This weekend turned out to be a comedy of errors, despite our best intentions. Our original plan was to try to get on a tour to hike Pacaya, one of the still-active volcanoes here that spews lava and is supposed to be really amazing. Unfortunately finding information and getting anything actually accomplished in a developing country can sometimes be a big pain. After finding a chicken bus to go to the “aguas calientes” (natural hot springs) near here also fell through, we resorted to Plan C. Plan C consisted of going horseback riding around the volcanoes, and we managed to pull that one off (barely) and avoid the afternoon rains that are very prevalent here during rainy season.
However, we ended up getting more than we bargained for on our little expedition. The Ravenscroft stables are located about 10 minutes by taxi outside of Antigua. We arrived there and asked directions to the stables of the locals, who were very friendly and walked with us right up to the door of the stables. Inside we found two very very quirky British ex-pats and their 10 dogs. The wife, Paula, had Wiccan-like tattoos all over her body, including her forehead, and the husband, Frederick, was a retired British Calvary-man who seemed to not completely be able to keep his thoughts together and hold a normal conversation.
At first this encounter was extremely farcical, and James and I laughed as we were mounting our horses and getting ready to set out on our ride (we also had to withstand a 20 minute lecture on how horses are smarter than people etc etc beforehand). Since I rode horses and was around a “horse-people” from the time I was 8 to 18 their behavior didn’t strike me as too odd—horse and animal people in general tend to like animals more than people and aren’t too afraid to let you know it.
Once out on the trails we saw many farms and plots of land belonging to indigenous peoples in the community. A white flag marked off where one person’s property ended and another’s began. It was really interesting to pass by the small farms and homes belonging to the people of the village. In the distance we could see Antigua and the volcano Agua.
As I began to ask questions about the villagers and the land, it became obvious that Mr. Fredrick wasn’t a big fan of the people here—going so far as to call them “brutes” and assert that the civil war didn’t for a large part consist of the army putting down a reformer’s rebellion by use of force, torture, and murder, but was just one example of “how brutal all of the people of this country are—they are all to blame and its an example of why the Guatemalan race will never become civilized”. Um, ok.
According to him, it’s a racial thing that is passed down through the generations—their ancestors are Spaniards (who kill bulls for entertainment- that didn’t sit well with him) and Mayans (who participated in religious rituals where they pulled out victims hearts?) and therefore Guatemalans will never be “cleansed” of this brutality that is in their veins. Children cannot be saved, and even when a Guatemalan child is adopted and raised in America or Europe “under the surface there will always be a brutal beast of a Guatemalan”. And countries who are struggling now because of their colonial past deserve whatever they got because they shouldn’t have allowed themselves to be colonized in the first place. I won’t even get into his rascist views on Africa.
When asked if anyone in the community had ever done anything bad to him, his wife, or his property during the 22 years they’ve been living here in Guatemala that would cause such a harsh worldview, he said that no, but he had “heard of brutality” in other villages. Sigh. So 22 years here and that was his point of view “and it would be mine too if I ever lived in an uncivilized country for an extended period of time”. Just when I thought the conversation could not get more bizarre he almost broke into tears when talking about how wonderful Denmark and Sweden are for passing a law that no horse can be kept in a field alone (because horses are pack animals and this is “horse torture”).
When questioned about why he has spent 22 years of his life living among “savages” that he despises, his answered involved not being able to “abandon” the horses until they all die of natural causes. I think this man would literally have rather watched all of the people of his village die than a single one of his animals.
Despite the beauty of the trails and how great it felt to be back on a horse again—and I have to say these were the most well-cared for tour horses I’ve ever seen—I could not wait to get back to the stable and get to stop hearing this crazy man’s ideas. While on the trails I was a captive audience. In fact it wasn’t until we got back to the barn that I saw the swastika tattoo on his hand. Good lord. And this tour was highly recommended as an “amazing experience!” by two separate guide books. It was an experience, all right. God I hope no non-aryan person ever tries to go on his tour.
I can’t believe people like this actually still exist in the world. Sometimes I wonder, especially with people who are very odd in general, if they aren’t pushed into this kind of point of view by their own feelings of inadequacy. As if moving from a developed country to a third world country allows them to escape the people who would ostracize them in their own country, and live amongst people who are much much poorer than they are. Then they can regain their sense of ego and strengthen it by forming the views that others around them are “inferior”. They are an island of civilized people in an ocean of savages. Sorry—it’s the psychologist in me—couldn’t help but psychoanalyze. Maybe this guy was just an asshole.
When we arrived back at the house, exhausted and hungry, the power went out all over Antigua (and all over the country as I later discovered). We walked to a nearby tourist restaurant hoping they’d have a generator. As it turns out they do not, but they did have lots of candles for lighting and they were cooking food still over a wood-stove. We had a wonderful and very interesting candlelight dinner with just about the entire Gringo population of Antigua, and by the time we returned home the power was back on! Thank God luck was finally on our side.
back in Antigua...
No comments:
Post a Comment