The rest of this trip may be told in vignettes that are not exactly chronological...
First of all, Michelle went to her first camp-away, for a week, to the muscular dystrophy camp in our area. It was fun, but there were no activities that were geared to her abilities. She made a friend, but was bored much of the time. I get the feeling that many children do not come to camp until their disability is greater. She isn't sure she wants to go back right now, as she can manage in other camps at the moment.
She and her friend both get the same little teddy bear with a pink bow. This is the lovey she chooses to bring to Guatemala...
Fast forward to the trip from San Mateo to Antigua. I am traveling back with my two children, two women from San Mateo, and a 7 month old infant who weighs 12 lbs. I am convinced that he has some neurological problems, and I am taking him, the neighbor who adopted him when his mother died in childbirth, and a translator (since his adoptive mother only speaks Chuj) back to Antigua where there is a hospital which will see and treat him without charge. His mother asked me if I was a doctor, and could help him. I told her I could look at him with only the eyes of a mother, but I would try to help.
There are eight of us traveling back, Dave & Doris, a history teacher/developmental economist and potter couple from California, and my little troop of six. Doris is from Xela, and invites us to dinner at her family home. It will extend our day of travels, but put us closer to our destination.
My kids get to ride a chicken bus... a renovated Blue Bird school bus... with all its lack of shocks and flat hard seats.
As we draw about a 1/2 hour from Xela, I ask Doris if we can catch a minibus to the hotel from her house, remembering it was a cheap ride.. She tells me that taxis are bonded, and safe, but that the minivans that took in anyone they could cram in for little money, were not. A criminal element realized an opportunity, and began kidnappings and theft via that route. Her brother caught a bus after work one day, and was taken out to the country, robbed of his clothes and money and left tied up and naked in the woods, having to hobble to the nearest house to beg for clothes and a way back home.
I have been reading the local paper, and all of a sudden it becomes a little overwhelming, traveling with five people who are all depending on me to figure this out, in a third world country where I read that 60 assassinations have occurred on the political front this year alone. I am reminded of how alert I must be, it is so easy to be lulled into feeling secure since I am always in the company of people I am familiar with.
I know that all I can do is maintain my presence of mind, and personally my itchy foot is happy to be able to show my children one more new spot, one that I know,. and I have friends there which means a lot. We arrive in a state of exhaustion around 7:30pm that night, after leaving at 11am in the morning.. Although the trip is uncomfortable, the mood of the kids is positive since they know they are going to Antigua... Michelle has stated that she would prefer to stay longer, which I consider a grand triumph.
Doris's parents have hot chocolate and sweet breads from Xela Pan (Pan means bread in Spanish, and this is my favorite bakery in Guatemala)... and I see Doña Juana putting hot cocoa in the baby's bottle. Cringing, I realize she must not have had formula and didn't ask for help. We make arrangements for the hotel in Antigua while there, as well as the bus, and then retire to the hotel.
In the morning I go to Xela Pan and pick up bread for the road (I am so in love with this bread that I have a few of the stale anise sheka's in my freezer... cannot believe customs let it through) and come back to get my crew to catch the early bus. The bakery is the only store open this early. Guess what? My insider’s advice is wrong, and the buses are full until 1:30pm. I check our bags into the station, and catch yet another taxi back to the museum in the parque central, which I have been promised is open. Though it is not, there is usually much to be seen in any central park... and as we turn to look at the vendors and see if formula can be found on a Sunday, Michelle wails.
We have moved around too much, and she has left her precious tiny backpack with Mr. Bear and her homework book, in the taxi. I have no card, number, business name or any other identifying tidbit to locate this taxi in the second largest city in Guatemala. Michelle is ready to call in her chips and melt down. I know it was a new and tiny white car, really tiny... I begin collaring cabs on the street (yes, I also told her that such things happen on trips, tell her it will seem less overwhelming later, recount my own lost bag last time, but I try anyway)...
I call Doris to see if she minds calling cab companies just to see if we can find Mr. Bear. Hunting for a needle in a haystack... She is willing. We find formula, and settle down to wait on the museum steps.
Michelle asks me every other minute if I think there is a chance. Maria wants to explore a new town, Doña Juana wants to be back in her own kitchen, ordering her daughters to care for the baby and baking bread... not traveling or waiting... Brendan just wants to be in the same space as his ipod...
I find that there is going to be a concert in the park, send everyone off to get food and listen to marimba music, and call an old teacher while I am waiting in front of the museum. He comes to visit a little, and tell of his current attempt to become a "Bombero" firefighter... and reflects on how unlikely I am to find Mr. Bear, and as his story ends, the concert ends, and Maria comes to tell me that Doris called her and the cab is on its way...
All in all, I am very grateful that in its second largest city, in an economically distraught country where people are growing desperate, a taxi driver will cross town to deliver a lost bear...
No comments:
Post a Comment