La Vida Despacio

Life has suddenly slowed down, which for someone not working a regular job is really saying something. I've come to the little town of San Andrés, on Lake Petén Itzá in the northern lowlands of Guatemala, for a week of spanish lessons. Two restaurants, one cantina, and that's about it for public places. The local boys go to the next town - San José, pop. 3,000 - to hang out. And the water is shut off daily at 2pm. After catching the last seat on the morning flight to Flores, I arrived at the hostel through which I arranged my classes. Run by an American - Memo - and his Guatemalan wife, the FloresTikal is highly praised by backpackers coming through town. It doesn't have a lake view, but makes up for that with hospitality and low prices. While having a late breakfast I ran into Arika, another student at the school, who was in Flores to use the Internet among other things. I decided to go with her when she returned. Or, rather, she decided to go with me, since I was informed that a launcha was coming to pick me up, and she was otherwise going to have to pay for and take a minibus back to San Andrés. Around 2 PM an older man in a tattered t-shirt bearing the name of the Eco-Escuela colectivo came in. Cush, our boatman. Cush is 60ish with a face resembling Spencer Tracy and a ready grin that reveals a few yellow stumps which are all that are left of his teeth. It also makes understanding what he says that much harder, and, naturally, he speaks no english. Cush has operated a launcha for 50 years. A launcha is small open wood boat powered by an outboard motor, with a canopy to keep sun and rain off and room for about 20 people and their stuff. It used to be the primary way to get from Flores/Santa Elena to the other villages along the lake. But 15 years ago a paved road was put around the lake, and that seems to have killed the business. Why bother carting stuff to a boat, then hauling it from the shore up to your house, when you can go door to door in a minivan? The launcha is cheaper, but even here convenience has its value. Cush has continued to eek out a living doing what he knows. I learned that one thing he doesn't know is how to swim, and even has a fear of water. That gives me an odd confidence, knowing that he has apparently never had an incident bad enough to challenge his lack of aquatic skills. I've heard he can take 2 hours to make the 30 minute trip if the wind picks up and he feels he has to hug the shore rather than cut straight across. As part of the school I'm living with a family while here. So as we motored along towards San Andres Arika called the administrator to see where I should go on arrival. She and Cush chatted with him for a few minutes, and she announced that I would be staying with Cush's familia. Cush gave me a big broken toothed grin. I had a brief flashback to the couple who cared for the house in Wausau, WI that my ex lived in; a couple so stereotypically hickish you wouldn't find them credible as characters in the movie Fargo. As it turns out, his wife is a very nice woman who cooks only organic foods and makes her juices fresh. They have 6 children, two still at home, the son is married and his wife lives with them and the youngest is my son's age. Cush turns out to have a deep interest in politics and listens to talk radio opinion shows and opera. Their home is a converted commercial building, sort of like an LA loft without any expensive furnishings. The floor is broken concrete and the interior walls are plywood which don't reach the roof. Most of them sleep in hammocks, but I have a bed in an attached room. On the subject of buildings, San Andrés is like most other Latin American towns: filled with partly built structures. They all sprout rebar growing from the concrete jungle, to be tamed and contained with the next concrete pour. Due to low and often sporadic income, few mortgage lenders and high rates when there are, most homes are built piecemeal as extra income allows. The result is a sense of incompleteness. As I said, things have slowed down, and consist of morning language lessons, lunch, siesta, hanging out trying to find relief from the oppresive heat, dinner and more hanging out until bed. All with a constant backdrop (and chest drop and forehead drop) of sweat. I'll have some afternoon excursions later in the week, but for today it is life in the slowest lane. Hasta luego.