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After my whistle stop tour of a few countries in Central America I decided that I was time to settle down and relax in the central highlands of Guatemala in the second largest city of the country. The city is named Quetzaltenango, (literally, “the place of the Quetzal”. The Quetzal is the national symbol of Guatemala. It’s a beautiful bird with an amazingly long tail. Renowned throughout Central America, it appears on the flag of Guatemala and even gives name to their currency. However, in one of life’s more bitter ironies the Quetzal is fast disappearing due to deforestation and consequently the destruction of its habitat. Hence there are no Quetzals in “the place of the Quetzal” but I will diligently report back if I happen upon any) however, perhaps in recognition of the sad plight of the Quetzal most people refer to the city by its Mayan name of Xelaju or just plain Xela (pronounced shayla). In the past few years Xela has become renowned for its Spanish schools and as I am always heavily tempted by every nerdy pursuit I enrolled in a school for 2.5 month.

Xela - Songs of Praise and Showers of Death

Patrick Gatland
2006-08-21 14:52:37

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and buried him. This meant that as I went away for a weekend on a Saturday Morning all was fine in the house but when I returned late Sunday afternoon the son had been buried and I was now living in a house of mourning. I expected to see lots of flowers and cards around the house but none appeared. In fact everything went back to a fair degree of normality after just a few days.

After returning from my time at the coffee plantation and Cuba (see my next blog for updates on what happened when I was put to work making pure Guatemalan coffee) I moved in with a new family. My experience here has been totally different and just as interesting. My host dad is very active in the community and has even taken me to his radio program that he hosts once a month for the over 60’s. The family is great fun and includes a cute dog named Pulga (Flea) who continually has a cold and spends her time wrapped in a blanket and sitting on the couch like a decrepit grandma.

Compared with my last family this one didn’t seem too interested in my religion but on finding out that I was a solicitor they were very excited. I’m always weary when people are excited when finding out that I am a lawyer because it means either they are a) slightly deranged (I mean who gets excited about meeting a lawyer?) or b) they want some legal advice for some strange problem they have.

Luckily for me my family fall into both categories. On hearing of my profession they promptly asked me to call the police and complain about all the noise the church across the street had been making since the Pentecostalists had moved in and started conducting the world’s loudest prayers sessions. As my father said “Who can possibly listen to Christian rock all day, it’s just not right” (never a wiser word has been said). My family explained that perhaps the police would finally take notice of their complaints if they were delivered by a Gringo lawyer. Not wanting to start any serious ...