Take time to stop and smell ... the newborn baby cow.

When you are a traveler, it is best not to be in the mindset that you must go, go, go and see as many of the things the tour book tells you to see like you're checking them off a list. Sure, you will see many places and things ...even the touristy spots, because they are touristy for a reason, and they are very often extremely interesting. But when you are a traveler, and not just a tourist, you need to look around you and take in what is going on in your midst. What is going on is life, people living their lives in this place that is foreign to you, strange to you, exotic and intriguing. And their lives are often very different than yours. Very, very different.

Take, for instance, the day I was walking back to work in Xela, Guatemala after my lunch break. I was a little early and went up on the roof terrace of the school. Behind the school, in an open area, was a cow, with a couple baby cows (yes, they would be called calves). Overload on cuteness! So I ran downstairs, grabbed my camera and ran around the building to go see them. By the time I got there, one of the calves had fallen and couldn’t get up. A local woman was helping him. And it just made my day. I asked her if they were her cows, and she said they were her brother’s. She had a baby strapped to her back, a toddler to watch, and she was helping a calf get into the upright position. And I had had barely enough focus (or strength) to remember my fleece jacket and daypack when I left the house.

The neighborhood where I worked was a little outside the center of town, up on a hill. There were homes, dirt streets, and quite a few open, grassy lots. People who had livestock let them graze wherever there was grass. I don’t think there was any “get that animal off my property” mentality. So I often passed cows, horses, chickens, whatever, just hanging out and eating grass. But this day was special ... not just because babies of any species are amazingly cute, but because I stopped and saw life going on.

Yes, it is true that cows have babies in the U.S. I saw some last month in New Hampshire. Baby goats too. Triplets even, and they were only an hour old. And yes, I enjoy seeing them and their cute factor is just as high. But sometimes when you see things in another country – even things that you see in your own country – it is just different. Nothing is the same. Sure I might see a baby cow that has fallen down on a grassy hill in New Hampshire. But I would not likely see it from the roof of a school. Nor would I see a young Mayan woman in brightly colored clothes, with a baby on her back and a small child at her side, nonchalantly helping a calf to his feet. It’s just different ... and that’s why it is so wonderful. 

Potty break preparedness proves practical.

I have already talked about certain bathroom issues in a developing country, but I want to let you know about some others so you can better be prepared. No, I am not going to write again about the topic discussed here. And no, I am not obsessed with bathrooms (see other bathroom reference here). But it might be good for you to know that the bathrooms in Latin America are a little different than what you encounter in the U.S.

Many showers have water heaters that are connected to the actual showerhead, so that when you get into the shower to turn the water on, you may see some electrical wires and think “Hmmm, that can’t be good.” I am sure it has its risks, and I recently saw a show on TV that said you often feel a shock when you’re in such a shower. I have taken hundreds of showers with such heating methods and have never felt a shock, so I don’t know what they were talking about or if that is ever true. Personally, in the tropical regions where “hot and humid” is the norm, I do not need or want any heated water. The cold water coming from the faucets isn’t even that cold. So if you’re in such a place, it is quite refreshing to be without hot water. Eight months in Panama and I did not once have a “hot shower.” I had “refreshing showers” that felt awesome and cool and comforting. Ahhhh.

When I took Spanish classes in Quito, Ecuador and lived with a family for a month, I was staying in a lovely house with gracious hosts. It was a little too cold in Quito to take a shower without heat, but this house had a different heating system that also took some getting used to. It was heated by some sort of gas that came from a box mounted on a bathroom wall (not in the shower thankfully). When I wanted to take a shower, I had to light the heating unit, much like you light a gas stove when the pilot goes out. It was a little intimidating at first (I am also intimidated by gas stoves and grills ... because I have rarely used them, and I like my eyebrows). But once I got the hang of it, I was able to enjoy a nice warm shower. Such bathing experiences remind me how easy we have it in the U.S. when all we do is turn on a faucet and hot water comes out, without any risky steps to take to get there. Face it: we are spoiled.

Now onto a very important thing to know about Latin American bathrooms: you do not and cannot put toilet paper in the toilet. “What?!” you say. “No toilet paper in the toilet?!” Correct, no toilet paper in the toilet; the plumbing is not designed for the overenthusiastic wipers of North America. You must put your TP in a waste basket that is in every bathroom in Latin America (at least every bathroom I've been in). I know that seems gross, but that is the way it is. Better in the basket than a clogged toilet, overflowing onto the floor. No Drano’s going to fix that. Additionally, don’t make the mistake of thinking that just because no one specifically tells you to avoid putting toilet paper in the toilet it means it’s okay to do as you do at home. Because it isn’t. Someone at a hostel or hotel or host house is not necessarily going to point this out to you, because putting paper in a basket rather than the toilet is normal to them. They may not be aware that this is not the norm in your country. If you want to make sure, then ask, or check and see if there is a trash can near the toilet that seems to be full of nothing but toilet paper. It takes a while to get used to, but when you return home, you will probably find yourself automatically looking to put the paper in the basket, instead of the toilet. Seriously, you will.

When you are out and about and must use a public restroom, most you will find in cafés and restaurants have the necessary things: soap, toilet paper, garbage can for the above mentioned used toilet paper. But sometimes they don’t. Or sometimes you find yourself in a type of bathroom that you didn’t expect … like the one my friend Heidi and I had to use when we visited a market town a ways outside of Quito, Ecuador. It was chaos in that bathroom, women getting buckets of water, rushing around, and pushing bathroom goers into small, dirty stalls (we would have preferred to go behind a tree). Or the one in the bus station in Guatemala City that required I pour a pail of water into the tank so it would flush and all I could think was “If it’s yellow, let it mellow … hey, how about we just let it mellow?” Or the one my friend Anna and I had to use on the border between Guatemala and Mexico that was off behind some market stalls in the street and we had to pay to use it, even though it was pretty bare-bones and not really worth the quetzales we paid to use it. But as I’ve said before: it’s all a part of the experience. It’s a part of the adventure! At home, I get pissed off when the Macy’s restroom is out of paper towels, but these bathrooms I can deal with.

These specific types of bathrooms will not likely have toilet paper. And some of the nicer ones won’t either. This is why I always stash inside my daypack a ziplock bag containing a roll of toilet paper, from which I have removed the cardboard roll so it can be smashed flat. It doesn’t take up much room and you will be happy you have it should you find yourself needing a bathroom, but unable to find one with the amenities to which you are accustomed. A small bottle of sanitizer is also a good thing to throw in there. And have some change on hand because some public bathrooms have attendants, who keep it clean and equipped with such necessities. No better way to say “whew” and “gracias” than with a little tip.

As you have learned from this blog, I mostly travel in Latin America. So I cannot even speak to what bathrooms are like in other countries where the experience is even more “rustic.” Although a Danish friend I met in Guatemala spent several weeks living with an indigenous family in a very remote area and she went to the bathroom in the family’s hut, where there was basically a hole in the dirt floor. The same was true for my friend who was a Peace Corps volunteer in West Africa. And for my friend who went to Turkey. Holes in the floor (or ground) are sometimes the norm. So toilets where you have to fill the tank yourself are nothing to complain about. Anyway, complaining will get you nowhere … when you’ve gotta go, you’ve gotta go. So you adjust, set yourself to “traveler mode” and do what you need to do.

  

Sorry, I do not have a photo of an interesting (or uninteresting) bathroom to share with you at this time.

Don't sweat the sweaty stuff.

One of the items I highly recommend you bring along on your trip is a bandana. Forget your images of cowboys with one wrapped around his neck, or mechanics using one to wipe off greasy hands, or your grandfather blowing his nose in one. A bandana is one of the most versatile things a traveler can carry. Here is what I mean:

·      Use it as a headband.

·      Use it as a head scarf on those days your hair doesn’t look like you want it to (because the town you’re in has no water, or something like that. See this post).

·      To tie things to your backpack or bag.

·      To wipe the sweat from your face as you slowly melt in the heat and humidity of a tropical paradise.

·      Use it as a tourniquet or bandage, should such a first-aid necessity arise.

I always take one or two bandanas, especially to hot locations, for one reason and one reason only: sweaty face. I first saw the taxi drivers in Panama using them to wipe their faces as they drove around the city. Most of them did not have air conditioning in their cars, and they used the bandana to wipe off that sweat. They sometimes used wash cloths, but those seemed too heavy-duty for my purposes; I just wanted to dry off, not exfoliate. So I adopted the use of the bandana.

I know it may not seem very lady-like to wipe off your face in public. It seems like something only sweaty, testosteroney men do during a time-out on the basketball court or between innings on the baseball field. So you have to ask yourself: “Do I want to walk around with sweat dripping off my face? Or do I just want to take this useful bandana and wipe it off?” It’s up to you. I am not one to deal well with sweat in my eyes or looking all shiny and drippy. But that's just me.

Another great thing about bandanas is that they are extremely portable. Shove one into your pocket or a side section of your daypack. Drape it around your neck and grab it when you need it. They are also easy to wash. Just hand wash it in a sink, shower, or pila with a little soap or shampoo and it will dry overnight to be used the next day (again, see this post for pila info).

Here is a photo of me in the beautiful, colonial city of Granada, Nicaragua at the top of La Merced Church. I’m not sure you can tell, but it was mighty hot and humid and I was turning out copious amounts of sweat. In my bag, I have a green metal water bottle on one side (right), and on the other is a yellow bandana peeking out, which I actually bought at the market there after I lost my other one. That bandana was very helpful; I may not have been able to see the gorgeous view without it (sweat dripping in eyes and all). I honestly would not go to a hot climate without one. A paper product, such as the highly revered Kleenex, would merely dissolve, I am afraid, in such a way that would leave you with pieces of tissue stuck all over your face, making you look like you just shaved with a dull razor.

Sweaty face, tissue-peppered face, or dry face thanks to a bandana. Seems like an easy decision to me.

Get lost!

If you are spending a long enough time somewhere during your travels where your days are not completely filled with activities, I strongly recommend you take some time to lose the map and wander aimlessly. Of course, there are some places where wandering around without a map might not be the best idea … like a big city, because obviously, you could end up in an unsafe neighborhood. But as far as I’m concerned, not-so-big cities and towns are better appreciated when you can explore them on foot without worrying about where you’re going.

I recently read an article recommending such wandering in Venice, Italy over taking a gondola ride. Though I have never been there, Venice evidently has quaint alleyways that have hidden cafes and shops. This reminded me of the callejones (alleyways) I have explored in Latin America. Guanajuato, Mexico is pretty much entirely made up of callejones (see Guanajuato photos below), with most of the major streets for cars found underground in a really incredible tunnel system. The charming city is built on hills and you could just get lost for hours if you wanted, walking up and down those hills. Who needs a step machine when you’ve got callejones on hills?

Along with some other locales, I also took time to wander in Xela, Guatemala. Often on Sunday afternoons at the beginning of my stay, I would enjoy the peace and quiet of the day and get lost. It was a challenge to try and find my way back to Parque Central. As I got to know the city a little better, things would start to fit together, as they do when you become familiar with a place. “Oh, I remember seeing this shop when I got lost a few weeks ago. And here it is, just a few blocks from where I buy ice cream! Good to know! And here’s that tour company that takes small groups to a coffee farm. Now I know where to come to set something up.”

One thing that is so incredible to me as I walk these callejones, streets, and hills, is that people live on these beautiful alleyways. Families reside on these incredibly quaint streets. Not only that, but they walk up those steep, and sometimes very long hills, every single day, sometimes a number of times. Young or old, it doesn’t matter. That’s what they do if they go out and about. They must be in really great shape, because not only are they carrying themselves up those hills, but also bags of food from the market, babies, baskets of laundry, water jugs for the bubbler … you name it, they carry it. 

Better than the gym. Here is a guy in
Guanajuato, Mexico delivering beer to a store quite
a ways up a hill on a callejón. He passed my mother
and me (below) as we climbed up to get a better view
of the city. We were in awe (of the guy and the view).
And also a little tired. 

These homes built on hills and attached by charming callejones are also painted in bright colors. No two houses in the same area are uniform. It’s like you’re walking up a giant color swatch from the paint store, with all the colors you’ve never before seen on a house … but wish you had because they go perfectly with the bright blue sky, and the fresh air, and the smiling people who walk there everyday.

You cannot see such things very well from a cab or a car or a bus or a microbus, even on the regular streets of Xela, where cars, buses and motorcycles roam. You can see so much more when you walk around aimlessly, wandering through the streets, taking in all the differences, and learning about this place you are calling “home,” even if it’s only for a little while. You may not know what’s around the next corner, but that is half the fun. 

How to go with the flow when there isn’t any flow.

The lights just came on. I mean literally. The power went out for some reason, the neighborhood was shrouded in darkness, and it took 45 minutes for it to come on again. Forty-five minutes!

I suppose you cannot tell, but I’m being facetious. Maybe here in the U.S. that is a long time to be without power when there is no ice storm, tornado or flood to blame. But in a developing country, it happens. Often. Without any inclement weather. Sometimes for days. Sometimes it happens with the water. Así es la vida … that’s life.

When I first arrived in Panama for my first long-term Latin American experience, it was nighttime and I was exhausted and smelled like airplane (if you fly a lot, you know what I mean). But that wasn’t enough to choose a shower over going to bed in my new residence. Sleep took precedence. The next morning I got up to start my new job, and there was no water. So I couldn’t brush my smelly teeth. I couldn’t flush the toilet. And lastly, I could not take a shower and wash that airplane funk out of my hair. I just thought it was some temporary thing; that it would only last a few minutes. So I waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, I went downstairs to where the non-profit offices were located to see what was going on. And what was going on was “business as usual.” They were all working, wondering why I was taking so long to come down and meet everyone. I didn’t really want to meet my new co-workers without being clean and shiny, but I had no choice. Amazingly, they didn’t care. And they didn’t seem to care when the water didn’t come, and didn’t come, and didn’t come. It didn’t come for a couple of days. I ended up going to my boss’s home to take a shower and clean up. I just couldn’t wait. Panama is one of those hot and humid places. Airplane funk quickly gets replaced with sticky, sweaty, moldy funk.

My extended time in Guatemala also included some periods of no electricity/water/both. Sometimes the lack of electricity went on for a few days, usually just during the day, which was a little easier to deal with. Once there was some sort of huge electric surge in the immediate area around the house and my host family lost many of their electrical appliances: the microwave, a couple radios, the television. Fried beyond use, and for no apparent reason. They, of course, were bummed at the loss and the need to replace all of those things. But they didn’t seem too upset. They didn’t curse or shake their fists at the electric company. They didn’t call the municipal government to complain. They didn’t rally their neighbors to file a class action lawsuit against the city. They just accepted it, dealt with it, and went on with things. Imagine!

One night at my Guatemalan house we suddenly heard gushing water, like there was a river coming down the street. This sometimes happened during the rainy season, and my host family would drag out bags of sand to pile up between the street-river and their house. But this time, it wasn’t raining. Still, once we opened the front door, there was indeed a river in the street. It was coming from up the hill, where some street construction was going on. A street main busted or something. The sand bags were dragged outside and we waited to see if the river would stop. It did eventually, but then there was no water in the house.

For quite a few days, we did not have water. Word got out that they were trying to update the water system or something and many homes just went without water for as long as was necessary. At night, it would come on with very low pressure so people could fill up their pilas (see this blog post to learn about pilas). But again, there was no showering happening. Across the street, people had water (for some reason that was again inexplicable), so I finally got to shower at a neighbor’s house, where one of my Spanish students/volunteers was staying. Then, on a couple other days, I took a shower at the school where I worked. I made do. What else? You can be annoyed all you want, but that isn’t going to get you into a shower faster. And it won’t make the lights come on. These are just things that may occur more frequently in a developing country. It’s how other people live every single day of their lives. Many people in these countries don’t even have electricity or indoor plumbing. Some are too remote or too poor to have such luxuries. No complaints, it's just the way it is.

That is what I thought about tonight when the lights went out right here in the good ol’ U.S. of A. I caught myself thinking “Gee, this is taking a while.” And then I let my traveling self take over and just accepted that my plans to post on this blog would have to wait until morning. I got a flashlight, brushed my teeth in the sink that had running water, and started to settle down for the night. Just as I was about to retire, POOF! The lights came back on again. And that’s what it’s like in Latin America; you may think you are at the end of your soap-on-a-rope and cannot go another day without bathing, but then you have access to a pila full of water or someone offers you their shower. Or you may think being without electricity is terribly inconvenient, but then you realize life goes on without it. You have to go with the flow. Just don’t forget to pack that flashlight.