Exploring Place: Refaccion

The hulking metal-framed Linea Dorada bus wheezed 25 miles per hour through the Interamerican Highway construction zone near Tecpan. I watched the scenery change gradually from the hot, cement sprawl of Chimaltenago to the lush cornfields by Tecpan. Shortly, we passed several restaurants that serve delicious local foods like blue-corn tortillas, locally cured hams, cheeses, and freshly made jams. My mouth salivated as I thought of how delicious the hot chocolate is in one store before remembering that Xelajú has the best cocoa in the country.

Slower than George, the tortoise, the bus groaned up the mild grade past Tecpan and on into the second leg of the potentially six hour journey to Quetzaltenango. It was 10:00 am and as we passed these restaurants reeking with the smells of garlic, green onions, and coffee, I breathed a sigh of relief. We might just make it to Xela without stopping for refacción. The bus began to pick up speed as it edged over the end of the grade and along the sinuous highway. We drove speedily away from Tecpan and on towards Xela.

Then, as the bus slowed gradually for what appeared to be another construction zone, it jolted over the pavement onto the gravel road and eased into a parking area in front of a small, run-down restaurant. The breaks squealed as the driver excitedly parked the bus and the attendant hopped out to get in line. We all sat solidly on the bus, not believing that after only two hours of driving we would be stopping. Finally, the portly driver stood up and faced the crowd. “Es hora de refacción. It’s time for snack break,” he said in a gleeful schoolboy voice. We all had to file off the bus, where the Guatemalans proceeded to excitedly purchase and consume coffee, tortillas, meat and cheese. Snack time is very important to them. “I hate refaccion,” Hanne and I said bitterly while Bridgette laughed. Thanks to refacción, we arrived in Xela at least an hour late….

…. Returning from Xela in a double decker Linea Dorada bus, Hanne and I sat praying the bus driver would just floor it to Guate. We got a late start and progressed slowly through the construction zones and paved highway. Our bus, going a maximum of 30 mph, was too timid to pass the myriad other vehicles on the road. Occasionally, I asked Hanne the time, despairing as I calculated that in three hours we had gone approximately 70 kilometers, not even half the distance back to Guate. Finally after hours, the lights of Tecpan blinked past and it seemed that yet again we were in the clear of refacción.

A Texaco gas station’s neon and florescent lights loomed ahead of us. “No, no, no!” Hanne began to moan next to me. I realized what was happening as if in slow motion. The bus was jack knifing itself a place to stop in the parking lot, “No, no, no!! REFACCION!” I exclaimed. “I’m boycotting it,” Hanne muttered, “I’m not getting off this damn bus.” We slumped in our seats as the attendant came up and called out, “15 minutos para descansar. 15 minutes to break for refacción.” Excitedly, the Guatemalans marched out of the bus to buy their nachos, tamales, tostados, aguas, and candies. They must have been starving after not eating for like two hours.

Disheartened, I walked to the bathroom where several Guatemalan women exclaimed in the same breath, “Aiiiiiiiii, it’s taking soooooo loooooong to get to Guate! Aiiiiiiii, I can’t believe we only have 15 minutes for refacción!!!!!!! Aiiiiiiiiiii, no! That’s not enough time.” I glared at them, thinking that without refacción we’d be a whole lot closer to Guatemala. Hanne had been kicked off the bus by the attendant who insisted that everyone needed the 15 minute descanso. She got off the bus muttering that if we were going to take freaking refacción then she was going to get something to eat too. I looked around at the people and said, “I don’t get it. Guatemalans eat snacks all the time; they’re constantly eating. How come they aren’t all fat?” Hanne looked at me and through gritted teeth said, “They are all fat! They just short and squat too!” When she said that, I started looking around, and indeed, the Guatemalans were all short, stocky, with substantial waists. Refacción! In the end, 15 minutes was 30 minutes and it took nearly 7 hours to drive the 200 kilometers to Guatemala from Xela….

…. Driving in microbus from Panajachel to los Encuentros, I thought the drive was going to hurl the bus over the mountain into the canyon. Maybe he’s just in a hurry for refacción, I thought. We arrived in los Encuentros before our connection shuttle to Xela. On the side of the dusty, congested highway Bridgette and I waited impatiently with the microbus driver. Where was the freaking micro already!? Gosh! Finally, the little white van drove up, pushed us inside, and started the three hour trip to Xela. Barely two minutes down the road, the driver pulled over, stalled the car and mumbled, “Sorry, sorry, I just…” and got out of the car with the attendant. Bridgette and I looked at each other, “refacción!!!!” Sure enough, five minutes later, the two drivers hurried back to the car, their arms full of Pepsi cola, bread, and potato chips. Bridgette concluded that refacción must have developed when most people still worked in hard labor, meaning they needed more calories. Most of them certainly don’t need those calories today. Refacción!....

…. Finally, this morning driving from Xela to Antigua I watched the miles melt under the microbus’ tires. We passed construction site after construction site, drove by chicken buses who in turn passed us, and forged a path through the persistent black exhaust of the construction cars. Halfway through the journey, we passed los Encuentros and turned left. “No, no, no!!!” I screamed in my head, “they can’t be stopping for refacción!” But indeed, it was 10:00 am and the drivers looked around at their load of foreigners and said, “Okay, we have 10 minutes for refacción.” Ten minutes, yeah right. After twenty minutes the drivers finally came back clutching Styrofoam cups of atol and frantically eating fluffy white rolls. I scowled at them, willing them to get back in the car so we could get Antigua before afternoon. We continued the journey with no more stops, but all I could think was, “I hate refacción.”

These hobbitish people are seriously serious about their food. At 7:30 it’s time for breakfast. At 10:00 it’s time for refacción. At 1:30 it’s time for lunch. At 3:00 it’s time for refacción. At 5:00 it’s time for refacción. Finally, at 7:30 it’s time for dinner. Where do they put all those calories? How do thy burn them off especially when exercise is a very novel concept? That question will continue to bother me as refacción will continue to harass me on my journeys around this country.