Turn left

Left. It was a simple choice; turn left instead of right. A split-second decision made after getting out of work on a Friday afternoon resulted in an rewarding, yet somewhat existential crisis. While starting work at 7:30 AM still pains me, I have been richly rewarded by having free time on Friday afternoons. A move that was made by administration to help address the stress of traffic that overwhelms the city has been my greatest joy and my time to explore my new city.

 I’ll be the first to admit that I am not a city girl. The fact that I am part of an international development fellowship that focuses on food security but am living in nice part of town, in the largest city in Central America is not lost on me. I have felt guilty that I have Wi-Fi. That hot water comes out of my shower and that electricity is reliable. I also remain annoyed with the ever-present sound of traffic, both day and night, and the ridiculous car pollution that fills my lungs every time I cross the street. I will also sheepishly admit that I had envisioned spending this year in some place more rural.  I kind of feel like I’m doing it wrong. So on Fridays, I like to explore other parts of the city, by foot and bus, in an attempt to make this place my home. (While I have been here, the bus, albeit the “nice, safe bus” has been my main means of transportation.)

So, I normally turn right. But on this day, I decided to venture North, to the left of my office building. Towards the old zone and original city center-Zone 1. Towards architecture made famous by the Spanish colonizers. Towards the national palace, majestic with its green hued stones and adorned with intricate masonry- where I couldn’t get a tour because the tour guide didn’t show up to work. Towards the cathedral and the former and now defunct national mail service building. Towards dilapidated buildings with chipped paint and graffiti decorating the walls. Where chain stores and restaurants largely diminish, with the exception of the ever present fast food of Pollo Campero and McDonalds. Towards a peek at what Guatemala used to be, a glimmer into a past life, or more accurately, towards a parallel life that I don’t lead.

I felt like I was finally in an authentic version of Guatemala. The one I had envisoned but was warned not to visit by myself. And while I was vigilant and acutely aware of my surroundings, I never felt unsafe. Perhaps a bit out of place, but not unsafe. I was a witness to real life, not the scrubbed, cleaned, and nicely laid out zone 10 where I live. As I wandered these streets, just half a mile from the building where I work at every day, I came across the famous sixth avenue market, ranging from actual stores to tarp covered stalls lining the streets. Prices are significantly lower here.  This is where you can find stainless steel cooking pots large enough for a child to bathe in, shoes, shoe laces, underwear, bicycles, towels, soap, new and used clothes, electronics; all can be yours after haggling on a price. And then there’s the food;  fish, whole pigs, salted beef, fruit and vegetables that I’ve never before seen. Avocados sliced in half to demonstrate their superior quality.  

Chalk powder for Christmas street art "alfombras" 

And where there are stores there are people. Huge crowds of people. First the vendors themselves, mainly women, many of whom speak among themselves in one of the 22 other nationally recognized languages. Their children hiding behind their skirts, eating in the corner, or napping on mats next to the merchandise. Then there are the customers; native, normal every day Guatemalans. Families mainly. Families walking together, little ones grasping their dad’s hands. Mom’s with babies swaddled in thick blankets. A trio of elderly men playing a homemade marimba (national instrument, similar to a xylophone) and performing for the crowd and a mother pushing her infant son forward to give them a tip.  A teenage boy sitting on the ground and beating the ground; playing homemade drums consisting of empty plastic bottles. Indigenous women in their colorful traditional dress interspersed with those who have long ago adopted western dress.  I found a lovely open plaza being enjoyed by whole families relishing snacks and each others company. With the homeless resting in the grass while the pigeons scoured for crumbs on the sidewalk. It wasn’t just a place for athletes or lovers, like I so often see in parks in other parts of the city. 

It’s not as if I had been avoiding this part of town. It’s simply that on this particular day, I was tired of same routine, of turning right from Zone 4 where I work and entering the “new zone 4”-the hipster neighborhood. I knew that the clean streets, artistic murals, artisanal bakery and coffee shops would not satisfy my soul. Where I could order a delicious latte and a pastry at four times the cost of what I could purchase in Zone-1, yet still less expensive than any such treat in California.

After walking for two hours across about 3 miles, I felt fulfilled yet conflicted. I had enjoyed being around the average Guatemalan and the throngs of people in the market. But I still enjoy the hipster neighborhood. Let’s face it, it’s nice to be able to sit outside and enjoy a well-made coffee without crowds running over you. And so, I feel conflicted. Conflicted because I’ve been struggling with the thought that maybe I’m not having an authentic experience. What experience do I want to have? What part of Guatemala do I want to see? There is a definite sense of class structure in this country. Is my experience living in one part of the city authentic? What about the Guatemalans that also live in my zone, are they any less Guatemalan because they are more well-off?  INo, I decide. Guatemala City is like the equivalent of New York City, and the other towns and villages in the country are a bit like the deep south. Both make up the same country, but have access to vastly different resources. I strive to know both. What I really want is to have lived here and understand the culture, the people, the way of life. To make friends. To perfect my Spanish. To master the bus routes… So I’ll strive to do this even after I leave and return to the U.S, to explore the new and the old, the suburbs and the slums. To turn left, where I normally turn right so that I can understand things a bit better.

"Stay close to those who say: ‘Even though everything is fine, we still need to move forward’ Because they understand the need to keep going beyond the known horizon. " -Paulo Coelho, Manuscript Found in Accra