The Dual Economy

So I need to get something off my chest. One thing that is really bugging me here, and I guess it is true in most developing countries, is that although tourism is booming, not much of the money seems to benefit the local community.

In the Lake Atitlan area, as in most of Guatemala, poverty is a huge problem. Of course, hand in hand with that is lack of education, poor health care and malnutrition. These are not things that are easy to fix and many tourists believe that by coming here they are contributing to the local economy.

I’m starting to think that tourism is a backwards step for the locals. What often happens is that gringos come and buy houses thereby driving up property prices. They set up businesses where they employ very few locals (sometimes none), and usually only for the menial low-paid work. Generally the gringos have a better idea of what the tourist market is interested in and so they get named in the guide books and are busy and popular.

In effect, the locals are often priced out of their own town as they can’t afford the property and their businesses are less profitable. That’s why in the villages around Lake Atitlan, down near the water live the gringos and all their businesses, and up higher are the local villages.

As a tourist, it is impossible to entirely avoid the gringo businesses but my philosophy is to buy from the locals as much as possible and where possible, stay in a locally owned hotel. I also try to ensure that I don’t do much repeat business anywhere I stay if I can help it – thereby spreading the little money I am spending across as many businesses as possible. And of course, spending big in the local markets to support those communities, and occasionally buying chickens for people.

Markets

The indigenous population in Guatemala is around 60% of the total population so there is a very strong Mayan culture, particularly in these western highlands where most of the population is Mayan. There are several different tribes amongst the Mayan population and at least 20 different languages spoken – with vast differences between them. Most Mayans wear traditional dress which, for women consists of a huipil (tunic), long wrap-around skirt and belt. The huipil varies from tribe to tribe with some more elaborate than others.

Santiago La Laguna is another village along Lake Atitlan and the huipil there is very intricate with detailed embroidery of birds and flowers. I was told that it could sometimes take up to one week to embroider just one bird – I only wish I knew that when I was negotiating for one.

I spent an afternoon in Santiago which was lovely (until the rain came). This village has much less of a tourist influence and the locals, like most Guatemalans, are lovely to speak to.

Chichicastenango, as well as having one of the best names, also holds the largest and most famed market in Guatemala. This is held on Thursdays and Sundays and is a colourful and psychedelic display of Guatemalan textiles and handicrafts. Negotiating in a market here can take a while but is such a pleasant experience, it is all done so gently and respectfully. I think I did my bit for the local economy that day, requiring me to send, thus far, the largest and heaviest box of stuff home.

Antigua

Antigua is such a beautifully preserved colonial city that it would be remiss of me not to mention it or post any pictures. The guidebook says that if the Scandinavians were to come to Guatemala and build a city, Antigua would be it. UNESCO listed, the colourful buildings are no higher than two stories and the town contains many ruins of beautiful old churches, which you tend to just happen across as you're walking down the street. The town is set in a grid pattern in a valley surrounded by volcanoes. The cobblestone streets look nice but are a pain the arse when you're wearing thongs, and when its raining - there are such big gaps between the stones and all the streets are built with a slope into the centre - I kicked my toes and tripped more than a couple of times. Given it's beauty and proximity to Guate (the capital), it is a magnet for tourists and many come here to learn spanish and volunteer. Many of the rich locals from Guate head here for the weekend filling the town and its many restaurants and bars.

A Brief History

Founded in 1543, Antigua was was the seat of Spanish colonial government for the Kingdom of Guatemala, which included Chiapas, Guatemala, Belize, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua and Costa Rica. The full title bestowed upon the city was Muy Leal y Muy Noble Ciudad de Santiago de los Caballeros de Goathemala, that is, the "Very Loyal and Very Noble City of Saint James of the Knights of Guatemala." Ultimately, Antigua grew into the most important city in Central America, filled with monumental buildings of ornate Spanish colonial architecture. By 1773, in addition to the cathedral and government palace the city could boast of over 30 churches, 18 convents and monasteries, 15 hermitages, 10 chapels, the University of San Carlos, five hospitals, an orphanage, fountains and parks, and municipal water and sewer systems. Throughout its history the it was repeatedly damaged by earthquakes, but on July 29, 1773, the day of Santa Marta, an earthquake wrought such destruction that officials petitioned the King of Spain to allow them to move the capital to safer ground, which led to the founding in 1776 of present-day Guatemala City. Antigua was left to maintain its old world charm which is today so appealing.

Chickens and beer

The plan was to leave Juayua on Monday, stay overnight in Ahuachapan and do a daytrip up to Casa Blanca. However the hotel I had planned to stay in is now a floristry school, so after walking up and down the street aimlessly for half an hour, then finally finding out the fate of the former hotel, I thought bugger it, I’m going to Guatemala. So jumped on a bus to the border.

Funny how things work out. I got one of the last beds in the hostel that was recommended to me and had a week of fun and hanging out with great people.

It all started with Casa Amarilla having a party to celebrate their 10^th birthday on Tuesday afternoon. This was complete with games such as balloon popping, musical chairs, chinese whispers and, of course, smashing the piñata. Hilarious.

Next day, feeling slightly worse for wear, Helen convinced me a beer would make me feel better. And so started another day of sitting up on the patio and entertaining ourselves. Playing ridiculous TV show themes on YouTube and making a silly video which I then posted on YouTube - we did manage to involve others in the hostel in this revelry.

Next day, feeling slightly worse for wear, we were hanging around in the dorm chatting when Adam mentioned he would like a baby chicken to travel with, just a passing comment. Helen, Sarah, Adam and I went out to the markets and for lunch then separated at the supermarket. That is when Helen and I saw the baby chickens. It took a little bit of effort but I managed to convince Helen it would be hilarious if we bought one for Adam. So we did.

He was shocked, then pleased, then proud. We first thought he would take it back to the pet store, but no. I can do this he said. He went out and bought it food (we forgot that part), a basket and some bowls for food and water. We had a ball with it for a few hours, imagining Adam on the chicken buses with a chicken, crossing borders and checking into hostels. That was until the hostel evicted poor little Beer. Video says it all but one of the funniest lines was when Helen was minding the chicken down her shirt and the owner was giving her grief. It’s not my chicken she said, you have to talk to Adam, he’s downstairs asleep. So the owner goes down to Adam, wakes him up and says, do you own a chicken? Yes, I have a chicken he responded in his Mississippi drawl. Not what you hear everyday as a traveller.

Adam took the chicken to the market and gave him to a very happy old lady. That made me think, what if we bought more chickens and gave them to more people. Next video tells that story.

Incidentally, on Saturday I also helped the hostel deliver clothes and food to a disabled home and the church where they prepared food for hundreds of homeless each day. Needless to say my halo is now shining brightly.

So after a week of beer, chickens and chickens called Beer, I had to get out of Antigua. I still laugh when I think about the recommendation I was given for Casa Amarilla - it's not a party hostel, more mature people, low key. Ha.

Gastronomia

I arrived in Juayua on Friday afternoon and thought I'd get a bit of admin out of the way before the weekend. At the top of the list was getting money, then a haircut. Having not looked after my hair at all this trip, I thought I'd treat myself to a little trim. Well after about four minutes of Edward Scissorhands action, there was a new me with dramatically shorter hair with my hairdresser insisting it was only an inch, pointing to the long strands sitting forlornly on the ground. The torture cost me the grand sum of $1.50.

In Juayua each weekend there is a gastronomic festival which brings the town alive. The streets around the central park are full of stalls selling all sorts of food, grilled meats, soups, sweets, seafood, etc. Lots of visitors pour into the town on Saturday and Sunday, from both the cities and foreign tourists, to pig out for hours on end. This is accompanied by a man singing loudly and passionately and, for the most part, off-key, which can be heard right throughout the small town.

I bumped into my English friends, Sam and Julia, when I got here which was lucky as the rains poured throughout the afternoon and we were huddled under the tent eating our food for a few hours while waiting for the rain to settle. Later that evening we met back up at a bar where we had way too many mojitos. It was actually really nice to be around some other travellers again after such a dearth the past couple of weeks.

On Sunday I went to the neighbouring town of Ataco which also hosts a food festival at the weekends. This town is developing quickly but still not spoiled by tourism. While it drizzled all day, the beautiful murals on all the buildings brought so much colour and life that I barely even noticed the rain.

Where is everyone?

Sundays in Central America are typically quiet in most places as businesses are closed and people spend time with their family and going to church. Arriving in Santa Ana, El Salvador's second largest city, was somewhat like arriving in a ghost town. Everything was shut in the main streets with only a few fast food restaurants open in the centre of town (the most amusingly titled franchise, by the way, is BIGGEST!).

The World Cup final was being shown on a couple of screens in the main park but it was way too hot and a I had a drunk guy leaning against my leg so, with some difficulty, I sought out a restaurant where I could have lunch and watch the game. No such thing as a sports bar here... Obviously the locals were supporting Spain and I didn't really care either way so I was happy they were happy. Although it did feel like quite an anticlimactic end to the World Cup.

Quiet, empty towns are one thing but in the city it just gives me the heebie jeebies so I decided that I'd only spend the night in Santa Ana then head down to the coast. On Monday i left for Playa San Diego - a very quiet town. I was the only person in the hostel, apparently there had been a big crowd over the weekend for the soccer but they all left that morning. Why didn't I come here yesterday??? With not much going on I read my book in a hammock for a few hours then went for a wander around. I had been hearing a cacophony of sounds for a little while and was keen to find out where they were coming from. It sounded something like amateur musicians at band practice. Well that was pretty much it, the local school was rehearsing with loads of kids and all sorts of instruments. I have to admit that the closer I got the better it sounded. A number of the curious locals were all standing on rocks, bicycles and whatever else they could find to peer over the brick wall into the school playground and see what was going on. I wandered down to the beach which was too rough to swim in, down to the restaurants where I had some fish for dinner, then back to the hostel. The only other thing going on in the town was a few groups of grown men and some of teenage boys playing games of marbles. I haven't seen anyone playing marbles in years! I felt at that point I'd pretty much done everything one can do in San Diego and with an empty hostel thought I might be best to move on tomorrow.

Tuesday morning I started off for Los Cobanos, at the other end of the coastal stretch - technically not that far away but it took me all day what with bus connections, etc. I didn't particularly mind as it was an overcast day and I am really enjoying the chicken buses in El Salvador. Here I coughed up the big bucks ($15 per night) for a hotel room that was right on the beach with a nice balcony and a huge room. Turns out I had this place to myself as well but since it is a fishing village there is a lot of activity amongst the locals to keep me amused. That is when I'm not lying by the pool, reading a book and working on my tan.

Los Cobanos is a great little village. The main street I guess you'd call it, is actually the beach. When I arrived here it was high tide so I had to walk through the water where the swamp runs into the sea to get to my hotel. It is a very quiet village except for when the fishing boats come back in with their catch. Most restaurants seem to be open when they feel like it. Most of their business would be done at the weekend so during the week they don't bother too much. It was quite funny as there are restaurants (well really the public kitchens of the private houses) all the way along the street (beach) but I found it difficult sometimes to get food. Best bet was a late lunch after some fresh fish had arrived. The food was simple but good - generally fish with salad and rice - and that would cost $3 or $4.

Moreso in El Salvador than the other countries I've been to, there have been a lot of drunks around. Generally they are harmless and don't bother me, unless they touch me or breathe on me. Los Cobanos for some reason had a higher number than usual and they all hung around the beach just outside the hotel doors. Sometimes it was a bit like running the gauntlet going past them to go anywhere - being the only tourist in town and all...

El Salvador

El Salvador is the most dangerous and violent country in Central America, one of the most dangerous in the world. There are on average ten murders each day. This can be solely attributed to the gangs, the Mara, who are mainly based in the cities. A strong police presence is felt everywhere and the smaller towns have no gang activity whatsoever.

The gangs stem from the large number of El Salvadoreans who migrated (both legally and illegally) to the United States during the war. In Los Angeles many were persecuted by the Mexican gangs and formed their own in retaliation. To halt some of the violence in LA, immigration deported any illegals back to El Salvador where the gangs flourished.

There are two competing gangs here and the number of members is over 100,000. Over the years they have become more sophisticated and ventured into racketeering, prostitution and drugs. Most of the violence and murder is between the gangs however they occasionally target civilians when they wish to make a point to the government.

Aside from that darkness which I am pleased to say I haven’t witnessed at all, El Salvador is one of the friendliest, warmest and most hospitable countries I have been to.

Tourism here is in its infancy and of the twenty or so buses I have now caught around the country, on only one has there been another tourist. Tonight I have an entire hostel to myself – that is not extraordinary here. I can understand why so many are put off by the reputation but I am so glad that I decided to come here.

In the places you stay people genuinely treat you like family and can’t do enough to make you feel welcome and at home. Even the lady in the tourist office in Suchitoto, when I returned the next day to wait for Nelson to collect me, greeted me with a big kiss and hug as if I were a long lost friend.

Today I was getting a bus from Santa Ana to San Tecla where I need to change to get a bus to La Libertad. I asked the guy behind me if he was going to San Salvador and where I needed to go and if he could let me know when I need to get off. He, fortunately was getting off in San Tecla also. When the time came, he got me ready to get off the bus, grabbed my backpack and we started off down the street. What I didn’t realise at first is that he didn’t know exactly where I would catch the next bus but I was now his responsibility. He asked a couple of locals exactly where I needed to be and set me off in the right direction. Before we parted he put down the large crate he was carrying on his shoulder, opened the cloth that was covering it and handed me a breadstick which he was obviously coming to town to sell. He didn’t ask for anything in return and nor did I get a chance to give him any money before he disappeared across the street.

There are probably more stories I could tell like this after being here for only a week.

Horses, bullets, kids and drunks

On Saturday I arranged a horseriding tour around Suchitoto where my guide would take me to some sites from the war, through the jungle and up to a beautiful mirador up on the mountain.

I was picked up in town in the morning by Nelson who took me to his house where we met my guide and the horses. My guide, Jorge, was a 70 year old Salvadoran. Our three hour tour turned into six hours but I wasn’t complaining. On the way we popped in to see family, his wife (who insisted I borrow her sombrero) and to another man’s house to recharge his mobile phone.

Much of the area we travelled through was Jorge’s land but it saw some intense fighting during the war. We saw bomb craters from the aerial raids, trenches, tatus (the dugouts used to hide people, food and ammunitions during the air raids) and cemeteries. Jorge showed me where his house was before the war and told me that it was used as the kitchen/restaurant during the war. Much of the land is thick jungle but he also uses a bit of it to grow coffee, although even that looks more like jungle than an organised plantation.

During the war Jorge was working for the political party of democracy and peace and was based in Mexico. His family were mostly in Costa Rica except for two sons who stayed to fight. Now, out of his ten children, nine are living in Australia, Canada and the United States, with only one in Suchitoto. Many of the locals I spoke to have family in Australia who moved there during or shortly after the war.

Once we returned to Nelson’s house a family friend insisted I try some of the Gallina India, a wild hen soup, which is a specialty in El Salvador that is cooked on weekends. Since it had just started to rain and by now it was after 3pm it went down perfectly.

Back in town I popped down to a restaurant which was said to have good views of the lake. They weren’t wrong, it was perhaps one of the most stunning vistas I’ve seen – I think the photos speak for themselves.

On the walk back I stopped to take some photos of a house with a façade peppered with bullet holes. Not a particularly uncommon sight but this was a good example and worth a photo. In the late afternoon many of the locals sit outside their houses, chatting and watch the children playing in the street. Some of the kids saw me with the camera and wanted me to take their picture. This turned into a bit of fun for about half an hour where they were posing and playing and their mum was encouraging them to have their photo taken. Eventually she called her husband who came out to take a photo of me with the kids, all but one who was pretending she was too shy.

Once back in the centre of town I stopped at a cafe to use the internet and as I was talking to Mum and Dad on Skype I roused the curiosity of a few of the locals. Not least the drunk guy who insisted on sitting on the floor next to me and rambling for the entire time, occasionally hitting my leg to get my attention. I’m pretty sure he thought I was watching a film so kept insisting he see Mum on the screen.

Eventually I headed back to the hotel where the two brothers and some of their muchachos were sitting around, playing guitar and having a sing along. The two brothers were painting, one occasionally using his paint brushes as percussion and they sang songs from local folk songs to Spanish versions of songs from the ‘70s – a bit of the Beatles, Creedence, Doobie Brothers, etc.

My goodness it was a long day but loads of fun and some really good experiences with the locals.

The Artist Trail

Many small towns in the north of El Salvador are artist communities, with each seeming to specialise in a particular form. Usually this is because of an artist who established himself in that town and that craft then flourished. In Alegria, there were a number of painters (including those dedicated to painting telegraph poles). In fact where I stayed was an artists studio with a couple of rooms rented out above - a very cool space. (Telegraph poles, I have since learned, are painted in different styles and designs all over the country.)

After leaving Alegria I popped into Ilobasco, which specialises in ceramics. It was a nice little town with the main street dominated by shops of various artists. Some of the work was beautiful but unfortunately too big to carry around which was a real shame as the cost of a beautiful large ceramic vase was $5-$10.

I then ended up in Suchitoto, a colonial town with cobblestone streets and whitewashed buildings with terracotta-tiled roofs. Set by the stunning Lago Suchitlan, Suchitoto is one of the most beautiful towns in El Salvador. Again, there are many artists here, including the two brothers who ran the hotel where I stayed.

Day and night the Parque Central was full of people going about their business, catching up, hanging out and just watching the day go by. A group of old men in their cowboy hats occupied one corner, while women, children and young men occupied other parts. Market stalls were set up at the weekend and a couple of nice restaurants lined the square, making it a great spot to have breakfast or an evening beer and watch the goings on.

La Palma

On Friday I took a day trip to La Palma, another artist community up north near the Honduran border. This town survives on the art in the style of Fernando Llort. In the early 1970’s, Fernando Llort returned from a trip to Europe where he mastered his unique style of art and settled in La Palma. Since then he set up a co-operative to teach others in the community how to replicate his style and now 75% of the town survives on reproducing this art in various forms – from crucifixes, wallets, key chains, plates, wooden boxes and almost anything else you can imagine.

They say his style is now recognised around the world as the typical El Salvadorean art style and his works are held in the Vatican, the White House and many major museums and galleries. Not to mention the murals and telegraph poles with this art plastered all over La Palma.

The town itself is located high up in the mountains and the drive up there was just gorgeous. There was a museum that had only a small display but some of the Llort originals were really beautiful. A lot of the replicas sold now are quite tacky but I figured it was good to purchase a few things to keep the community going.