A Million Minutes in Africa

The drive from the border to our first stop, Quetzaltenango (aka Xela), was spectacular. The Panamerican Highway twists and curves its way through valleys and over mountains, past volcanoes and over rivers. The drivers in Guatemala are a little more aggressive, but still quite low on the suicide meter. The road itself is in good condition with the exception of some parts that suffered landslides from hurricane Stan. It is all passable with a regular passenger car, even one that is on its last legs.

When we got out of the truck to climb the stairs to the hotel room I started breathing heavily. Not because Giselle is so lovely, but because the elevation of Xela is something like 50,000 feet above sea level. Good thing I don´t jog, because I really would have been out of breath.

Now we are in Antigua and have signed up for a week of Spanish classes. The town is a well-preserved remnant from colonial days. It has the charm of a city with historic buildings along with the frenetic pace you just don´t find back home. Think explosion of colors, smells, and sounds. There are guys who drive around all day with giant speakers on top of their cars. They shout something like, “ESPECIAL BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, Y AHORA! PRECIO BLAH, BLAH, BLAH! BARATO BLAH, BLAH, BLAH!” I sure hope Spanish class solves the mystery of their mobile messages. They start at the crack of dawn, just after the roosters stop crowing and the church bells ring 24 times at 6:03 am.

We are still trying to figure out the system the churches use for determining how many times the bells should ring. Giselle thinks it is just how many times they feel like it. I believe there is something more sinister at work. Once I asked a guy in Merida why the bells seemed to ring almost randomly. He stopped smiling and looked me in the eye and said, “The bells ring exactly the right number of times. Comprende, Senor?” Si.