On our own - Panabaj & Tzanchaj

The day began early - fireworks at 5am. When I write "fireworks," you shouldn't think about the nice sparkly kind that you see on the 4th of July. These are actually small artillery shells that explode with a bang loud enough to, literally, wake the entire town. Since Santiago Atitlan (SA) is in a valley surrounded by volcanoes - the explosions echo for 5-6 seconds each. Seriously!

We waited at the office until about 9am, thinking that we would meet up with Juana's brother - Francisco - so I could do some work on their computers. Somehow we missed him and hunger eventually drove us out into the street. Otherwise - all we had was coffee.

We ran into my friend - Tracy Pepper - in the town plaza. Tracy has been in SA for 2 1/2 months working on an AIDS research project. We made plans to meet up for dinner that night.

Off to the El Pescador restaurant - one of two restaurants that I know about. The Desayuno Chapin was on tap - a traditional breakfast of scrambled eggs, yellow rice, refried bean paste, fried plantains, fruit, toast, and coffee. I think it was about Q22 - or about $3. It really hit the spot! Especially since we hadn't really eaten anything for about 18 hours.

Checking back at the office and finding that no one had arrived, we took off for a walk out to the neighborhoods of Panabaj and Tzanchaj. We discovered that the once dirt road had now been PAVED. I was amazed ... and a little saddened. The old dirt road, and the perilous cliff along the lake was gone and lacked some of its old charm. But the progress was needed in order to serve the needs of the 3,000 people living in temporary housing out there.

We stopped briefly at the Parque de la Paz, the Peace Park, scene of a brutal massacre of 13 townspeople in 1991. Another of the tragedies of the civil war.

Walking on, we came to the village of Panabaj, or what's left of it. This poor neighborhood on the south side of SA, along the shore of Lake Atitlan, was terrorized by massive mudslides in October, 2005.

After Hurricane Stan inundated Central America, the sides of the Atitlan volcano gave way and descended on this town. Only 80 bodies of an estimated 750 were recovered. There's an eerie-ness to the view. The color of the mudslide exactly matches the surrounding soil, making it look like it's always been there. Only the half buried buildings, the destroyed huts, missing trees and unnatural level-ness of the ground betray the scene.

We walked through the parrochial enclave where the homes built by the Newman Center and Oklahoma parishes were built. I found the house that has the plaque with my name on it.

Most of the houses were abandoned, the people forced to move out and either living in SA or in the temporary housing camp in Tzanchaj. This area is always so bittersweet. We have spent so much time an effort in building these houses, have so many good memories with students, area families and the wonderful children. Now to see it a ghost town, and abandoned, but also tempered with the knowledge that these stone homes definitely saved lives when the flooding and mudslides came through. So while the homes were short-lived, they were worth the time and effort. Thanks be to God!

After the walk back into town, we bought a few things in the market. I experimented with some apple turnovers. I've never seen apples in the market before, so I occupied myself while we waited for our dinner rendezvous with Tracy.

We met Tracy right on time in the town plaza and headed back to El Pescador. Tonight's dish was Pollo Encebollado - baked chicken with a grilled onion sauce. It was pretty good, but I have to admit that my stomach was a bit uneasy all night after that. We met several of Tracy's friends - other American volunteers at the Hospitalito. A very nice time, but a gringo experience - nothing to Guatemalteco about it.

After dinner, we walked around the festival. We watched people who were watching the ferris wheels, or were watching soccer games, or were watching other people watching these things. The Tzutujil are a quiet reserved people and very patient. If they were not actually playing the games or riding the rides, they very quietly watched all the activity. Not much talking, no cheering or waving. If there hadn't been music or ride noise, it would have been rather quiet.

I learned a new Spanish phrase: Ferris wheel = la rueda de Chicago. A Chicago Wheel. Interesting!

We also visited the parish church - la parroquia de Santiago Apostol. The outsides and insides of the church are freshly painted and I'm sure that a new tile (azulejo) floor has been installed. The Padre Apla's Rother (Stanley Francis Rother) memorial has been cleaned, painted and adorned with an enormous banner. Friday will be the 25th anniversary of the his death, killed by a military death squad. You can tell that the people honor his memory by the reverence shown for his memorial.

Back to the office for more foam supported sleep, interrupted by firework bombs, dogs barking, and deliveries to the Gallo Beer distributor next door.