Michelle writes:
Today was truly wonderful. Katrine, my housemate from Denmark, and I went into the mountains with José, the night watchman at the hostel. José used to derive his entire income from firewood gathering (approximately $2 per day, a meager existence). As the night watchman, he has a more reliable income without all the back-breaking work, although José and two of his sons still go to the mountains during the day to gather and haul firewood.
José came by the hostel at half past 7 to pick us up. Normally, he leaves the hostel at 5 a.m., walks 30 minutes to home, then heads for the mountain at 6 a.m. Today, he allowed us to sleep in. We walked down the street to where the men gather to ride in the bed of a pickup to the mountain.
Looking at Santiago Atitlan
The small slumped volcano in mid-distance is the next day's hike.
José is a shy and noble man. When he arrived with two white women, one 21 the other 52, the men had inquiring looks. José sat on the stone wall across from us, creating a little distance. Some of the men asked him what was up. José said we were his friends, and he was taking us to the mountains to haul firewood. They all speak a Mayan dialect, so we had no idea what was being said, but could get the general drift from the glances and smiles.
When the pickup arrived, we hopped in and held on to the metal rack that has a bar at shoulder height running down the center. We jostled along, over speed bumps and pot holes. Then we came to road construction, where it looked like the road had been washed away by heavy rains. Very bumpy. Our legs were complaining as we tried to maintain balance and not fall into the guy standing next to us.
We arrived at a trail off the side of the road. José took his machete and woven bag, Katrine and I our backpacks, and off we went.
I had my hiking poles, hiking boots, zip-leg pants, baseball cap, sunglasses on a croakie, Exofficio shirt and North Face backpack. José was wearing leather shoes that have been repaired several times, no socks, traditional handwoven pantalones, a short-sleeved polo shirt, and a cowboy hat. The contrast of two cultures!
We started down the dusty trail. After we were out of view of the others, José stopped to explain some of the plants we saw: avocado trees, young coffee plants recently planted by his brother, the pines. We saw a field that had been terraced with lava rock, where there were cut-down corn stocks and a few squash plants still growing: the "Three Sisters" that indigenous peoples have always planted together: corn, squash, and beans.
All three of us speak some Spanish, so we had a lively conversation complete with gestures and drawings.
José would ask us from time to time if we were tired. We just said no and continued on hiking for two hours, climbing higher and higher into the jungle. We saw bananas, plantain, platano, avocado, lots of coffee, red beans, other edibles I can't pronounce, and a low-growing banana relative whose leaves are used in place of corn husks for tamales (see photo, above).
Katrine says, "We can do this!"
There is an extensive trail system there, complete with lava rock steps and log water bars held in place with wooden pegs. The slope is very steep with a well-worn path from numerous trips hauling wood. There are few people living in this area, and the resources are numerous. As I had traveled to Santiago, passing more populated areas, it was obvious where the firewood gatherers had stripped the bottom branches off the trees. It is illegal to cut down the trees, so people there harvest the lower branches, up to 30-40 feet off the ground, but here there is an abundance of wood.
Whoever plants coffee on this government land can then harvest it, so you see various crops that individuals or families grow to earn a living. The next crop of corn will be planted in May, the beginning of the rainy season, with harvest in December. The coffee pickers are having a good year this year. They are getting 3 or 3.50 quetzales per pound; previous years it was 1.50 to 2 quetzales. (The conversion is 8 quetzales per US dollar.)
We stopped to take a rest on the return trek at a place on top of a ridge. It reminded me of the mountains in Idaho where there are tall trees and little underbrush. These trees had been planted on what must have been cleared land. We shared our granola bars from home and had a Kodak moment. For the picture, José proudly displayed the hiking pole he was using. He had chuckled when he first saw me use the baston, the cane, but then he enjoyed using the pole as we trekked along, especially when he used it as a pointer to indicate various trees.
We had walked past the side trail to the firewood stash when Kat and I told him we wanted to carry down a load of firewood. He was tickled and quickly turned around to head back up the trail to the stacks of wood. Later, when we discussed the day with our interpreter, José said that was the highlight for him: two white women asking to share the experience of hauling wood.
There were three stacks of firewood, sticks 1 to 1-1/2 inch in diameter, shake-like pieces that were very heavy for the size, and odd shaped pieces. We went for the sticks! José drove a tall stake into the ground, laid a rope down in a U shape, and then started stacking the sticks against the stake. He'd ask us if this was enough; we'd answer poco mas, little more. Then, he put the loose ends of the U through the loop and drew it tight, knotting off the ends. With another stick slipped under the side-by-side rope, he began to twist to tighten up the entire package. This tourniquet stick was tied in place.
Another piece of rope was placed diagonally through the pile with the two ends tied to my bandanna, which spanned my forehead, carrying the weight. José said the stacks we carried were approximately 40 pounds. My neck didn't like this, so I dropped the bandanna strap to around my neck, holding it in place with my hands so as not to strangle myself. Katrine used her shawl, which dispersed the weight over her forehead and the crown of her head. We carried our loads, without stopping, down the mountain, a 40-minute hike.
The small bundles are mine and Kat's;
the tall bundle is José's.
When we arrived at the road, other gatherers were there. They all had warm greetings and smiles to see the white women carrying a load of wood. Two other women came over to shake our hands, beaming with pride at our camaraderie. This is a predominantly-male occupation, except for when you don't have any males in the house, as with these women. José later explained through Felipa, the interpreter, that many men no longer want to be gatherers, embarrassed by this menial occupation. José was proud of us. We were an example that gringos who have money aren't embarrassed to carry firewood. José later told us he had a conversation with his two sons who were also hauling firewood today. José told them how we had shared knowledge of our two cultures. He wants his sons to be proud of their culture and to share it with others as well. Jose said there is no place for racism, but to have a willingness to share. He also reminded his sons about the importance of asking. We had asked to carry firewood and had not expected José to know what we wanted. These people, who may appear to be simple with their traditional dress and unassuming ways, are very perceptive and wise. It was a pleasure to experience this aspect of their culture.
We waited about an hour, sitting along side the road with other wood gatherers, as they came down from the mountain, sharing our hard boiled eggs and salt. José said he eats boiled eggs with tortillas and salt. We had forgotten the tortillas; they aren't a staple in our diet yet!
Eventually, a pickup came with a few men and boys and the front of the bed loaded with wood. It backed up to the pile José's sons had accumulated. Then our rope-bound bundles were next, leaving a foot of pickup bed exposed. We piled in, Kat and I perched with the others atop the wood, holding onto the metal bar. Others were standing on the back bumper. We went around the corner to pick up another man who had a bundle of green leaves poking out of a plastic tarp and a basket of other vegetative matter. That bundle was tied on, hanging over the bumper. A very full load! Men were standing on the corner bumper, getting the full brunt of the dusty road. The road grader was at work today, loosening the powdery soil which billowed over us all. I had raccoon-eyes from my sunglasses mask that I had cinched tight with my croakie. Katrine and I and the others pulled our shirts over our noses to block the intense dust. We were glad to see pavement again.
First, we dropped off a young man with a chainsaw. Next, a father and two sons with two 6¨ x 8¨ boards, 10 feet long, cut as straight and smooth as can be. Looked like something from the lumberyard. The sawyer must contract for hire; his Husqvarna had a three-foot blade.
José and his wife
José invited us to his home in Chukmuk, a community of government-built houses. After the hurricane, the people whose homes were destroyed could fill out government paperwork and relocate to this new community, safe from future storms. Many people who weren't able or aware or who wouldn't fill out the paperwork still live in the hurricane-destroyed community in remnants of their previous homes.
Katrine and José
José's Family
José was so proud; he told his wife we were his employees. They found two plastic chairs for us. There was a lot of chatter in Tzutuhil in the kitchen. José wanted to share their lunch with us. We later found out that José's wife was concerned we wouldn't want to eat traditional Mayan food, and that was all they had. I asked José and his wife to join us. They served patin, a version of tamale that has platano, which, I think is heart of palm. Felipa said we would have a cooking lesson and make this. It was served with tortillas and tamalito, another form of masa that was steamed in a leaf, and, of course, Orange Crush. Lots of soda pop drunk here. José's wife smiled and giggled as we said how we loved the meal and thanked them for lunch. (José is the only member of the family who speaks limited Spanish.)
Exhausted, we took a tuk-tuk ride back to Santiago. What a rewarding day, sharing the culture of this beautiful country with such a delightful man!
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