze out Window.  Turn On Le Télévision.

            Write.                                                                                      FIN

 

           

Medusa’s selected friend was blood red and named Zeus. He was the perfect color complement to Medusa’s cerulean blue. Zeus came home not at all like babies, on the Metro in two bags, a plastic one enshrouded by a paper one. I was nervous to handle the bag so delicately on the Metro – I was nervous to do just about anything on the Metro besides sit and stare quietly into the abyss. The Parisians are very particular about what you can and cannot not do publicly (yes to walking smoking talking smiling giving directions no to eating spitting swearing or looking bad, mon dieu), and the palpable air-tension was a manifestation of the general attitude (pas d’arabesque). Albion, my liaison from England, on the subway, drunk at two in the morning, once alerted the rest of the car that I was an American and that they should watch out.

 

            I brought Zeus home and took him out of his paper bag. I held the plastic bag up to Medusa’s bowl so they could look at each other. Betas have raptor-like flaps on the sides of their faces that fan out whenever they feel feisty. Medusa’s face flaps flared when she saw Zeus. Zeus wasn’t paying attention because I he couldn’t see anything from within the distorted confines of his plastic bag. I speechified to Medusa about how Zeus was going to be her friend and wasn’t it going to be lovely. I dumped Zeus into Medusa’s bowl.

 

            Once Zeus reoriented in the water, he and Medusa flap-flared and started circling each other like two wrestlers. Oh, how wonderful. They’re mating.

            Then, like when Dominique slapped Romain without remorse -

            Medusa darted forward at Zeus, striking him right in the face. Zeus retaliated by head butting Medusa between the eyes. They both moved with lightning speed, darting around the bowl, striking with their heads, lashing with their fins and inflicting general savagery on each other. Clearly, this was not sexual. This was the killing field. I saw a lonely piece of red tail drift through the water. Holy God, I thought, they’re actually going to murder each other.

            “Stop! No! What are you guys doing? Stop it! Stop it now!”

            I take the two steps into my kitchen and grab a mug. Frantically I am dipping the mug into the bowl where the two fighting fish are using their cute little faces as bludgeons, tearing off scales and fins, churning up the water, creating a whirlpool of death and destruction. Somehow, after a few horrifying failed attempts, I scoop the battered Zeus into the mug. Medusa continues to rage furiously around in the water after Zeus is gone, face-flares erect, battle charged like the descendants of the late Napoleon and Louis XVI wanting to restore the monarchy, on fire, zooming around the bowl. Zeus trembles pitifully in his mug. I transfer him to a casserole dish and place it next to Medusa, but soon discover this does not work, like my shower drain and television do not work, because they can see each other through the glass and their massacre will not be disrupted, they are banging their little heads against the glass and nearly knocking themselves unconscious with rage. I had to slip a piece of black paper in between the bowl and the dish so they couldn’t even see each other.

            It is at this point I decide to read up on the Beta fish.

            The Beta fish – also known as the “Siamese Fighting Fish” – originates from Thailand. The colorful ones – all the ones you see for sale in pet stores – are male. The females are a drab grey. So Medusa is not a lady after all; she has been a gentleman fish the whole time. Males absolutely cannot be kept together, or they will fight to the death.

On the day Medusa died, all I wrote in my journal was:

“Medusa died”.

After discovering the fact of her maleness, I never stopped referring to her as a female. I just started to think of her as more of a drag queen.

 

Poème

Today is Dominique’s birthday.
I forgot to get her anything.
Fish and rice for dinner tonight.
I really hope Romain
takes his bath.
He bit my ankle earlier so I
dragged him into Adrien’s room
and left him there.
I forgot to pick up the money for the water,
earlier,
so I just made a withdrawal
and bought it.
Romain was annoyed,
but I gave him a 7Up
so he was pacified.
Taxi drivers are total assholes.
You’d think they’d be grateful to have fares.
But no.

 

Annie Skew Fang

I’m sorry about how I call you like a lost lamb
cut from the mother tongue
I’m sorry fuh these parts,
stretched out like an open womb
laid bare like Eve.
don’t mean to show that
You’re a tonic
a panacea out among the gallows
striking when you deem the time ripe
a rough cut slathered o’er the brine
Brilliant, twinkling, shallow
Mud on my name, on the flat cake.

Scratched from Hosanna’s sprained foot
raging across the plains
splat, Spartan down, right tried to do it
failed, splutching through the pink.

 

San Marcos, April

I just bought a flute from Diego. I talked him down from 120 quetzales to 55. It’s a flute made in the traditional Mayan way, using solar energy to burn the holes and make the marks. He takes a very small glass with a tiny bit of agua in the bottom, and uses the sun shining through the glass to smoke the wood, to carve words and designs. Each flute takes four days to make. He makes them at nine or ten in the morning when the sun is strongest.

 

Notes from Guatemala

Antigua, April 30th, 2008

‘You know, Shelby, flossing is the cheapest form of dental insurance.’

I just did a card trick for a dude named Alfredo. He loved it. Everybody’s name is Alfredo and that’s funny b/c of the menu. I’m super drunk.