Part 29 "Coffee Picking"

Michelle writes:

Hola! Katrine and I went with Felipa and her father, Bartolome, to the volcano outside San Lucas, close to the small village of Cerro de Oro. Bartolome owns this piece of land, which he purchased from another man. The land is located close to town and on the volcano, and it isn't government-owned, in contrast to the rural location of José's coffee plants.

     We met at the watermelon stand, a local landmark, where there is a mountain of fresh watermelon sold by the slice--very popular and refreshing in this warm climate. Once again, we took the local transportation: the bed of a pickup. This time, the roads were paved but winding, complete with chicken buses zipping along. As you approach your stop, you either whistle or tap on the vehicle. Bartolome paid for all of us, getting the bargain of 3Q a piece (30 cents). The gringos would have paid 8Q a piece or $1.00 (still very reasonable). It's fine with me to pay a little more than the locals. My earning power is so much greater, I can afford the 70 cents more.

We started walking up yet another dirt road, passing more coffee plants. Then, we started to climb. This area is used predominantly for coffee and not much for firewood, so the trail was very steep. Bartolome made it look easy, marching right along. We females came along but not at the same brisk pace. (When returning, I realized the trail was over a 60% grade, not U.S. Forest Service approved!)  The view was spectacular. As we looked out across the lake at the surrounding volcanos, we could hear the sound of firecrackers resonating from the pueblo below. 

     We happened across a young man escorting an older gentleman up the mountain to visit the Mayan ruins. He wanted us to pay a fee, as this was a sacred Mayan area and he was the tour guide here. He was speaking in Spanish, and Felipa responded in Spanish, telling him we were going to her father's coffee field and that he should talk to her father in Tzutuhil. Finally, he started to talk to Bartolome in Tzutuhil, and the rest of us hiked on.

We arrived at the field to find the coffee pretty well picked for the season. Harvest began last December. A few beans were on the plants, but they were not yet ripe. Bartolome scouted around the field for coffee to harvest, but to no avail. Then he took his machete and started to chop down dead coffee plants that will be replaced with new plants at the beginning of the rainy season in May. 

     Katrine and I decided to try our hand at machete chopping, another skill we need to work on! Hitting the trunk of the tree in the same place was nearly impossible for both of us. Little notch marks peppered a 6" span. My tree was so dead that it finally gave way at the roots, so I twisted and pulled and yanked the darn thing out. Kat chopped on all four sides, nibbling away at the trunk. 

I am embarassed to say these trees were only 2-1/2 inches in diameter, but a very hard wood. We both carried our trophies down the mountain after Bartolome cleaned them of small branches with several swift efficient whacks.

     We decided to go to the Mayan ruins. Upwards we marched. Once again, we were met by our young tour guide. He asked for 60Q a piece, since he was a guide. When Felipa asked him to talk to us in English, he said he only knew Spanish and Tzutuhil. Then why was he asking for money? she asked. He said this is sacred ground and there was a fee. Why should we pay him? The conversation between Felipa and the young man went round and round. He would only talk in Spanish, as that is the superior language, and being a male made him feel superior as well.  Even though Bartolome, an older man, was with us, as he only spoke Tzutuhil, he was not as high in the pecking order, and this young fellow felt superior. Felipa was frustrated with his male arrogance. She spoke three languages but was a woman. Finally she told him we were volunteers, helping the elders of the village. He then apologized, and we left. 

I wanted a picture of the arch-shaped rock that was blackened from countless fires over the years, but I hesitated to take one because of the sacred nature of the place and the heated power struggle.  

We stopped for our picnic lunch of hard boiled eggs, salt, and tortillas, which Kat had remembered to buy. Then we shared shared a granola bar (Thanks, Russ & Peg!) and some almonds, a rare treat here, and some candy. A little taste adventure for Bartolome, as the diet here is usually limited to traditional food and there is not much experimenting with grocery store options.

As we came back to town, Bartolome hopped off before us. He was headed to the tienda, the family business selling tourist souvenirs.  All five members of the family work long hours in this shop, in addition to the weaving and embroidery that is done at home. Most people in Guatemala work six days a week, but for tienda owners, it is seven days a week with no paid vacation.

     We had hoped to pick coffee, but our machete-whacking was a dose of reality. We are out of our league when it comes to manual labor. It was just another experience that made me appreciate the life style we have in the US. But, I also appreciate these hard-working people whose love of life radiates through their shining eyes, warm smiles, and sincere embraces.