Healing

Wrapped into the jungle on one side and bordering Lake Petén Itzá on the other, the town of San Andrés is located in one of the most remote regions of Guatemala. As such it is not altogether surprising that in a place like this the ways of modern society have only been selectively embraced (even today) and virtues like tradition and heritage continue to be cherished.

The same holds true in the field of medicine such that many people’s first response to a disease (however serious) is to consult a traditional healer while western medicine is frequently viewed with caution. These traditional ways of healing tend to be a blend of ancient Mayan wisdom (particularly incorporating the medicinal properties of the thousands of plants in the surrounding jungle), mysticism involving magic and the spirit world as well as a good dose of Catholic Christianity.

Being a naturally curious person, I could not help but start to inquire where I might be able to meet such a healer. It turns out that the small town of San Andrés has several (all women) and after one name was repeatedly recommended I chose to pay her a visit.

For all of you that have read Harry Potter (or have a vivid imagination), I have to disappoint you, the woman I was about to meet did not greet me with a magic wont, nor flying carpet, nor bubbling chemical tubes in the back room, nor did she live far away hidden in the jungle. Rather, her appearance and that of her home were as simple and ordinary as that of anybody in San Andrés.

Upon arrival her husband greeted me at the door and also did most of the talking. After a friendly invitation into the house, husband and wife (married for 43 years) took a seat on the sofa in front of me. With big patient eyes she continued to look at me while her husband kept on talking. Since I am generally very healthy (yet no one is perfect) I chose to ask her about two of my bigger physical frustrations: 1) my worsening eye sight and 2) the periodic tension I feel in my back. She immediately nodded indicating that these symptoms were definitely in her circle of expertise. She proceeded to explain that most physical problems are the result of accumulated stress and tension which eventually manifest through various kinds of discomfort. These areas of repressed tension feel to her as if air is stored beneath the skin which through her treatment she would try to release. After agreeing to the described treatment she got up to gather a few things. Returning back to the living room she asked me to take off my shirt and started to massage my eyes and back with a home-made gel that smelled like a mix of eucalyptus and mint. After this 5 minute relaxation massage on the living room chair she retrieved a rose thorn with which she pricked my skin to relieve the air and tension while quietly reciting religious chants. Another few minutes later she was finished and after paying her the prearranged fee of 25 Quetzals ($3.50 USD) she patiently returned to the couch to continue the conversation, her husband re-assuming the dominate role.

After opening sharing some healing experiences as well as how they were instructed in the art of healing, I thankingly bid farewell to this charming couple. Stepping outside into the night, several dogs eagerly awaited my arrival and escorted me down the street. The bright moon ahead illuminated the road back home, while the icy-hot eucalyptus continued to relax my back.

Open Minds:

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Over and over again in traveling I have found it essential not to plan (or at the most tentatively plan one day in advance). In doing so you can keep an open mind to the new world and faces around you and when an opportunity presents itself you are ready to grasp it. Trying to plan a trip is like a fisherman trying to schedule (days or weeks) in advance when the fish are going to bite. The problem is that nature and the “principle of coincidence” does not work that way. We all know, fortune does not strike at a neatly schedule appointment.

It is getting late in the afternoon and the sun is casting long shadows over the “mercado nuevo” in Chetumal, México. The shops are in the process of closing down, children continue to play in the vicinity and periodically stop by to ask for another tortilla chip, which I gladly give them in exchange for one of their beautiful smiles (I am convinced that I am getting by far the better part of the trade). I ask the portable ice cream salesman, who has now already passed me three times, what time it is. My watch has long been buried in the backpack. He tells me 6pm. I then ask if he thinks the 5pm bus to Belize will come soon. He nods with confidence: “Ya viene.” (It is coming now); coincidentally the same answer as one hour ago.

About ten minutes later and just in time for my new friends to finish off the chips, the bus arrives. I board as the only passenger but as we make out way out of town the bus quickly fills up to the lat seat including about 15 people standing in the isle. As we exit Chetumal and head for Belize the driver turns on the radio and the bus starts jiving to mellow reggae music; a nice change to the cheap gangster & explosion films imported from the USA, which I have gotten used to on Mexican busses. Even the Jesus on the Cross dangling in front of the driver seems to move to the rhythm of the music. In the front of the bus a big sign reads “All American” and is partially covered by a picture of Santa Maria on one side and Bob Marley on the other. In fact all buses in Belize are salvaged “All American” buses that decades ago were used in the U.S. school system. And so the ride begins.

One of my favorite authors once wrote that all you have to do in life is: “Read the signs that the universe presents.” Trying to put this into action, I have been practicing this on these long bus rides. Like an inquisitive child I look around the bus, wondering what the story is of all these people traveling with me; where do the come from? Where do the go?

One inquisitive pair of eyes meets another, followed by a smile, followed by a wave. Switching seats, I get up to greet the friendly person two rows behind me. The person whose hand I was shaking is Eder form Veracruz, México, who along with his girlfriend Dagmarys from Cuba are on their way back to the University of Belize at Belmopan where they are both studying English. The conversation deepens: I share my story, they share theirs. Being new to Belize it was great to hear the perspective of two other foreigners who have been in Belize for 7 months. Several reggae CDs later, although it only seemed like a moment, the bus stops at its final destination Orange Walk and there are no further buses until the morning. With the same goal in mind, finding the cheapest hotel in town, we depart the bus together. After a long day of travel Dagmarys says good night and Eder and I decide to seize the opportunity to walk around town. And so a friendship begins…

The next day, Eder and Dagmarys had taken the first bus back to Belmopan, I decided to visit Lakmanai (famous Mayan ruins tugged away in the jungle and only accessible via a 1 hour boat ride through a dense swamp). However before leaving, Eder extended an invitation for a weekend trip he was planning along with 8 other international students from UB. Flattered by his openness and hospitality and excited about the opportunity to practice my Spanish in English speaking Belize, I happily agreed.

Two days later I arrive in Belmopan at 10am, 2 hours earlier than agreed looking for Eder in my hand nothing but a sketched map scribbled on a piece of paper. Shortly thereafter I arrive at the X on the sketch – a sigh of relief – the place actually exists. The bad news: on the door posted is a note for me that they had already left for their destination, Placencia. Disappointed I return to the bus station contemplating if I should continue to follow Eder through Belize. Entering the bus terminal I hear the conductor yelling: “Placencia – leaving now!” and my decision had been made.

The conductor tells me that in 1 hour the road would split and to get to Placencia I would have to take another bus already waiting on the side of the road. With Belizean punctuality we reach the intersection after 2 hours and indeed the bus is waiting. As I board the bus, two smiling faces and waving hands greet me – I had caught up with Eder and Dadmarys.
And so began a beautiful weekend in Placencia filled with breathtaking beaches, cooling snorkeling, more Spanish that I could wish for (all of Eder`s fellow travelers were Latinos), early morning sun rises, new friendships and an immersion into one of the most laid back places in Belize.

If my stars continue to be aligned in the same way, I am not sure I will ever come back. But for now I am packing my backpack for Guatemala and most importantly I am packing an open mind.

Belize City: Sitting on the dock at the bay

“Sitting on the dock at the bay, watching the tide roll away …” or so the song goes, and it could have quite easily been written right here. As I am writing these words I am myself sitting on the dock of a guesthouse overlooking the river that cuts Belize City in two; connected by the famous swing bridge. It is only ten o` clock at night but ever since the sun descended at 6pm the city has been dead. I find this silence remarkable considering that this is the biggest and busiest city of the country, I am sitting right in the middle of it and the Belizeans are not particularly quiet people. It really seems like public life stops with sunset; there are no buses leaving at night, stores close at about 6pm and people disappear from the streets. At this exact location only a few hours ago the streets were congested with cars honking and polluting the city. People filled the sidewalks passing by the many shops, stands and store fronts. The city truly felt alive, vibrating, sweating and moving. Despite its small size Belize is very rich in diversity and this city reflects it: there is the Mayan heritage as well as the Latin feel that the Spanish influence has left; but moreover there is a strong British influence as well as a big population of black Belizeans (which were originally brought here not so voluntarily) but Belize has also seen voluntary immigration from all over the world including large groups of Chinese, Indians and German Mennonite all mixed together into a colorful bundle, adding some Caribbean vibes and Latin passion: in other words Belize.

Traveling Styles

It is perplexing how easy it seems to be able to guess the nationality of tourists from a distance (and makes for a fun game). Especially the people from places in which we have lived or which we are very familiar with seem to jump out at us, even from far away.

Recently I have been making similar observations about traveling styles as well. To start, there are the day trip or weekend travelers: these tend to be locals or important executives whose lives are too busy to take more time off. The locals of course are the easiest to make out, especially in a place like México. The executives are not much more difficult to identify: they can be easily spotted marching up and down the beach as if the corporate race continued on the beach or yelling out orders obviously mistaking the hotel or restaurant staff for their work place subordinates.

Then there are the 1 or 2 weekers: These people have realized the importance of a refreshing vacation but at the some time feel their time is too precious to simply sit around doing nothing but enjoy the day. These travelers can often be spotted arriving in bus loads on their 10 day neatly scheduled tour featuring a new destination every day.

Then there is the backpacking crowd, which tends to be on the road from a month to a year (or longer). These are a different species altogether and easily stand out as well. Given their long time horizon they tend to have to watch their budget (e.g. hostels rather than hotels; taco stands rather than restaurants, playing the guitar on the beach rather than taking diving lessons). You can almost spot someone who has been on the road for a year instantly (something seems to happen to the human being after extensive time traveling): they have acquired a new way of waking (very casually), talking and being. Altogether they give the impression that time for them seems to elapse at a different speed as everyone else.

To each their own. But I have always been an advocate to try everything first before rendering judgment. Eager to find out, I am happy to follow this advice. Here I am. Let the experiment begin.

Tulum, Quintana Roo, México:

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The sea is rough; an unusually strong wind is blowing from the sea and the few scattered clouds fly by. Big white waves crash ashore and especially at night when all other distractions fade, seem almost overwhelmingly loud. Its mist leaves a gentle sparkle of salt on my skin, which the sun dries almost instantly, giving my lips taste of ocean salt.

It is hard to believe that is has been a bit over one year (only and already) since I have been here, in this exact place. One circle has come to completion as a new one begins.

March 2006: The Old and New Kansas City

Despite the promise of telling my stories with new eyes, I have to admit that so far most of my writings have been seen with my “old eyes”.

The last days I have spent quite a bit of time contemplating what exactly it means to see with “new eyes”. After all, (technically speaking) all images perceived by me during this live time will be through the same eyes. Of course with “new eyes” I am not referring to physically new eyes but rather a new perspective, to truly see from someone else’s point of view. But even this, it seems, is very difficult as well because as soon as I were to completely embrace someone else’s perspective it would still be my own, not theirs. Further, I could never be certain that what I perceive to be someone else’s point of view is truly theirs and not merely something in the middle between me and them.

For those of you reading this web site for travel stories, I will not disappoint you. After being absent for “only” two months I have been able to return to Kansas City for a few days, some very enjoyable days I might add. What was striking to me was that despite only having been away for two months and still using the same set of physical eyes, my own perspective of Kansas City has completely changed. So, in response to the challenge from the previous paragraph: through personal experiential evidence I can confirm that it is possible to see with different eyes! An wise Indian saying comes to mind: “You cannot climb into the same river twice.”

After a big sigh of relief since exactly this is supposed to be the theme of the web site, I now start to wonder what led to this new perspective of mine in the same city as the same person only 2 months later? Is it the luxury of being able to sleep until noon every day rather than the 6:30am alarm clock and for once being wide awake rather than operating on constant sleep deficit? Is it that I am now completely free of day time obligations and no longer have work responsibilities to attend to? Is it the new and stronger appreciation for the many wonderful people in this city (isn’t it unfortunate that so often it is only after the fact that we fully come to appreciate something fully). I suppose it was a combination of all these factors plus many more and the result has been a remarkable shift in perspective from the Kansas City in my memory from only two months back, the city without mountains, forests or ocean from which I always wanted to travel away to reach a more enjoyable destination, to a Kansas City in which I still know many wonderful (and loving) people and where it is easy to truly enjoy myself.

Let me close with this recent insight: Do not let the experience shape your perspective, but let your perspective shape your experience.