Glen Arbor Sun

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September 18, 2003

Largely forgotten, migrants toiled where others wouldn’t

By Thomas Benn
Sun contributor

Nestled alongside the highway opposite the Apple Blossom Drive entrance to the Leelanau Orchards top-of-the-line real estate development stands the more modest former seasonal residence of the Chavez and Campos families. Their names are still legible on the doors of the small cinder-block quarters for Mexican migrant workers who were here in the 1950s and 60s harvesting the fruits of Leelanau County cherry and apple orchards.

This was row housing without amenities. Six rooms remain, each roughly the size of a compact prison cell – about 12 by 22 feet. Each contains four wooden bunks, two up, two down, each wide enough to sleep at least two. Inside one of the two small windows at either end of the Chavez unit, stuffing spills out of the thin mattresses. The floor is concrete. Neighbors shared a chimney with holes for wood-burning stove pipes. An old refrigerator lies on its side in the corner. There is one small table, one overhead light outlet in each room.

Outside, about 20 paces to the rear, are the ruins of two three-hole wooden outhouses. In sites where the growers drilled for wells to obtain water for cooling cherries, migrant worker camps had access to water from a communal pump. It is unclear whether such a pump was ever located here.

The occupants of this shelter may have been crew leaders who returned every year because, by the standards of the period, the accommodations were relatively commodious. Entire other migrant families lived in the trucks that brought them, or in tents on cots, or in horse barns and warehouses. They were without heat, kitchen and sanitation facilities, medical care, protection from pesticides, or schooling opportunities for the young.

The structure on M-22 is one of the disappearing relics of a labor importation era that most of the old settlers of the Empire-Glen Arbor area would prefer to have forgotten. No tears are likely to be shed when this building is removed, as it will be soon. No preservation societies are being formed, no sentimental ballads sung, no plaques hung to commemorate the contribution of these visitors to the life and economy of the area.

The Leelanau Conservancy purchased the land on which this particular building is located from the heirs of the Clagett orchards for what has become the Chippewa Run Natural Area. The conservancy plans to take down the building (and the outhouses) as soon as funds are available. Dave Taghon, the eminence grise of Empire history, agrees that they do not belong on the conservancy’s Gateway to Empire. Nor is the Leelanau Scenic Heritage Route Committee noticeably disappointed by the pending elimination from the M-22 corridor of this sorry, unattractive landmark.

More than 35,000 itinerant farm workers were needed annually in the Grand Traverse area at the end of the 1950s. Now, thanks to mechanical cherry tree shakers, the number of migrant workers in the area has shrunk to less than 4,500, most of them here during the autumn apple season. Many of the old orchards in the southwestern corner of Leelanau County have become – like Leelanau Orchards – the scenic backdrop for high-priced housing developments. Until they were broken up, Empire’s Storm Hill Orchards -- owned by the Edward F. Clagett family of Saginaw -- extended north from the village along M-22.

Commercial fruit production contributed substantially to the Leelanau economy throughout much of the last century. By the late 1800s several large orchards around Northport, Glen Arbor, Grelickville, and Lee’s Point already were shipping their crops by boat to other cities on the Great Lakes. Owners of the Empire Lumber Co. planted fruit trees after clearing the land of timber. They displayed 87 varieties of locally grown apples at the county fairs. After the lumber mill burned in 1917, other growers got into the business in a big way around Empire.

The timely snipping of ripe cherries by hand required crews of seasonal workers. Beginning in the 1920s, Mexican-Americans began traveling a northerly circuit from southern Texas that often ended in the sugar beet, pickle, and strawberry fields, and in the cherry and apple orchards, of Michigan. Except for the depression years of the 1930s, when many native-born Americans were desperate for jobs, families of Mexican background continued to do the work at wages considered affordable by the growers.

Mark Deering, Jr., said the general pattern in the mid-1900s was for half the grower’s cash price to be paid in wages for the pickers. Along with their own orchards, Mark and his brothers Warren and Richard also founded the leading processing plant in the region, still operating under other management as the Triple-D Orchards Co.

The need for a dependable supply of short-term workers gave rise to the bracero program between 1951 and 1964. The Mexican government arranged for teams of workers and their families to enter the U.S. temporarily for assignment to qualified farms and orchards. Opposition from organized labor (because of the depressing effect on wages); stricter government enforcement of child labor and health and safety laws; and in the case of the cherry industry the invention of the shaking machine, brought an end to the bracero era.

A typical family unit in the 1960s consisted often of a grandmother who cared for the young children while both parents and children eight years old and older worked a six-day week in the orchards. Cherry pickers were paid a base rate that varied between 50 cents and 80 cents a lug, plus a 10 cents per lug bonus for those who stayed until the job was done. Deering said a good picker could fill 120 16-quart lugs in a week.

As many as 1,400 migrant workers and relatives would arrive every year at the Cahodas brothers orchards. Said to have been the largest operation in Michigan, the Cahodas tracts encompassed 300 to 400 acres of cherry and apple trees. Lake View Orchard “view lots” are now being marketed on part of the orchard uplands, off M-72 a couple of miles southeast of Empire. Sam Cahodas started as a produce retailer in Ishpeming in the Upper Peninsula. Eventually he owned banks all over the U.P and became one of the nation’s biggest fruit producers with holdings in California and the Yakima valley of Washington as well as in Leelanau County.

“Entire villages of tents were created” to house Cahodas workers, according to an Empire Area Heritage Group publication. More durable row structures came later modeled after the “motel” architecture at the entrance to Empire. Some of these buildings still stand in the midst of the lots for sale.

Dave Taghon can remember groups of families walking together into Empire in their best duds to shop or attend Mass at St. Philip Neri Catholic Church. For several years, a Spanish-speaking Catholic priest and two seminarians followed workers from the San Antonio area to administer to the spiritual needs of the itinerant faithful. Parishioners at St. Mary’s Church in Lake Leelanau made a house available to the priest and donated shoes and clothing for needy adults and children.

At other times the family groups would head for the Empire beach, a favorite spot for swimming and bathing.

Other nearby orchards totaling 190 acres in cherry trees were owned by Magnus Fredrickson, the son of Norwegian immigrants. He started out in 1926. With two camps of between 80 and 100 migrant workers, the Fredricksons also upgraded from tents to cinder-block quarters in the late 1950s. His grandson, David Fredrickson, said the structures were well built with showers, kitchens, and laundry facilities. David’s father, the late James Fredrickson, who practiced law before taking over the management of the family orchards, participated in Michigan State University’s experimental development of the first shaking machines. By the 1970s, most producers had adopted effective machines that would shake the cherries onto a mat without damaging the fruit or the trees.

The Fredricksons had a reputation for being thoughtful employers. Magnus and his wife, Ruth, would sometimes prepare meals for their entire work force.

Overall, however, the residents of the county were quite ambivalent about their visitors. The Leelanau Enterprise-Tribune expressed the views of many in this (Aug.15, 1959) editorial:

“There always is a certain amount of criticism leveled against these persons for their ‘recreational’ activities. Every summer a few of them are involved in knifings, assaults, and other crimes. Always there are auto accidents, arrests for drunken driving, and for being drunk and disorderly.

“But most are honest, hard-working people. Many come here in families. They manage to appear neat and clean in spite of sometimes difficult circumstances. They attend church, they respect the rights of others, they work long hours in the hot sun. The life they live and the living they earn are not easy.

“From an economic standpoint, the itinerant workers have a very great value. They do the hard work of harvest that other persons are unwilling or unable to do. Nearly all the money earned by these persons remains in the county. They earn it here, spend it here, and leave.”

And spend it here they did. Deerings grocery store in Empire went to considerable lengths to stock pinto beans and other Hispanic specialties. Something resembling company stores existed in other parts of the county. According to one historical account, merchants in Northport sold tokens to growers who used them to pay their workers. Growers then received a commission on the redeemed tokens.

That they leave when their work was done was equally important. By late October, the last apple had been crated, snowflakes were falling, children were shivering in the tents, and the last migrant families were ready to move on. Any who might conceivably have been thinking about permanent residency were clearly not welcome.

Growers resisted tougher regulation by state and federal governments. A spokesman complained that more stringent migrant housing and child labor rules discriminated against large families. Arguing that the workers had come voluntarily, the newspaper suggested that growers here deserved to be praised for providing jobs for those who were unfit – “by training, temperament or education” – for jobs in industry.

Later on, a new source of temporary labor added to the social unease. Some Leelanau growers augmented their work force with teams of African Americans recruited in Florida, unaccompanied usually by family dependents.

Other than the few cinder-block “motels” scattered through the countryside around Empire, few lasting signs of this annual migration remain. Old-timers tend to remember little things about the transient workers. Mark Deering, for example, recalls their dislike of cold beer. “They would order three beers ahead to let the beer warm,” he said. Filmmaker William Jamerson’s documentary, “Fruit of Dreams: The Cherry Pickers of Traverse City,” quoted an observer who could not recall having ever heard a migrant worker’s child cry.

Interestingly, during this same period a different kind of migration brought several thousand Air Force service personnel to brief terms of duty at the radar station overlooking Empire. Many of them married local women, returned later to settle in the area, and are prominent today in the political life of the community. By way of contrast the census of 2,000 counted a mere 2.5 percent of the county population who described themselves as being of Mexican ancestry.

The massive influx of orchard workers is past. The state now licenses migrant worker camps. Minimum wage requirements are enforced. Food stamps and other forms of assistance are available at special service centers. School-age children can attend classes. Some live in mobile homes while their parents help with the orchard harvests for up to five months at a stretch.

The function of local museums is to save what the people themselves want to remember and to call to the attention of outsiders. An exhibit was added, for example, to Empire’s magnificent little museum not long ago in celebration of the rodeos that were held by the Midwest Cowboys Assn. at the Golden Valley Ranch close by the migrant camps east of town. But nowhere are there any reminders of Chavez and Campos and the other families who arrived every year to do the work in the nearby orchards that others were unwilling or unable to do.

Posted by editor at 11:01 PM | Comments (0)

Leelanau County on the Cheap: Fall Color Tour

by Ashlea Turner
Sun staff writer

This column is devoted to budget travelers who enjoy fresh food and quality time spent off the beaten path in Leelanau County.

Contrary to popular belief, it is possible to visit Leelanau County and be a budget-minded traveler at the same time. Autumn is a favorite time of year for many visitors and residents alike because the days may still be warm, but never sweltering, and the evenings are crisp. The hardwoods provide visual splendour as they turn their luscious green leaves of summer into brilliant shades of vermillion, russet and gold. The apple trees are full of their bounty and the vines weigh heavy with grapes. Lake Michigan feels wetter and the rocks, rockier. Everything is changing, even the pulse of this place.

Exploring this area in early to mid-October, however, provides the budget-minded traveler with more than scenic drives and snapshot moments. The pace of life slows down after the hustle and bustle of summertime activities, so fall is an ideal time to experience more of the local culture and culinary treasures that abound in the greater Glen Arbor/Empire area.

Because business slows down a bit, there are also reduced rates on hotels, bed and breakfasts and weekly home rentals. Inquire with Leelanau Vacation Rentals for a wealth of information (334 6100) on condos, cottages and homes for rent in the area. The campgrounds are a great option for the budget savvy and offer plenty of space and quiet.

Many of the restaurants and shops that close their doors in the winter remain open through the end of October, but with reduced hours. There are many great options for enjoying this season’g bounty. Glen Arbor resident, Heather Sack, enjoys lunch at either Riverfront Pizza or the Good Harbor Grill (only open through the end of October for breakfast and lunch.) At the GHG, Heather recommends the Portabella Wrap and says the “fresh organic salad is the best salad in Glen Arbor.” She also enjoys taking many of her friends there, many of whom are vegetarian, because “there are so many vegetarian options.” She also adds that Sue Nichols’ sandwiches at Riverfront Pizza on the Crystal River are “great, especially the Albacore Tuna and the Cherry Chicken Salad.” Thankfully, Riverfront Pizza is open all year and offers many delicious and very reasonably priced weekly lunch specials (Riverfront Pizza 334-3876.)

For a quick and healthy lunch on a crisp Autumn day in Empire, stop by Moon Dog on La Core St. for a cup of pumpkin soup and an organic hot dog, and possibly some fresh hot cider. If it happens to be Wednesday, however, there’s nowhere else to go but Art’s Tavern in Glen Arbor for their world-famous Chicken Jalapeno soup -- creamy, spicy, delicious. Enough said.

Although the lazy beach-combing days of summer might be over, there are many other options to fill vacation days to the brim with activities for all ages. One local favorite is the not-to-be-missed Empire Heritage Day that takes place on Saturday October 11 from 1-4 p.m. This fun-filled afternoon that takes the young and old back in time will happen at the Empire Museum Complex on La Core St. in downtown Empire. To celebrate the museum’s last open day of the year, the committee, headed by Dave Taghon (everyone’s favorite local cultural historian), will host this family-friendly event, free to the public. ($2 donations appreciated, however.)

This year, the Empire Heritage Day hopes to have on hand the following: an exhibit of old cars and bicycles, apple-cider making, apple-butter making, ice cream making, old-fashioned sauerkraut making, china painting, butter churning, crafts and more. Taghon says, “it’s a fun-filled day for everyone.” At 3 p.m. the Quilt Raffle will commence and the lucky winner gets to go home with a beautiful quilt made by the Firehouse Quilters.

That same evening, the Glen Arbor Women’s Club Annual Smorgasbord takes place at the Town Hall in downtown Glen Arbor from 6-8 p.m. Admission is $10 for adults and will provide a belly full of culinary treats to satisfy even the pickiest of palletes.

If one is looking for ways to burn off the calories consumed at these hot spots, it’s time to get out of the car and explore the countryside and coastlines of Leelanau County. There is no better way to experience the beauty of Autumn than to hike the trails of the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore or to bike the backroads. One can pick up free information, recommendations and maps at the Visitors’ Center in Empire. On a rainy day, ask to view the film of the park for something to do until one ventures back out-of-doors.

Another wonderful way to experience the culture and beauty of the area is to visit the local galleries of art and craft that abound. Many stay open through the end of October, but most close for the winter. Secret Garden in downtown Empire will stay open weekends through the holiday season and offers the shopper many beautiful handmade options.

Synchronicity on M-109 in Glen Arbor displays paintings, sculpture, pottery and jewelry representing many Michigan artists and keeps regular hours through the fall. Many of the other local galleries along M-109 are also open through the fall, but often only on the weekends. Call the galleries for an appointment if they are not open when you are in town. Many are more than happy to oblige.

How about learning something new while on vacation? To try a new craft of your own, spend an afternoon at The Yarn Shop in Glen Arbor. The wonderful teachers and accomplished knitters offer free instructions anytime. For information on upcoming fall art classes and workshops, contact the Glen Arbor Art Association at 334-6112.

One can even learn and taste at the same time while exploring the county’s countless vineyards, wineries and tasting rooms. Several are located toward the center of the county, near Cedar and Lake Leelanau. More are located near the amicable villages of Suttons Bay and Northport. Spend some time tasting the bounty of the Leelanau Peninsula and chatting with the local vintners, many of whom bubbling over with enthusiasm and information on this area’s growing wine industry.

As one can see, there is more than enough to see and experience while in this area without emptying the Piggy Bank. Enjoy this time of year, but be sure and come back in the winter too, when the locals have even more time to share their homes and stories with you.

Posted by editor at 10:07 PM | Comments (0)

Sabine’s bowls - a chance encounter of the Glen Arbor kind

By Joanne Bender
Sun contributor

It was serendipity.

And also fortuitous, that I should meet Raku ceramic artist Sabine Rodatz just as I was reading Sue Bender’s Everyday Sacred, A Woman’s Journey Home.

It happened that friends, along with my husband and I, were drinking coffee at Cherry Republic one summer evening recently and taking advantage of the welcoming chairs and ambience of the Lake Street Studios patio. Soon silversmith Ben Bricker appeared. He explained the smell of smoke coming from the yard next to his workplace. It seems a group had gathered to witness Raku pots being fired in a special kiln. The artist creating the pots was there as overseer of the firing. This was Sabine Rodatz.

Bricker invited us to meet her, which we did. What a delightful encounter this was. We discovered a sensitive, soft-spoken woman who told us tales of her pots and bowls, proudly showing some of them to us. We saw all shapes and sizes of bowls, small and bigger; some trays with delicate designs etched and/or burnished with sticks or river stones.

I saw “Begging Bowls”. The very imperfections of the smaller bowls delighted me.

Meet Sabine Rodatz. Her youth was spent in Cuxhaven, Germany, west of Hamburg. She came to the United States with a friend from home, to travel in the United States for six months, eventually settling in Bloomington, Indiana, where she was married, raised two sons and attended the University of Indiana. Prior to becoming a ceramic artist she created a graphite pencil drawings and was a painter.

Something happened in her life a few years ago that changed that. She needed a new outlet for her talents. When a friend suggested she turn to clay as her media, she tried it. And enjoyed it. She has been building Raku pots ever since.

Memorial Day weekend Rodatz came to the Cottage Book Shop in Glen Arbor, where she met bookseller Barbara Siepker. Siepker told her about the possibility of renting the little cabin behind the Studios. The owners said it was available and Rodatz moved in. When someone else was scheduled to rent the little house after she spent a few weeks there, Rodatz felt she was not ready to go home … not just yet. So she found other living quarters and stayed here all summer. She plans to return next year.

Her impressions of Glen Arbor, the Sleeping Bear Dunes, the walks along the Lake Michigan shoreline, the people she has met and the friendships she has made have grounded her here.

“I concentrate on creating my clay pots by using the hand-built method,” says Rodatz. “My recent work consists mainly of pinched pots and slab built forms. Interiors are just as important to me as exteriors.

“The technique of Raku firing gives me the opportunity to create simple shapes in black smoky colors with minimal decorations of brushed and poured white crackle glazes. The unpredictable lines of crackle glaze, created by fire and reduction, remind me of ancient Japanese tea bowl designs – and also of growing up on my grandparents’ farm in the northern part of Germany. Seeing patterns of paint peeling from old barn windows, of the used and weathered handles of garden tools, of the texture and tactility of soil, of cracked wooden beams, of the arbitrary patterns in dried out ponds, of wavy ripples on mud flats created by wind and water. These are the images that I translate into my ceramic pieces.”

Back to Sue Bender’s book, Everyday Sacred, (which I initially perused because we share the same last name, though I doubt we are related. Bender begins her book by saying, “This story is about a bowl. A Bowl waiting to be filled.” She had read M.C. Richard’s Centering, a book about clay and art and life. He wrote about a man who said he wanted to “roam the countryside like a monk, holding a begging bowl, having it filled with what he needed for the nourishment in his life”.

Bender felt a kinship with making Everyday Sacred and the begging bowls. The monks depended on bits and pieces of food placed in their begging bowls for their meals. And they knew there were other kinds of nourishment as well, which would also fill their bowls.

From Bender we learn of patience and acceptance and that the small things in life are big in importance. We learn to look until we fully see. We fill our begging bowls with chance encounters, by receiving gifts of smiles, by filling our bowls as we do our minds, with small meaningful gestures of kindnesses from others.

Some ingredients to fill the begging bowls, from author Bender, include “The best of what we are is more than enough”, and “I don’t think we have time enough to waste being unhappy”.

And when the bowl is full we empty it, as we do our minds, not forgetting what was put in but going on to the next day, recognizing familiar sights each day with new vision.

We learn to fill others’ begging bowls daily, too.

As ceramic artists Bender and Rodatz are forming bowls that represents each artist’s individuality. “The Zen tea bowls are uneven, imperfect, like us,” says Bender, “and the tea bowls, like us, are revered just as they are.”

“My goal is to move away from the precision and symmetry of wheel/thrown vessels,” Rodatz says. “I shape my pots with the Japanese aesthetic of Wabi Sabi in mind. This is the idea of being incomplete, imperfect and impermanent, which is a major theme that I apply to my work.”

“One day, in search of something else, I found a book called Wabi Sabi,” writes Bender. “Wabi Sabi are the Japanese words for a feeling, an aesthetic that is hard to describe. I read: ‘Wabi Sabi is a beauty of things imperfect, impermanent and incomplete. It is the beauty of things modest and humble. It is a beauty of things unconventional.’”

Without conscious awareness of the other, Rodatz and Bender could be soul mates, it seems to me. So I gifted Rodatz a copy of Everyday Sacred, of course. More serendipity…

In her poem”Gestern. Heute. Jetzt” (“Yesterday. Today. Now”), Rodatz writes: “Esthetical, enchanting, / beautiful and distinct, / symbolic – inspiring. / Vessels of clay. / earth. / Harmonic and well-balanced colors. / reflecting light. / Pewter grey, teak brown, beige, rose and sepia, / mat and lustrous, / in reduction – technique glazes / with grey/brown speckles, / arbitrary, / as created by the heat of the flames / in the process of kiln-firing, / markings flowing into each other - / uneven – wild.”

Rodatz is leaving Glen Arbor soon, returning to her home in Indiana. But she will be back next summer. She arrived as a visitor and will go home as a summer resident of Leelanau. I have a begging bowl, which she created, and I will fit it each day with experiences, encounters and serendipity, nourishment for my soul.

Posted by editor at 09:14 PM | Comments (0)

On the Road: Tackling language numero cuatro

By Jacob Wheeler
Sun international correspondent

XELA, Guatemala -- Doris, my new host mother, calls me down to breakfast in her tiny, open-air courtyard that is surrounded by bland, concrete walls but beckons just enough mountain-high sunshine to make me smile. The meal is yet another plate of plain eggs and soupy beans to go with a cup of weak coffee, and we struggle to hold a conversation given that my Spanish is limited to a few palabres. El gato joins us and hops up on my lap for a bite of huevos. Her daughters are off at school, her son is working at the tienda, and her husband died 10 years ago. This much I comprehend from the conversation. Today is my first morning in this dreadfully simple, yet sufficient, abode in the city of Xela – called Quetzeltenango by the Spanish conquistadors, and the maps followed along – in the western highlands of Guatemala. Our elevation is 8,000 feet and so the evenings are as frigid as the days are pleasant. I donned my Nordic stocking cap last night as I drank cheap, nearly transparent red wine in the central parque with my Michigan friend, Maya.

On September 8 I began an intensive Spanish course at a nearby school for international students, called Proyecto Linguistico. The five consecutive hours of Spanish drills with an instructor, one-on-one, every afternoon already have me begging for mercy, but witnesses believe I may attain proficiency in a matter of weeks, not months. The school is also a springboard for all kinds of cultural treks and excursions into the mountains. One day a trip to nearby hot springs just outside this city of 100,000; the next a seminar about the likelihood that El General Rios Montt, the former dictator will seize the upcoming election in November, and thus continue a frightful trend of oppression that hasn’t really subsided even though peace accords were signed in 1996, ending a hot-cold conflict that lasted most of the Cold War. An estimated 300,000 people (mostly Mayans, the indigenous, poor farmers) have been slaughtered and 50,000 gone “missing” since the United Fruit Company convinced the Eisenhower administration to sponsor a CIA-led coup to topple Guatemala’s democratically-elected, leftist president in 1954, and install a dictator.

Ah yes, in the meantime this country is beautiful. The bus broke down for two hours on the trip from Antigua, but it couldn’t have happened in a better spot. I disembarked, and stared off the mountain at rolling green hills, grazing cows and locals picnicking, and below them still, clouds. Time is a virtue here, so I turned my man-sized backpack into a comfortable seat and talked baseball with a Californian until another bus arrived from Guatemala City with spare parts to help us on our way. We sat on the roadside and marveled at the overwhelming smell of diesel and gas leaks in developing countries. The aroma made me dream of other such places I’ve been: Ghana, Damascus.

Before beginning my language course in Xela, I spent three days with Maya in Antigua, a tourist Mecca swarming with gringos and aristocrat holdovers from the Spanish occupation 400 years ago. Antigua made my immersion into Central America a gentle one, but three days of Cuba Libres at posh clubs and hearing English everywhere were enough. So I left Disneyland for the highlands and this working class city. The locals look more like Mayans, or indigena in Spanish, as they are short and olive-skinned, and they don’t accost white tourists to pawn their burned CD’s and colorful trajes just because they know we have money. There appear to be only a few dozen ex-patriots here, and we’re treated like everybody else.

I plan to study here for the next month or two, and then travel somewhere like Honduras or Belize where I can become a certified scuba diver in just a couple days. I may write an article about this amazing country, maybe even cover the election if my Spanish is up to par and if the situation is still relatively safe. In the meantime, I plug away at verb tenses, and stomach more eggs and beans.

Posted by editor at 08:19 PM | Comments (0)

On the Road: Tackling language numero cuatro

By Jacob Wheeler
Sun international correspondent

XELA, Guatemala -- Doris, my new host mother, calls me down to breakfast in her tiny, open-air courtyard that is surrounded by bland, concrete walls but beckons just enough mountain-high sunshine to make me smile. The meal is yet another plate of plain eggs and soupy beans to go with a cup of weak coffee, and we struggle to hold a conversation given that my Spanish is limited to a few palabres. El gato joins us and hops up on my lap for a bite of huevos. Her daughters are off at school, her son is working at the tienda, and her husband died 10 years ago. This much I comprehend from the conversation. Today is my first morning in this dreadfully simple, yet sufficient, abode in the city of Xela – called Quetzeltenango by the Spanish conquistadors, and the maps followed along – in the western highlands of Guatemala. Our elevation is 8,000 feet and so the evenings are as frigid as the days are pleasant. I donned my Nordic stocking cap last night as I drank cheap, nearly transparent red wine in the central parque with my Michigan friend, Maya.

On September 8 I began an intensive Spanish course at a nearby school for international students, called Proyecto Linguistico. The five consecutive hours of Spanish drills with an instructor, one-on-one, every afternoon already have me begging for mercy, but witnesses believe I may attain proficiency in a matter of weeks, not months. The school is also a springboard for all kinds of cultural treks and excursions into the mountains. One day a trip to nearby hot springs just outside this city of 100,000; the next a seminar about the likelihood that El General Rios Montt, the former dictator will seize the upcoming election in November, and thus continue a frightful trend of oppression that hasn’t really subsided even though peace accords were signed in 1996, ending a hot-cold conflict that lasted most of the Cold War. An estimated 300,000 people (mostly Mayans, the indigenous, poor farmers) have been slaughtered and 50,000 gone “missing” since the United Fruit Company convinced the Eisenhower administration to sponsor a CIA-led coup to topple Guatemala’s democratically-elected, leftist president in 1954, and install a dictator.

Ah yes, in the meantime this country is beautiful. The bus broke down for two hours on the trip from Antigua, but it couldn’t have happened in a better spot. I disembarked, and stared off the mountain at rolling green hills, grazing cows and locals picnicking, and below them still, clouds. Time is a virtue here, so I turned my man-sized backpack into a comfortable seat and talked baseball with a Californian until another bus arrived from Guatemala City with spare parts to help us on our way. We sat on the roadside and marveled at the overwhelming smell of diesel and gas leaks in developing countries. The aroma made me dream of other such places I’ve been: Ghana, Damascus.

Before beginning my language course in Xela, I spent three days with Maya in Antigua, a tourist Mecca swarming with gringos and aristocrat holdovers from the Spanish occupation 400 years ago. Antigua made my immersion into Central America a gentle one, but three days of Cuba Libres at posh clubs and hearing English everywhere were enough. So I left Disneyland for the highlands and this working class city. The locals look more like Mayans, or indigena in Spanish, as they are short and olive-skinned, and they don’t accost white tourists to pawn their burned CD’s and colorful trajes just because they know we have money. There appear to be only a few dozen ex-patriots here, and we’re treated like everybody else.

I plan to study here for the next month or two, and then travel somewhere like Honduras or Belize where I can become a certified scuba diver in just a couple days. I may write an article about this amazing country, maybe even cover the election if my Spanish is up to par and if the situation is still relatively safe. In the meantime, I plug away at verb tenses, and stomach more eggs and beans.

Posted by editor at 08:19 PM | Comments (0)