12/17/2014 Coban Guatemala

Jill and I walked to Pais today. I went into Mega Paca and saw the same clothes I saw the other day. I need to go to the two little pacas across the street from it but I forget about them. Yesterday we went to the Finca Santa Margherita. That is a coffee plantation a few blocks from Fresh. We asked about a tour and they only have them in Spanish. I don’t know Spanish and neither does Jill. If I knew Spanish it would open this place up. I wish we could make time to learn Spanish here. It’s still an afterthought when we can fall into English so easily with the people around us. Necessity doesn’t force it, yet. When we start moving again it will become more prevalent.

I finished reading the Rum Diary this morning. The book is Hunter Thompson’s bleak portrait of Puerto Rico, really just San Juan. I was born in a small town in Puerto Rico. I was not there long enough to remember it and only have returned once. I’ve severely romanticized the island all my life. I really don’t know that much about it and I consume media’s images of it with fascination. Thompson’s book, and the movie made of it, have the backdrop of the slow but inevitable destruction of the island’s self. Today the island is a caricature, I would guess. I’ve seen firsthand the coast of the Yucatan, Caye Caulker and a bit of Belize, and this chunk of Guatemala. What I’ve seen is the strange.  These places all have fascinating aspects to them that draw tourists. With tourists come entrepreneurs to build the infrastructure for tourists. The infrastructure overtakes what drew people in the first place.

In Cancun, Jill and my research led us to run away as quickly as we could. Apparently the beaches are overtaken by all-inclusive resorts. Flee winter to a constructed city where every need is met until flying back to frozen wherever. We went to Playa del Carmen and stayed in sad beauty of a walled in hostel surrounded by an impoverished working neighborhood. We were less than ten miles from a garish mayan amusement park. Tourists from resorts up and down the coast come to see its fabricated culture for a day trip. In Tulum the mayan ruins are standing starkly against a field of landscaped lawn. In Belize our shuttle delivered us directly to the water taxi which delivered us directly to Caye Caulker’s Caribbean blue seas and breezes. The motto on Caye Caulker is Go Slow. We were far removed from the daily life of Belize City. I walked a mile in the City and saw the bustle of life, Going Slow is not an option. We went to San Ignacio, Belize. The taxi drivers were almost frantic for our gringo money.

Flores, Guatemala is an island of tourists. Shotgun toting police guard the single causeway to the island. Tourist agencies send shuttles out to Tikal in the morning and deliver their cargo back to the island in the afternoon. At Lanquin, Guatemala, the hotel’s will gladly help plan and book every aspect of your stay.

My point is that the tourist often only sees the caricature. In The Rum Diary, the main character despises the bulldozing of Puerto Rico for tourism’s sake. He sees the beautiful beach about to be privatized, fenced off, and thus made ugly.

Today, the President said he was going to normalize the USA’s relations with Cuba. I can only hope that the American tourism industry eventual mauling of the country is muted in some way. I still hope to go there someday.

Learning Spanish will come and it will go a long way in breaking out of the trail of tourism here. Learning Spanish will enable me to fill in all the blank spaces that I can’t understand now. Learning Spanish will bring me closer to Puerto Rico and its people.