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Antigua, old capital of Guatemala.

Tikal, Guatemala

From Chiapas we went to Guatemala. A ten-hour bus ride but no complaints since we took a tourist bus. There’s a reason why the public buses here are called chicken buses. In fact, these are American school buses, second or third hand, converted into regular buses but the seats are still child size. Some have been tuned up so much they could win a competition, though for now the only Guinness Record they hold is for amount of packed-in people per square meter. Others haven’t even been painted, and on the side you can still read the name of the ritzy school, West Bay College, they belonged to before. Meanwhile, you can also see two hundred heads sticking out from the windows.

To any tourist the Premium would look safe next to these henhouses, but you have to be careful. Tourist buses leave together at the same time except ones with a sales promotion: 50% discount on tickets. If even after our warning someone decides to save four quetzals, he had better leave his wallet at home. The most probable thing is that during the trip, which leaves an hour after the caravan of buses, he’ll meet up with highwaymen they’ll take everything. You only have to read the papers to know that in Guatemala things like that, and worse, do happen. For example, in yesterday’s paper, the seven first pieces of news were about murders. The eighth article also warrants a good read: “Cockfight in Parliament About Death Penalty”

If there is still someone who doesn’t believe that this can happen in the 21st century, go for a walk on any street, though never in the capital. We don’t recommend it. Not even to our worst enemy. Guatemala City belongs to the dark side of the galaxy, with hardly even lamplights on the sidewalk and not a single place where you don’t worry for your life. In this town with a name like a lawless city, everything is backward. Honest people live locked up at home while thugs roam the streets. There is not a single store without bars, not on the windows, but inside, by the cash register, to separate clients from the salespersons. Supermarkets here cannot be called self-service because even though there are aisles and karts, you have to give your shopping list to the sales person and he or she picks up your stuff, like an on-call pharmacy. At McDonalds and Pizza Hut, however, they don’t have bars but bullets, and real ones at that. Always stationed next to the doors are a couple of security guards with a sawed-off shotgun under their arms. The caliber may seem exaggerated, but in Guatemala everyone carries a 45. You can see them while standing in line, waiting to hand in their guns to the guards before being allowed to enter the bank. In plain daylight!

Atitlan Lake, Guatemala

Guatemalans have come to terms with the fact that they live in a jungle where everyone needs to save oneself, where even the lowest of the low tries to get a supplementary wage. From the drug-traffickers who have made their country the biggest drug-corridor between Colombia and the US to the regular people that lie to each other about the price of the most basic things. If they themselves are fed up with not being able to trust their own neighbors when they go out to buy a loaf of bread, just imagine the way it is with foreigners. An example. The other day, at the border, not a single tourist paid the same entry tax, and, of course, no one was given a receipt. Funny, Pedro had to pay ten quetzal and Belén nothing. We didn’t even stay to listen to their explanations after telling them to fuck off.

Even letting our imagination run riot, we hardly believe this country is ever going to get by. In the 80’s these people suffered a civil war that lasted ten years, and the memories of those days were summed up by an old man with as many words as teeth were left in his mouth: terrible. Guatemalans themselves believe they have gone backwards since then. Imagine Guatemala now. Guatepeor.

Posted In: Guatemala