Banos, Stoves, and Other Things

Two syllables roll off the tongue much easier than five. Quetzaltenango. Xela.

Officially the city is called Quetzaltenango. Locals, residents, gringos know it as Xela. Xela is the old Mayan name. It is easier to pronounce. It's easier to type too.

Tourists do not come to visit Xela and if they do they don't spend much time. It is not as colorful as Antigua, not as lively in a touristy way, and it is a long trip by bus from the capital. Though it is four or five times as large as Antigua it has less going for it in that it is a working class city. It feels like a working class city. We have come here to work. We are going to build us some stoves. We are going to fit right in.

Like Antigua, and Guatemala City, Xela sits comfortably in a valley that is surrounded by mountains. The city center is old and roads are cobblestone and narrow. Like many a colonial Spanish city there is a grand Central Square. Businesses, restaurants, municipal buildings surround the square and interspersed throughout are residences.

During the day markets are open and busy. Men get haircuts, women drive motorcycles, school children dressed smartly in uniforms run along sidewalks. There are bakeries and cafes, clothing stores and eateries, places to buy groceries and places to buy stuff. There are factories where glass is made and garages where suspensions and brakes are repaired. Colorfully clothed Grandmothers, walk in perfect balance as they carry baskets on their heads. Men lug sacks of potatoes and stacks of fire wood. Its appeal is simple. This is the energy of  everyday life that is expressed in every city in the world.

At seven in the morning the city wakes up. We too. At eight in the morning a van appears, the same one that brought us here from Antigua, I think. We squeeze in and the van whisks us through rush hour traffic then up, up, up into the nearby mountains.

Each day we are dropped off at a different community. We divide up into crews and are assigned to work with a mason. Introductions are made with the family that live in the house that we will work in that particular day. As if by magic, tools, all the materials, barrels of water are already in place and on site. We are thankful for all the preparation the people have done before we have arrived.

The first thing we always ask is 'where is the bano?'.  If you don't know, a bano is the loo, the outhouse. It is the first word you will want to learn. The first phrase you should learn in Spanish is 'donde esta el Bano?'  'Where is the bathroom?' Not that all Mayan people of the highlands speak Spanish, but everyone seems to understand Bano. Just say 'bano', and wait for the pointing fingers.

Banos vary in construction, location, privacy. If, when, you come down with a case of the 'oh no, gotta go go's' location is far more important than privacy. Privacy is a very relative term anyway. More than once I had a beautiful 270 degree panoramic view as I sat with my knees at roughly ear level. It was a perfect opportunity to contemplate my temporal existence and feel the sun on my face. And you will only forget once that you left your roll of toilet paper back at the hotel.

The masons are the ones with all the skills. We are the grunts. I soon find out that all masons are not created equal. No complaint, just an observation. That is true in every trade; tin bangers, sparkys, plumbers, framers. I know, I'm one.

Grunts do the tedious stuff; mix mortar, sift sand, soak block, carry block, mix more mortar. It's hard work, but we pace ourselves and take turns doing this or that and rest in the shade.

Heat builds throughout the day and the sun pounds down on tin roofs. The mountain air is thin. It takes getting used to. The rooms we work in are small and dusty, the lighting poor. The ground is not level. We are on a mountain side after all and with each step you are either going up hill or down.

Sure conditions are far from ideal, but I'll take working here any day than some of the s___ holes I've worked in back in Canada. Besides the Mayan people are nice. Extremely nice. It is hard not to fall in love with them. They are a kind, generous people who are willing to share what little they have. 

A stove gets built in a day. It's not rocket science, as they say, but it is built precisely according to plan, and there is a certain order to the process that one should not deviate. The floor must be level. The block placed just so. The fire box dimensions exact. The chimney is tied in and then pokes out through the roof. And lastly, the exterior is parged to give the stove that smooth sweet finished look.

By three in the afternoon we are back on the main road and waiting for the van to pick us up. We are as tired as we are dirty and we are as happy as we are satisfied.

Back in Xela Hotel Casa Del Viajero is as about as perfect a hotel as we could ask for. It is no five star accommodation. It may not even be a three or two star, but it is clean, inexpensive and within budget. It is simple. It has ample room. We are the only guests at the moment. There is a kitchen for us to use. It is a few minutes walk from the Central Square. And best of all in the main area there is a large table where we can gather together at the end of the day. And so we do. We sit and talk. We laugh and tell stories about our day. It's how you get to know one another. Some drink beer, some sip wine. Some whine. Some don't. It is all in fun. And then, when we have recovered, and before it gets too late, too dark, we go out for dinner.