Ally, Otherwise Known as Osh

When I awoke, at 5am Xexocom had an awesome surprise for me. The entire town was standing around when I emerged from the school, still sleepy-eyed and shivering in the sub-zero cold. Apparently the mayor was so excited to meet me that he had invited everyone to gather in the town square. The children, and some of the adults absolutely stared at me, and some of the children timidly stepped out to touch me. Other pointed and cried "Osh!" which is apparent Ixil for "White Woman!" I've been called gringa more ways than I can count now. And I felt it, as the tallest person in the entire town of fifty people. I was already somewhat sleepy and stunned, standing there like a spectacle, when the school children, all dressed uniform, filed into a line and began to sing the Guatemalan national anthem. Once I recovered from the shock of the serenade, I thanked them profusely, and as a token of my appreciation, gave out pretty much everything in my pack that I didn’t need. Thank goodness I brought plenty of stickers, and band-aids were equally popular when I ran out, but I can’t think of any gift I think would have been appropriate after such an incredible experience.

The hiking was absolutely amazing as well. The scenery was breathtaking, both figuratively and literally. The Cuchumatantes are, after all, the Sierras of Guatemala. We continued to climb out of Xexocom, making our way up steep, stone pathways, through wizened stands of pine trees. We hiked hard for three hours before the trail sudden stopped climbing, flattening off into a high plateau. All of a sudden, it was as if we’d been transported to the rural Wales or the far reaches of Scotland. Intensely green grass and peat covered the ground, punctuated by granite boulders so big it seemed as if they must have grown out of the ground they sat on. Icy streams crisscrossed the plain, cutting deep gullies in the frozen ground.

We continued across the stunning, stark plateau through the most of the morning. Just as I was beginning to believe it was the most desolate, isolated spot on earth, we saw sheep, and then a soccer field, lovingly cleared, complete with a goal constructed of sticks, and finally, a tiny town! It was an honest to goodness hamlet, with all of three houses, pictured here and called Chuatuj. Only the children were at home, and they hid from me! As they explained to my guide, their mothers were out herding sheep and tending gardens, while their fathers were working in larger towns. We sat outside and ate lunch, beans and tortillas and eventually some of the older kids came outside to share our food and sell us a few potatoes, still hot from the fire, which were welcome warmth for my cold hands.

After lunch we continued on for another few hours, until we reached this sign, which struck me as hilarious. It’s in the absolute middle of nowhere, accessible only by a day and a half’s walk. It must have been both heavy and expensive. Moreover, most of the people who pass it can’t read and have lived in these towns their entire lives. If you are here and you don’t know where you are, you have a serious problem. A few hours later we crossed through Chortiz, an equally tiny town, and began descending a steep trail into a river drainage.

We spent the rest of the afternoon climbing in and out of various river drainages, scrambling along the hillsides, along various thoroughfares that were called roads, but in the rainy season could only be described as mud chutes. On a number of occasions I slipped and fell, sliding hundreds of feet down the hills, getting covered in dirt and dung. While I struggled along in my Chacos, the campesinos sped by me in their rubber boots, barely concealing their laughter at my falls, which I must admit, were pretty funny. A number of people with horses also passed us. I was rather disturbed to see the pack animals, the area’s only source of supplies from the outside world, laden with Coca-Cola, Fanta, Chicky, a chocolate cracker, and Guatemala’s generic Cheetos. Way to go cultural imperialism!

Eventually we made our way out of the mountains and into the town of San Nicolas, where we were to spend the night. San Nicolas is much less indigenous, more ladino community, so I wasn’t such a spectacle. Our hosts were Don Alberto and his family. They’re sheep farmers, but they also ran the general store, so I sat in the store and talked to just about everyone in town. before turning in early, utterly exhausted from my incredible day.