Wednesday, December 2, 2015

The Guatemala Diaries: A Whirlwind Week of Mayan Madness



Pre-Departure Thoughts Before Thanksgiving
Date: 20 November 2015
Location: My cubicle at Ambry Genetics, Aliso Viejo, US 

Friday afternoon, and productivity had virtually plummeted to zero. The lab was empty and the few people who hadn’t taken off early were found lounging in the company kitchen, a friendly chatter diffusing through the air about mouthwatering meals, food comas, and general gluttony. As the holiday season is soon to arrive, all of our minds were focused on the first of many feasts to grace the next month – Thanksgiving. But while my coworkers were deeply engaged in talking turkeys and mashed potatoes, I kept to my thoughts of tamales and mole de platanos. Naturally, it wouldn’t be a traditional Sharja Thanksgiving without, well, not even being in the country for it. Reminiscent of my Christmas in Peru, I was not about to spend a precious holiday as a conqueror of couches following an imminent gustatory marathon. And having recently started a new and demanding job with limited vacation time, spending my holiday somewhere colorful, chaotic, and close-by (relatively speaking) was nothing short of personally mandatory. Putting down the micropipette and the final touches on my genetic analysis, I was ready to say “Adios, America" and “Bien Venidos… a Guatemala".

Guatemala. To the ordinary individual, the name alone invokes images of just another Latin American banana republic, where the only news worthy of international reporting typically involves either violence related to drug trafficking or villagers getting swept away in natural disasters. Even more unfortunate are when people think it to be merely a poorer version of Mexico, or when people frankly admit to knowing nothing about it at all. But in the eyes of travelers, Guatemala tends to receive a far more positive (and certainly more deserving) spin as a vibrant country of colorfully-textiled native villagers living peacefully among silver-stoned pyramid temples rising above lush emerald jungles. Or maybe that's just Guatemala in my own eyes.

Regardless of one's preconceived notions concerning this small and quiet Central American nation, no one can argue against the fact that Guatemala has witnessed a very colorful past, both tranquil and turbulent. Spanning millennia, the region has seen the rise and fall of mighty Mesoamerican civilizations, most notably the ancient Maya, whose ruined stone metropolises dot the tropical landscape. Their colossal constructions from the 2nd to 10th centuries CE still stand silently as a collective testimony to a golden age marked by artistically complex societies, architectural ingenuity, and advancements in astronomy. But Guatemalan history also possesses a darker side marked by great losses of life, from the days of native human sacrifices and the inquisitions of Spanish conquistadors, up to the three-decade long civil war from the 60's where tens of thousands were killed or went missing. Even in its current peaceful state, Guatemala is sadly still classified to be one of the most dangerous nations in the region, where gang-related extortion, kidnappings, and murders continue to occur at alarming rates. Nevertheless, Guatemalans have remained a highly resilient people over the centuries and many foreign visitors to this exotic land safely return home every year from fantastic experiences. I'm anxious to discover the brighter side of their rich culture, cuisine, and recreation. And hopefully catch a glimpse of their turkeys this Thanksgiving. I hear they're as pretty as peacocks.

The "Pavo Real", or Royal Turkey, spotted in the ruins of Tikal



Losing My Mind En Route to a Lost City
Date: 22 November 2015
Location: Microbus bouncing through the jungle, Flores, El Petén

Rushing to the check in counter.
"Perdón señor, pero tenemos un vuelo a Guate!"
        "Ay Dios! Sala 75... necesitan correr, chicos!"
"Oh shit!"
I don't think I've ever sprinted so fast in my life. Thanks to Mexico's asinine flight connection system, which forces all inbound passengers to stand in a sea of people for hours awaiting a second round of immigration and security, I was literally the last person to make it aboard the plane to Guatemala City. I should've remembered from my layovers en route to Panama that Benito Juarez International is grossly inefficient, poorly scheduled, and indifferent towards countless missed flights. With the stewardesses frantically shutting the door behind me, the flight immediately took to the skies.

Interestingly, my first impression of Guatemala City was how it actually reminded me of a mix of other places from previous trips. In an evening descent over the provincial-looking city nestled among dark rolling foothills, I recollected my first arrival in Addis Ababa, which also shares dimly-lit narrow streets of crumbling paths and unfinished construction. Much like colonial Yangon, Guatemala City possessed a number of avenues lined with large aging trees and lush vegetation framing dilapidated facades. Reminiscent of Bangkok but on a smaller scale, the streets were filled with families buzzing away in the humid and misty air, most migrating towards sidewalks lined with rows of smokey street food stalls. A heavy tropical rain had just passed, leaving puddles and miniature lakes to form at intersections where cheesy multicolored holiday decorations spanned across light posts. While few visitors have anything positive to say about this drab little capital, something about it seemed oddly quaint last night, possibly from the brightly illuminated Christmas tree that dominated a large roundabout overran by ecstatic children. My father and I walked around the dark corner from our hotel, past the neon lights of a Hard Rock Cafe and Applebee's to a small, candlelit restaurant blasting salsa music at a decibel rivaling nightclubs back home. It instantly brought back memories of bar-hopping with the I-Crew around Panama City's Casco Viejo, though this time in the company of a 62-year-old who was past his bedtime.

Guatemala City from the air, with the volcanoes of Agua, Fuego, and Acatenango seen in the distance
Guatemala City rush-hour traffic

The next morning, I found myself playing the role of personal tour guide as I led my father around the dark old colonial halls of the National Museum, the final resting place of innumerable renowned artifacts from Guatemala's glorious Mayan past. Occupying an aged red colonial building sporting white neoclassical colonnades, the museum had all the trademarks of an 18th century Spanish mission, albeit littered with gargantuan stone tablets of Mayan kings, anthropomorphic statuary, and countless ceramic vessels. Simply said, I was in a veritable archaeological paradise, a place that my art historian colleague and Indiana Jones fanatic, Jaimee, would likely be found roaming about herself. Having spent much of my childhood studying the Maya and their art, getting the opportunity to guide my father through three-thousand years of history was quite sentimental. With many of the poorly maintained exhibits explained solely in Spanish, it was also quite practical. A lunch of chorizo sandwiches followed by a stroll through an artisan market was a relaxing way to spend an afternoon of monsoon rains while waiting to catch a domestic flight.


The beautiful colonial courtyard of the National Archaeology Museum is littered with stone Mayan artifacts
Hall of stone stelas erected by the great classic Maya kings
Detail of the stone throne from Piedras Negras, a fine example of Mayan art
Glyphs from the famed Tikal wooden door lintels

Rushing to the check in counter.... again.
"Disculpe señores, pero no hay vuelos domésticos de este terminal."
        "¿C
ÓMO?"
We arrived at the airport to catch our flight to Flores only to be told that there was no flight. After much confusion mixed with a little linguistic difficulty, we learned that we needed to depart from a domestic terminal with its own landing strip located all the way at the other end of the runway. We had barely an hour until take off. With no taxis in sight, a truly bizarre occurrence for an airport terminal, I tested the limits of my Spanish in frantically pleading with a kind (albeit very nonchalant) parking attendant to assist us in the mad dash towards the TAG departures office.
"Without traffic, you'll get there in 15 minutes. With traffic, maybe one hour and a half. It's no problem. I think you'll make it."
Driving around town in a heavy downpour towards this second landing strip, we later found ourselves winding through a maze of rusty airplane hangars to a tiny nondescript office lacking any kind of signage. We arrived just in time to a miniature check-in counter and proceeded to make our way out onto the tarmac where a tiny 33-seat propeller plane sat ready and waiting to transport us deep into the jungles of El Petén.

I still have three more flights scheduled until I make it back home. I wonder which one I'll finally run out of luck with.

Just arrived at the gateway to the jungle via an adorable 33-seater propeller plane



The Gods Demand Blood... from a Thousand Mosquitoes
Date: 23 November 2015
Location: A tent under a banana tree, Tikal National Park

Driving along a narrow two-lane road in the blackness of the muggy jungle, I came to realize something intriguing about the course of my life. Whereas embarking on journeys through rugged terrain in the past would fully captivate my youthful attention, nothing this time about cruising into a tropical heartland seemed novel to me. I've wandered through many rainforests over the years, but certainly don't misinterpret this as a lack of excitement or a case of feeling jaded. Rather, everything about bouncing along in a microbus through dense vegetation and thatched-roof villages seemed perfectly natural to me, as if it were just another episode of my usual existence. Shouldn't it be more riveting than this? With Thanksgiving around the corner, the feeling made me reflect upon how fortunate I am to have been born into a family where going on international adventures was indeed a normal part of life, at least as I've always known it, something that "normal" families back home would likely never experience nor fully understand.

After a 1.5 hour trip north of Flores, the portal to the El Petén rainforest, we ended up deep within the dark viney confines of the Parque Nacional de Tikal. Out back on a property belonging to a lodge, we found a cluster of tents set up near a muddy banana grove, with the sounds of an invisible insect symphony buzzing and clicking loudly in the silver moonlight. I nearly tripped over a trail of large leaf-cutter ants, meticulously carrying off their floral bounty into the depths of the forest. Only an hour after my arrival and I was already starting to feel the itch of the mosquito's kiss. A heavy rain began to saturate the soil around the tent, soaking towels, blankets, and shoes in mere seconds. It was 80 degrees with nearly 80 percent humidity as I tried lulling myself into a sticky slumber, only to be thrust from sleep at midnight by the demonic, teeth-clenching growls of howler monkeys in the canopy overhead. Something was lurking outside the tent, rustling through the leaves. It was a beautiful, rather nostalgic feeling.
My tent under a banana tree

View from the tent at night
Tree overgrown with epiphytes and lichens

























The path to the lost city of Tikal
The path to the Mundo Perdido temples























Capturing a shot of spider monkeys is quite a challenge. They swing through the canopy at amazing speeds.
Looking cool before that unfortunate tarantula sighting


We awoke at 6 AM, just as the sunlight slowly began to diffuse through the misty cloud cover, and took a stroll down a dirt path to the entrance leading towards the lost Mayan city of Tikal. Imagine that, camping out merely a stone's throw from an ancient metropolis that once supported 80 thousand people in the first millennium. The dirt trails leading up to the Grand Plaza were surrounded on both sides by walls of dense green foliage, a smorgasbord of vines, palms, orchids, and bromeliads whose stationary branches were occasionally set into motion by spider monkeys raucously swinging their way through. The squawks of parrots and chirps of tree frogs echoed melodiously off of the silent megalithic edifices of a sacred palace complex, a narrow portal opening up into the airy space between Templo II and the famous Temple of the Giant Jaguar. At 44 meters, the steep stairway of the sacred pyramid soared above the canopy and dwarfed us like the termites being crushed beneath our soles. The entire complex of the northern acropolis stood as imposingly as a fortress, but with an architecture and floor-plan as elegant as a palace, its geometric levels of stacked masonry piling like petrified rice terraces. Giant faces of fierce-looking gods peeked out from the encased layers of older temples, finally freed by excavations after 1,500 years. Having seen the monumental wonders of Tikal so many times in my history and mythology books, I felt like I had already been there once before, as I intuitively navigated the labyrinth of jungle trails that cover the 6 square mile site.

Wearing my best Mayan shirt for the ancient Mayan city of Tikal

The most famous structure in Guatemala, the 1,300 year old Temple of the Giant Jaguar
The Northern Acropolis and its many stacked temples
It ain't easy maintaining an ancient metropolis

 "Templo I always looked so gigantic when I'd read about it in primary school. Now that I stand before it, it's actually not as tall as I imagined."
My father took a rest beside a stone altar and joked around.
"You were a child then and really small. Now that you've gotten bigger, the pyramid will obviously seem shorter!"
I've done a good number of trips with just my Dad, including teaching English out on the Mongolian steppes and documenting tribal customs in Ethiopia's Omo Valley. It felt really fun, and was certainly long overdue, to be out exploring again with the man who originally taught me the meaning of the word "adventure". We bushwhacked our way through the jungle from one ruined pyramid temple complex to the next while pretending to be 19th-century explorers, sharing my studies of Mayan structural engineering in exchange for his knowledge of tropical flora. We both frowned upon obnoxious Russians while simultaneously poked fun at oblivious Chinese tourists. After a full day of hiking and climbing up countless stone staircases, we reached the climax of our exploration by summitting the massive Templo IV to catch a view of all the other pyramids sprouting above an endless sea of green.

Stumbling across the massive Templo V in a clearing after wandering down a dense jungle trail
Typing this blog post on a natural hammock in front of a pyramid
View from Templo IV of soaring pyramid temples sprouting from the El Peten rainforest
A chilled pineapple shake while listening to heavy evening raindrops rhythmically pattering upon giant banana leaves made for the perfect finish to my time in the El Mundo Maya. Except for the mosquitoes. Squash those mothersuckers.



A Day Trip Into the Mayan Underworld
Date: 24 November 2015
Location: Fire-grilled chicken stand, Flores, Lago de Petén Itzá

Catching transport from the jungles of Tikal to the regional hub of Flores was almost too easy. At the quiet Tikal-Uaxactun junction, a huge camionetta - the iconic Central American "chicken bus" - pulled up to the roundabout, its driver yelling at me from the window.
"A dónde van, chicos?"
        "Flores...  Cu
ánto cuesta para dos personas y equipaje?"
"60 quetzales... pase adelante..."
The hour and a half journey cost only four bucks each. I sat at the front behind the driver, a moist morning breeze filtering in through the open door that the "bus boy" hung off of, ready to collect passengers waiting at unmarked stops in the middle of the jungle. A thin Mayan mother sat beside me, a baby on her lap and two other daughters standing in the aisle. We bounced our way down the narrow road, the overgrown forest engulfing us in a hollow green tunnel with just enough room to pick up two rugged vaqueros in cowboy hats sporting two foot long machetes. Forty minutes later, the Mayan mother departed, replaced by a portly bearded day laborer. The wonders of the jungle apparently didn't interest him, as he gawked at photos of scantily-clad Latin women on his mobile Facebook newsfeed. The bus filled up to nearly full capacity over the course of only 45 miles, passing thatched villages with women grilling tortillas over the fire and pigs grazing. Every so many miles, a different road-crossing sign would be posted - one for deer, one for snakes, one for jaguars.

The iconic Central American camionetta, or "chicken bus", offers an fun and cheap local ride (if you don't get robbed)

We finally ended up at a local market turned bus station where we caught one of the many tiny red auto rickshaws buzzing around Santa Elena. The hot tropical day was leisurely spent, starting with a Mayan brunch of paqueques of Ramón seeds with yucca and eggs, followed by a lazy stroll through the colorful island town of Flores that sits in the middle of Lake Petén Itzá. Aside from the chill ambiance of the area, the second (and rather counter-intuitive) aspect I noticed was the high number of armed soldiers policing with their AK-47s from the beds of their pickups. It also seemed odd to find security guards armed with shotguns outside of grocery stores and corner mini-marts.

Tuk-tuks normally remind me of Asia, but Guatemala has them too!

Lago Peten Itza, the second largest lake in the country

A Mayan folk breakfast of yucca, eggs, and panqueques of Ramon seeds

Shaved ice treats on a hot tropical day are sometimes worth the stomach trouble they cause later

One can easily circle the island in 15 minutes and we suddenly found ourselves with nothing to do. For a dollar fifty, we caught an auto rickshaw heading south to a family property that maintains the Caves of Aktun Kan. For 5 dollars each, we could make a mini journey into the Mayan "underworld" of Xibalba. Reading Mayan bedtime legends as a kid, particularly the underworld journey of Hunahpu & Xbalanque, I was more than thrilled to live the fantasy. Only twenty feet into the caves, we realized we couldn't see anything wider than the 6-inch circle illuminated by the cheap Chinese flashlight provided, as well as the fact that we simply had no idea where we were going. Out of fear, I was able to convince the ticket woman with a couple more dollars to rise from her hammock and take us through the maze of subterranean tunnels. Wet, cool, and absolutely pitch black, the sounds of water droplets broke the cave's silence, adding extra layers to the stalactites that have been slowly forming for millenia. Upon descending into the main cavern, an ancient Mayan head carved into the rippling limestone wall greeted us to the sacred realm of Death. She guided us through the complicated network of chambers, pointing out mineral formations with whimsical names that required one's fluid imagination to interpret. By far the most terrifying sight we witnessed occurred when she illuminated a giant hole in the cave ceiling where hundreds of little vampire bats hung together, squirming in the light and flashing their pearly-white fangs. Bats were sacred to the Maya as messengers of the Lords of Death, and the sight of them rightfully made me cringe. After 40 minutes of a nightmarish nether region, we returned to the bright comforts of our mortal world. There's no way we could've survived the trip without the guidance of our sleepy, flip-flopped Mayan maiden.

The house of my Mayan maiden, just outside the entrance to the Aktun Kan caves
Greetings from Xibalba, The Realm of Death

By God, this grilled marinated chicken is phenomenal! My father and I are currently street food hopping around the lake shore, where all of the restaurants have their wood barbecues out and fired-up for the dinner crowd. I will have to cut out here and wish you all "Buen Provecho".

Pollo asado in a rich chili-tomato based sauce right on the street



A Cycling Sample of Central America
Date: 26 November 2015
Location: Yellow House Hostel, Antigua Guatemala

While most of my friends will likely be found at family homes for Thanksgiving today, I've found myself in the shadows of three great volcanoes deep in the southern highlands. After catching another propeller plane back to Guatemala City, we took a collective minivan southwest towards the old colonial capital of Antigua Guatemala. The "jewel" of the nation, Antigua fully lives up to the meaning of its name as a charming colonial antique town cradled by the jagged peaks and cones of the region's most famous fiery peaks. "Gorgeous" hardly does the place justice, with its Spanish mission style buildings of countless colors, decaying grandiose churches from the era of the conquistadors, and lush gardens of flowers and fountains. But behind its crumbling vintage façades, Antigua is also very much a modern town having transformed into a tourism hub with its many youth hostels, boutique eateries, chic cafes, and brand-name retailers. Despite being slightly overrun by gringos, expats, and hippies, it's still possible to keep things local and authentic depending on which side of town you stick to. Grabbing a 3-dollar home-cooked lunch of pollo dorado or caldo de res made by jolly old women in the hidden back room of a small convenience store is a prime example of the many hidden layers of Antigua. 

The highland colonial jewel of Antigua, nestled at the base of the active Volcan de Agua

16th century churches and convents
Gateway to the fine dining sector of town






















Guatemalans are a highly devout people
Amazing home-cooked lunch made by old ladies hidden in the back room of the convenience store, Tienda La Canche
Makeshift chicken bus station in front of one of Antigua's many churches

While nearly all of the tourists have been keeping to the fancy restaurants, backpacker bars, and souvenir shops of their comfort zone, my father and I plunged right into where we've always felt familiar, a place also dubbed as the heart of Guatemalan culture - the mercado. Having grown up shopping and wandering around many of the world's greatest marketplaces and bazaars, the Antigua mercado felt somewhat like a little piece of home with its labyrinth of narrow covered alleyways filled to the brim with colorful goods and products. As always, our first stop was the produce section, where Mayan women in colorful huipils sat guarding reed baskets piled high with tropical fruits and vegetables. For just over a dollar, 24 fresh rambutans (lichas, as they call them here) were ripe for the taking, along with a fruit I'd never tried before, the small yellow sphere clusters called míspero (which turn out to be loquats). Passing through towers of cheap Chinese-made clothes and kitchen utensils, the "comedores" were next on our list. Miniature restaurants right in the heart of the bustling market served local food, mostly fried chicken or whole fried fish over rice and beans, which could be bought for a couple dollars.

Pollos, chorizos, and other butcher items in the mercado

Street foods and snacks outside the central market
A fruit-lover's paradise














Buying lichas for cheap
Lunch in one of the small comedores at the heart of the mercado

Waking today to the sounds of popping and massive explosions threw us into a temporary state of confusion, as in this country one can't always easily discern between church fiesta firecrackers and gang-related firearms. The staff at our cozy hippie hostel, Yellow House, have been exceptionally friendly and informative in warning us which buses to avoid and places not to hike due to the likelihood of robberies or gun violence. We were told that the area around Volcán de Agua, whose perfectly archetypal cone soars straight into the heavens above Antigua, is home to bandits that prey on locals and foreigners alike. Rather than walk, we opted to spend Thanksgiving riding bikes through the amazing countryside towards the valley below Volcán de Fuego and Volcán Acatenango, giving us a chance to explore more distant areas near the bases of the volcanoes (as well as make faster getaways from any potential sinister activities).

Loving Yellow House Hostel and its awesome terrace.

With the help of Henri, a local cycling guide, we set off from Antigua along its beautiful, albeit painfully bumpy, cobblestone streets towards the small towns and villages that cling to the volcanic slopes. Cobblestones turned to pavement, which turned to gravel and eventually to dirt, as we rode further away from churches and houses into rolling green plantations of coffee and nuts. Our rickety bikes with rock-hard seats, likely vestiges of the late 80's, served us surprising well as we crossed the hilly terrain. The small towns of Ciudad Vieja and San Miguel were just starting to come to life in the early morning, as men set off for the fields with their machetes and shovels while women sat on the street side flattening the first round of tortillas with their hands. Everywhere we passed, we were welcomed with bright smiles and welcoming greetings from young kids walking along the road and old ladies carrying baskets of fresh fruits on their heads. We descended into the valley and made a pit stop at an organic macadamia plantation, where we observed the process of growing, harvesting, and sorting the delectable nuts. Further in the valley, we briefly rested at a camionetta garage where greasy mechanics work on the multicolored monstrosities, though the owner wasn't around to let us get up close and personal with them. After riding some extremely narrow dirt trails through densely overgrown vegetation, we eventually came across an open field where we accidentally interrupted a soccer match by literally cruising right through the pitch.

Bouncing through the highland town of Ciudad Vieja on a bike with worn-out shocks and a rock-hard seat

Church ruins of the nation's patron saint
Drying macademias on the plantation























Narrow trails bordered with barbed wire teach you to ride straight
Bike Guate! You know you want to!


My favorite stop of the day was the small colonial town of San Antonio Aguas Calientes, a cultural gem famous for its indigenous textile bazaar. Upon entering the market, our eyes were met by a living rainbow of Mayan women, all gossiping away while busy at work weaving exquisite tapestries on their portable looms. Watching them teach their young daughters this art form using the same techniques implemented thousands of years ago was a truly touching sight. I was captivated by the overwhelming sense of continuity, and oddly thankful that these mothers were perpetuating a once-dying tradition that's not even my own. Swimming through waves of fabrics, I pondered to myself if Mayan weaving is at all included on UNESCO's list of intangible human heritage worthy of preservation. Alongside the clacking of wooden looms, the language in the air was no longer Spanish, but rather the delightfully soft-spoken Mayan dialect of Kaq'chikel. With her baby wrapped in a bundle on her back, a comical Mayan mother descended on me, eager to sell me her beautiful handiwork.
"Bienvenidos señor, estás visitando de Antigua?"
        "S
í, estoy viajando en bici porque no tengo mucho dinero"
"En bici?! Ay Dios, la distancia es muy grande!"
     "Claro! Y porque compr
é sus textiles caros, ahora tendré que caminar a Antigua!"
"Jaja! Y para mí esta noche... puedo comer! Gracias por su
donación, Dios te bendiga!"

Mayan girl practicing her weaving skills
The native textile market in San Antonio

























My bike guru, Captain Matt, who has himself biked through much of Latin America, would be proud to know that I was able to cover a decent distance on all kinds of steep trails and busy highways, safely dodging chickens and chicken buses alike. After nearly five hours of cruising through the countryside on swollen bums, we ditched the bikes and "sampled" our way through Antigua, hitting up a local coffee distributer, a cute chocolate museum (the "food of the gods" we can thank the ancient Maya for), and the comedores back at the mercado serving up a nice breaded cow tongue and fried mojarra. And what could be more appropriate than celebrating Thanksgiving with a feast for two of authentic Mayan turkey soup (kaq'ik), a stew of tripe and liver, and fresh tamales at the popular La Fonda de la Calle Real. That night, we fell back asleep to the sounds of firecrackers echoing from the nearby church. Or were they gunshots?

Fried mojara and beef tongue at the mercado's comedores

Pepian chicken, an unofficial national dish
Cacao pods and tools for making the Mayan chocolate drink

Thanksgiving dinner of turkey soup and tripe/liver stew with tamales
















Night over Antigua is peaceful until the church firecrackers are set alight


Post-Departure Thoughts On Guatemala 
Date: 28 November 2015
Location: Gate 52, Benito Juarez International, Mexico City

Still buzzed from that coffee two days ago and a little crampy from a local market limonada (but no regrets), I find myself once again back in Mexico City going through the same absurdly inefficient system that nearly made me miss my flight a week ago. And what a week it has been, frantically criss-crossing the land of the Maya from the hot wet jungles to the cool dry highlands with not a moment wasted. My overall impressions of Guatemala have been greatly positive and entirely how I imagined it to be, as its people consistently exhibit a highly commendable hospitality and welcome to their beautifully vibrant country. It now perplexes me even more how such a heartwarming place could simultaneously be labeled as the most dangerous in the region. Nevertheless, none of these lingering national complications should ever be a reason to deter anyone from experiencing the timeless ancient wonders and native traditions this tiny Central American country can offer to the world. While the people may be poor, their heritage is exceptionally rich, and Guatemalans are gradually starting to realize the benefits of the legacy their ancestors have left them. As the Maya believe in cyclical time, I too believe Guatemala will someday re-experience a socioeconomic revival. Their 2012 prophecy never marked an apocalyptic end; if anything, it foresees a brighter beginning.