The second week on the coffee co-op, we were knee-deep in course readings and papers. Schoolwork took up the biggest chunk of time devoted to any one activity, even though my blogposts have so far not reflected that. Nor will they (I’ll have you know that this August is my first break from 13 consecutive months of full-time classes).
At some point, we were given a tour of the coffee co-op’s processing plant. The machines themselves were nearly a hundred years old, but I was pleasantly surprised to hear that they had recently retrofitted them to make them more eco-friendly. Who would have thought that while UBC was building CIRS, the most sustainable building in North America, a Guatemalan coffee co-operative was significantly reducing their water usage?
I saw with my own eyes that every iced mocha frappuccino has its own extensive global history from planting to harvesting to processing to transporting to roasting to selling to buying (indeed, more). And that this global chain is not merely financial but intensely political. All of the first-grade coffee beans get shipped out to North America and Europe, and while I cannot remember the ratio, the profits reaped at the Guatemalan level compared to the price of a Starbucks coffee are so low it is jaw-dropping. This is in large part because much of the value of coffee beans is created at the roasting stage, and most Guatemalans cannot afford roasting machines.
We were offered some opportunities to help around the coffee co-op including: cleaning out the bamboo shop, cooking in the kitchen, crafting bamboo shelves, clear-cutting forest paths with machetes, and handpicking macadamia nuts.
Now, despite what a certain unnamed relative of mine says (I quote, “she volunteered to build houses in Nicaragua”) the program’s primary focus was not on volunteering, but schoolwork. Volunteering was non-obligatory to this program. For whatever reason, I like to make this distinction when people ask me about it.
On the weekend, we took a van to Takalik Abaj, an archeological site featuring ancient Olmec and Mayan ruins dating back to the 9th century BCE. Only a fraction of the ruins were not privately owned and thereby viewable to the public. Many of the stone carvings were so faded that some in our group jokingly expressed doubt the that tour guide wasn’t just making everything up on the spot. While we did endure much squinting and head tilting, walking up these stairs (with a little imagination) gave me a sense of the grandeur of these civilizations:
That, and the section on ancient astronomy. This December 2012, the site will be celebrating the end of an era. Can you imagine the party? I’m still waiting for my invite.
After fawning over caged-in monkeys, wildcats, and cocoa trees, we took a pit stop at the city of Retalhuleu. And what a blissful fifty minutes it was. Students madly dashed through grocery aisles to grab chocolate bars and stock up on other comfort foods. Before, nachos were coveted luxuries and frozen yogurt an unspoken of delicacy–then, we were well-armed with study snacks for exam week.
One of the toughest experiences of the trip for almost all of us was dropping like flies with illnesses, sometimes multiple times. We were all forewarned of the probability of getting sick when applying to the program, which is fine, but there was arguably some systematic food poisoning going on (or so I firmly believe!) at the coffee co-op, and that was just not cool.
I remember writing a reflection paper one evening while doubling over with digestive pains for hours on end—I really don’t know how I managed to write it. A few days later, I took a bumpy bus ride down to Retalhuleu to get it checked out at a private clinic. My professor kindly took upon herself the awkward task of translating (as did both professors, many many times for the other students). It turned out I had an intestinal amoeba and/or parasite from the food or water, and so I was to take a fortnight of heavy antibiotics + pills to help regenerate my sure-to-be blasted out intestines. I am proud of how I dealt with my illness from beginning to end; one of the take-away points of the trip was learning how to take care of myself in tough situations (hint: it includes both being independent, and dependent, at the right times!) Besides, we were lucky to have access to effective medicines, and are luckier still, never to have to deal with all of these illnesses that don’t even exist in most of Canada (except in neglected areas such as some Aboriginal reserves).
Another plus: we hopped onto a a “Tuk-Tuk” like the above photographed to get to the doctor’s office. We also met an elderly lady (a “pharmacist”) who seemed to think it hellish that in Canada, all sorts of religious beliefs are accepted. Speaking of citizens on the street, a popular question posed of me now that I’m back is “what are Guatemalans like?” Reader, I cannot tell you what a whole country’s people are like as I don’t believe in grand sweeping statements about whole groups of people. But I can share a most peculiar impression I felt: beneath obvious conservative influences such as the Church, there seemed to me a certain liberal attitude I cannot fully explain. I am not just saying that I felt a political split between very conservative and very liberal factions (although I have read there to be in its history); but that I felt a sort of quiet tolerance and an openness of human spirit…A silly example, but I couldn’t help but feel that the people on the street pointing out at the Chinese-Canadians in our group and so very helpfully reminding them that they were Chinese did not mean any harm—if anything, they had a knack for falling in love with them.
Somewhere in the midst of pill-popping and paper shuffling, a gecko or two appeared on our bedroom wall. So it wasn’t a bird we heard every night over our bunk beds making unpleasant noises. Rachyl and Niles, table climbing, and five minutes later, a still-pulsating gecko tail was squirming on my nightstand table. Grossness. Let’s just say that we did not need constant access to the Internet to find ourselves plenty distracted.
Not to forget the fact that we were virtually imprisoned in a farmhouse-like motel, everyone to a room of at least three (a far cry from UBC’s vast and isolated spaces). While this sounds like a recipe for social disaster, on the whole, I think we did a pretty good job in making sure that no lasting frictions divided our group—I’d give us an A-. Still, considering I have worn an invisible anti-drama magnet strapped to my body my entire life, even a little drama taking away from that A+ was very distracting for me and my studies. I learned a lot, socially, though. Really, I think I learned more about the human heart by spending time with my group than I did from the actual humanities courses we were taking.
Next week we say goodbye to the coffee co-op in 80′s music style, and visit our picturesque final destination.
