Interesting experience, this trekking.
Heat, too much heat. Dust, too much dust. Too steep cliffs. And tiredness. But it allowed me to get a better feel for the life in the small and remote villages in the Mayan Ixil region.
I’ve trekked between 2,000 and 3,000 meters – all the time. And life is not easy around here.
It was tougher before – in the 80’s, during the civil war. Many of the villages I passed by were deserted for years, as people run away from military violence: I heard a couple of first-hand stories around that. Other villages have been artificially created by the government, to set up camps where refugees could “embrace a new mentality”. In a different context, with a different meaning, but those places have survived to today – as “normal” villages.
The hills are incredibly steep. And the villages are always at the top. Not because of defensive reasons: the water, trees and shade-rich valleys, where rivers flow, are owned by rich landlords, whose Fincas occupy most of the fertile and easily cultivatable land.
The steeper land, higher up, is hard to work. Slash & burn is common, leaving some of the hills sadly deforested. It reminded me of Laos – yet again.
Some of the villages – not all, but some – are hours away from a road reachable by car. Man, it’s so hard to navigate some tracks, so steep they are. More so when the midday sun is punishing you hard. And some of these people have to walk these walks daily, up and down, to go work on their little fields, and then come back home. And then there are a few hours’ trips to Nebaj, once in a while, to sell their products at the market.
I asked around when and how some of these tracks were built. Did the government do it? Apparently yes – by request of the rich Fincas’ owners, so they could have in and out access to their valleys…
Spanish is not spoken by many. You can tell the kids who’re attending school – or doing better at it – because you can speak with them in Cervantes’s language. Amongst the elder, it’s even harder to find a good Spanish speaker.
Tuesday night I stayed at a family’s house with TV – a not so common luxury (you still cook with firewood and have no running water around here). The younger kid was watching Mexican soap operas, without understanding much of it. Interesting image, in an officially Spanish speaking country.
People are not very talkative to strangers – especially the elder. Not sure how much of it is cultural and how much of it is consequence of the terrible things that happened here not long ago, with the excuse of fighting the left-wing guerrillas.
But the kids are the same everywhere: easy to approach, responsive. And seem to enjoy some freedom here that isn’t easy to have in Guatemala City. Freedom to play football in the dusty streets at night - without being afraid, for instance.
Yes, kids were very approachable. To play cards with me, so that I could teach the only magic trick I know. To play football, inviting me to kick the ball on the grass covering the cemetery (don’t blame me: I just followed the crowd…). To laugh at me. To applaud me (?) at the end of the match – yes, it was a confusing moment. They were thanking me for our time together, I was told later. Sweet, isn’t it?
By the way, if you want to take random pictures of people in these villages, just leave the camera in the hands of one of the kids. Ah! And ensure you have a second battery.
The rivers, which are not for everyone… _
My first tortilla – not very round, is it? 
My Tuesday night hosts (the two pictures above)
Camera in the hands of a young kid (all of the above...)
(I’m somewhere in the middle of the dust, kicking a football)
Brito is a common name here…
My first tortilla – not very round, is it? _
My Tuesday night hosts (the two pictures above)
Camera in the hands of a young kid (all of the above...)
(I’m somewhere in the middle of the dust, kicking a football)
Brito is a common name here…
No comments:
Post a Comment