Vista Hermosa Boulevard

Slowly the weather in Guatemala City has been changing. It’s not really like fall, per say, but the light is gone now by 6:30, rain comes every afternoon with heavy grey-black clouds, and some leaves on certain trees appear to be turning color. Even the light seems to take on the lower slant angle characteristic of autumn in the United States. Every morning I pull on a long sleeve shirt and take a coat with me as I head out into the day.

The cooler mornings mean indigenous women sit on street corners patiently ladling thick, sweet atol out of heavy plastic containers. On this day, I hand one lady Q2.50 and she fills a thin plastic cup with the starchy cinnamon flavored corn drink. It warms my chilled hands and body as I sip the hot liquid. Clusters of men and women, waiting for the bus or hurrying to work, stop to buy the atol, which has enough calories to fill one up until lunchtime. In the early morning the distant hills are covered with a persistent layer of clouds and mist. It will take several hours for the thick clouds and chilly air to be burned away by the tropical sun. But predictably, by around 11:00 the sun has pushed its cheery way through the clouds and begins to heat the city.

Early afternoon, the red number 2 bus drops me off at the corner and I make the half mile walk up to Pais, the grocery store. On the way, I note Señor Camaron (Mr. Shrimp) is out with his ceviche stand. My mouth waters as I imagine the taste of the acidic mixture of lime juice, tomato, onion, and seafood. I love the satisfying resistance of shrimp as I chew through the ceviche. Street smells of grilled sausage, tacos, charcoal, and plantains penetrate the air. I inhale the rich smells and watch the workers devouring their meager street cart lunches.

As I pass Vista Hermosa Bookstore, I notice the Mayan woman who sells overpriced strawberries is busily peeling and slicing mangos to sell to the passing people. One person stops for the treat and waits as the woman squeezes lime juice and sprinkles chili powder and ground pumpkin seeds on the mangos. The local snack shop is busily selling crunchy tacos spread this with unsweetened whipping cream while across the street walk several venders peddling chili-seasoned nuts on shoppers rushing into Pais.

I stop by the local tortilla woman, who sells four corn tortillas for Q1. While she stores them in a large towel-wrapped tub, they’re still warm from the pan she cooks them on. As I store the tortillas in my bag, I imagine I hear the practical slap, slap, slap of the experience hands forming tortillas out of the thick white corn flour. I picture the women shaping perfect circles then throwing them on the round hot plate to cook over an open fire. Expert hands flip the tortillas as the bottom side begins to brown. The mental image vanishes as the noisy number 1 terminal bus belches bye, spewing the street with thick, poisonous smoke. I thank the woman and hurry inside the super center to do my weekly grocery shopping.

Bags clutched in my hands, and sucking happily on a stick of chocofresas, or frozen chocolate-covered strawberries, I head back down my street, noting the tinges of colors on the leaves, newly erected fences protecting an empty lot, and the gardeners hurriedly chopping the neighbors’ lawns with finely sharpened machetes. We greet each other as I pass them on the street. I notice the big, billowing white clouds forming overhead and think of my Grandma Fellows. She loved those clouds. Here, it means that heavy sheets of rain would come in a few hours.

At the gate of my house, my landlady, Rosemarie, stood haggling with fruit venders over the price of mandarins, mangos, strawberries and bananas. I ask for a pound of strawberries and six bananas. Rosemarie successfully bartered the sellers down from the original price of Q21 to Q10 for the fruit. It was impressive. I exchange money for fruit with the venders, shut the gate, and return to my quiet apartment sanctuary.

It was time to work on transcriptions and research before my next trip to Tikal. My heart thudded as I thought of what October will bring: a Mayan ceremony in Tikal, Brian coming for three weeks, and adventuring around Guatemala. I knew instinctively that if I blinked my eyes, the month would end all too soon. But in the mean time, there was much to do and wait for before October 13 rolls around. It was time to get busy.