Thursday, April 05, 2007
LAST 3 Ports
Guatemala:
The drive into Antigua, Guatemala: sugar cane, pineapple fields, barbed wire fences, big 18-wheeler trucks whipping past toddlers who are playing unsupervised on the shoulders of major highways, distant volcanoes, littered streams, beautiful rainforests, and miles of roadside stands with colorful, exotic, forbidden fruit, which will give Americans dysentery if they succumb to the temptation.
There are dwellings along the highway and it is easy to see the social stratifications. Queen bees live in pink or yellow adobe/cement, two-story ranchhouses on small farms, wannabees live in adobe/cement one-story houses painted three or four bright colors, less-fortunates live in corrugated-tin shacks (held together by prayer), and the “homeless” migrants live under blue plastic-tarps propped up by sticks. I wonder what the “underprivileged underclass” of New Orleans would think of these Guatemalans who live without running water, electricity, or cable…heck…they live without walls.
I liked the old Spanish town of Antigua. However, this is one of the few places I have been to and said, “I could NEVER live here.” About half of the 20 million people are Mayan “Indian” descendents. This is truly a third-world country, but what can be done to help these poor uneducated, over-fertile, tiny, hobbit-like people? They weave the most amazing fabrics, but somehow these Mayan women need to be helped into the 21st century…or even the 19th century. And, although I don’t think I could live in Guatemala, I would love to return. I want to see the Mayan ruins. I want to see the native women weaving their magical textiles. There is a deep “soul” here, and I feel like I need to see more of Guatemala.
Huatulco:
This is a Disneyland version of Mexico. There are miles of man-made canals, pastel-colored fakey-adobe villas, golf fairways, recently-cleared dusty lots, and a desert “greenbelt” which separates the Huatulco Cinco Real resort/hotel compound from the meager Mexican villagers who are bussed in daily, from the local village, to plant rebar and shovel dirt. This planned community is still under construction…and the only thing(s) real about Huatulco are the bullets. Yes, on every cliff and checkpoint leading into the Huatulco resort, there are menacing, mustachioed Gestapo Guys, with automatic rifles, ready to keep you safe and sound. I think. Do they like tour groups entering their territory or not? You can’t read their faces because they hide behind dark sunglasses.
As we entered the compound from the safety of our Princess Cruise Tourbus, I couldn’t help but notice the similarity of architectural style to Middle-Eastern Mosques. It’s not really obvious, it’s just a “sort of “ peripheral feeling of several Mc-Villas being not quite “Mexican”. Ray knew enough Spanish to ask our guide, and yes, this little slice of paradise is financed by Arab oil money. It appears that a few investors decided to buy a small chunk of Mexico. (I guess that makes sense because there is not much more of London left to buy.)
In some ways this new development is a good thing. There will be many new jobs for Mexicans as gardeners, maids, dishwashers, cooks, sharp-shooters, personal shoppers, and construction workers. Huatulco is also very clean and waste water is processed before being dumped into the sea, which is probably a novel idea in this part of the world. Still, it is a shock to come from the slums of Guatamala to this pristine, heavily fortified oasis.
The next part of our tour took us to the village (on the other side of the greenbelt) where the regular Mexicans live: La Cruscitas…spelling may be off. La Cruscitas is an older, more legitimately Mexican burg. There was a festive atmosphere because it was the Easter Holidays. The stores were well-stocked and the merchants were happy: not only were the locals streaming into town, crammed into the backs of pickup trucks, but those crazy gringos from the new cruise-ship port were flashing plastic and paying full price for brightly-colored pottery and tablecloths. What a strange day.
Acapulco:
We went to see the cliff divers. I was freaking out just walking down the steep stone stairs to get to the viewing area. Next thing I know, a young girl, a couple of boys, and some men were hopping over the railing, rock-climbing down to the water, swimming over to the other side, then climbing up a (huge) sheer cliff with no safety ropes. This climb might have been even more dangerous than the dive. A few spots had almost no footholds or handholds. The 15y/o girl was having a bit of trouble in the area directly across from us and gingerly tried to find her footing… I almost couldn’t watch the smallish 13y/o boy make his way up. All of them were strong, and I could see their huge muscles flex as they clung to the wall.
Then, one by one they prepared for their dive. The water is not deep and they must propel themselves way out, because the rocks jut out. It is not a perpendicular drop! We were close enough to see their faces. And, I have to tell you: this was INTENSE. It was not an act. Each diver looked like a warrior preparing to enter battle. I have never seen a look like that. I will never forget this.
The drive into Antigua, Guatemala: sugar cane, pineapple fields, barbed wire fences, big 18-wheeler trucks whipping past toddlers who are playing unsupervised on the shoulders of major highways, distant volcanoes, littered streams, beautiful rainforests, and miles of roadside stands with colorful, exotic, forbidden fruit, which will give Americans dysentery if they succumb to the temptation.
There are dwellings along the highway and it is easy to see the social stratifications. Queen bees live in pink or yellow adobe/cement, two-story ranchhouses on small farms, wannabees live in adobe/cement one-story houses painted three or four bright colors, less-fortunates live in corrugated-tin shacks (held together by prayer), and the “homeless” migrants live under blue plastic-tarps propped up by sticks. I wonder what the “underprivileged underclass” of New Orleans would think of these Guatemalans who live without running water, electricity, or cable…heck…they live without walls.
I liked the old Spanish town of Antigua. However, this is one of the few places I have been to and said, “I could NEVER live here.” About half of the 20 million people are Mayan “Indian” descendents. This is truly a third-world country, but what can be done to help these poor uneducated, over-fertile, tiny, hobbit-like people? They weave the most amazing fabrics, but somehow these Mayan women need to be helped into the 21st century…or even the 19th century. And, although I don’t think I could live in Guatemala, I would love to return. I want to see the Mayan ruins. I want to see the native women weaving their magical textiles. There is a deep “soul” here, and I feel like I need to see more of Guatemala.
Huatulco:
This is a Disneyland version of Mexico. There are miles of man-made canals, pastel-colored fakey-adobe villas, golf fairways, recently-cleared dusty lots, and a desert “greenbelt” which separates the Huatulco Cinco Real resort/hotel compound from the meager Mexican villagers who are bussed in daily, from the local village, to plant rebar and shovel dirt. This planned community is still under construction…and the only thing(s) real about Huatulco are the bullets. Yes, on every cliff and checkpoint leading into the Huatulco resort, there are menacing, mustachioed Gestapo Guys, with automatic rifles, ready to keep you safe and sound. I think. Do they like tour groups entering their territory or not? You can’t read their faces because they hide behind dark sunglasses.
As we entered the compound from the safety of our Princess Cruise Tourbus, I couldn’t help but notice the similarity of architectural style to Middle-Eastern Mosques. It’s not really obvious, it’s just a “sort of “ peripheral feeling of several Mc-Villas being not quite “Mexican”. Ray knew enough Spanish to ask our guide, and yes, this little slice of paradise is financed by Arab oil money. It appears that a few investors decided to buy a small chunk of Mexico. (I guess that makes sense because there is not much more of London left to buy.)
In some ways this new development is a good thing. There will be many new jobs for Mexicans as gardeners, maids, dishwashers, cooks, sharp-shooters, personal shoppers, and construction workers. Huatulco is also very clean and waste water is processed before being dumped into the sea, which is probably a novel idea in this part of the world. Still, it is a shock to come from the slums of Guatamala to this pristine, heavily fortified oasis.
The next part of our tour took us to the village (on the other side of the greenbelt) where the regular Mexicans live: La Cruscitas…spelling may be off. La Cruscitas is an older, more legitimately Mexican burg. There was a festive atmosphere because it was the Easter Holidays. The stores were well-stocked and the merchants were happy: not only were the locals streaming into town, crammed into the backs of pickup trucks, but those crazy gringos from the new cruise-ship port were flashing plastic and paying full price for brightly-colored pottery and tablecloths. What a strange day.
Acapulco:
We went to see the cliff divers. I was freaking out just walking down the steep stone stairs to get to the viewing area. Next thing I know, a young girl, a couple of boys, and some men were hopping over the railing, rock-climbing down to the water, swimming over to the other side, then climbing up a (huge) sheer cliff with no safety ropes. This climb might have been even more dangerous than the dive. A few spots had almost no footholds or handholds. The 15y/o girl was having a bit of trouble in the area directly across from us and gingerly tried to find her footing… I almost couldn’t watch the smallish 13y/o boy make his way up. All of them were strong, and I could see their huge muscles flex as they clung to the wall.
Then, one by one they prepared for their dive. The water is not deep and they must propel themselves way out, because the rocks jut out. It is not a perpendicular drop! We were close enough to see their faces. And, I have to tell you: this was INTENSE. It was not an act. Each diver looked like a warrior preparing to enter battle. I have never seen a look like that. I will never forget this.
# posted by Ray and Tina Gregoire @ 8:46 PM 
