Moving Backward to Go Forwards

Swept up in the scholarly environment perpetuated by the multitude of language schools in Xela, I decided to enrol for a week to decide for myself if the one to one tuition method of Spanish classes was preferable to the group lessons that I had been recieving in Mexico. Slightly overwhelmed by the quantity of schools available I opted for Kie Balam, at which my directionally challenged taxi driver had stopped at to request advice following my arrival in town, and thanks to who I had subsequently found the elusive Yoga House.

After a written exam that determined that I was, for the most part,completely ignorant about prepositions I was introduced to a tiny and very giggly (characteristics that seemed to be consistant with most of the staff) teacher who proceeded to shephard me through the fairly tattered remains of my Spanish. It was certainly a more active process one to one, under the obvious circumstances that I had to be either listening or speaking at one point or another unlike the group lessons which had allowed me ample opportunity to switch off while my classmates took a more active role in the proceedings. However, I could see how it would become all too easy to get comfortable speaking only in situations with a private tutor and not carry conversational confidence into other scenarios, an acknowledged possiblity that accounted for the prevolence of homestays and structured activities by the majority of schools to provide a diversity of opportunities for students outside tuition contact time.

We waded through unfamiliar topics before a fresh assault on the other "modes" of speaking that I had begun to learn in Mexico. As briefly as possible; in Spanish there are different methods or conveying orders (the "imperative") and also for "unreal" things, such as opinions, desires, hypothetical situations and doubts (the subjunctive). These are things that a beginner speaker is oblivious to, happily using the "indicative" mode (for "real" things, such as events, descriptions etc.) for everything. The equally infuriating thing is that if you only use one mode to speak you will be understood by the vast majority of people perfectly well, and most Latinos that I have met have difficulty in diffentiating between modes anyway, due to them being drummed into them from an early age without any formal tuition. So, with this in mind, why bother with the other modes of speaking? Good question...

By the end of the week my head was bulging with concious thought process about how I should be correctly saying things, which chipped away steadily at my speaking fluidity and confidence. They say that the best approach is to launch yourself into conversation without too much active thought, but I struggle to see how I can improve in areas which are not fundamentally essential for language "survival" without taking a hit on my capacity to communicate in the short, or even medium, term. With this in mind I'm back to earlier days of careful communication and consequently tripping over things that previously came to me easily, hoping that a mindful approach will eventually plaster the differences in modes to the correct bits of my brain, thus earning me the heady title of "upper intermediate"; a worthy goal indeed.

Xela
8th August 2009

The Joy of Xela

Akin to the island of the Lotus Eaters in Homer's Oddessy, Xela is a place that all too easily allows a person to pass time without realizing it. Through the connection of my friend, I found my way to Yoga House, a communal rental spot whose subtle front door sandwiched between buildings gave no indication of its labarinthine interior. Standing on the doorstep with my various belongings hanging from me, the door was flung open by someone of whom I had absolutely no recollection. "Hablas ingles?", I ventured, as I watched her face crack into a wide smile. "Big Jon!", she exclaimed, and ushered me inside. It turned out after short discussion that we had met on my previous trip to Lago Atitlan (in conjunction with my university friend, Little Jon), and proved to be an excellent welcoming step to what was to be a welcome respite from the pressures of relentless movement and uncertainty.

Xela sits in a bowl formed by mountainous terrain, a quirk of it's location being that it is some 2500 metres above sea level, thus providing a welcome break from the blistering heat of Belize. Unlike its neighbour, Antigua, it seems to have retained some of its spirit outside of the ultimate purpose of being a tourist serving town, despite the prevolence of language schools that have given it something of an international reputation as one of the best places to learn Spanish.

Aside from the aimiability of the people and the general atmosphere of the place, I was also really taken with Yoga House; the connections to people that it offered and the abundence of excercise and physical activity that became instantly accessible, making me realise both how much I had missed it and the company and influence of people for whom it was an important part of life. Within a few hours of arriving I was wheezing around a frisbee pitch, feeling so glad that for the first time in weeks, I felt absolutely awful.
With 3 yoga classes a day and 3 boxing classes a week included in the criminally cheap cost of taking a room in the house, I would have quite happily run myself into the ground if it wasn't for the fact that, shortly after some of the boys took me for a run up a very large hill outside town (shown above on the right) I succumbed to a killer cold and my head filled up with mucus, preventing normal breathing and hence further exhertion. I can only assume that weeks on the go coupled with various traumas finally caught up with me, but at least had the decency to do their worst in a place where I could quite happily extend my stay from a couple of days to a week and a half without a second thought.

Xela, Guatemala
2nd August 2009

Tour...and Relax

So began a week of tourism at a blistering pace, covering a large proportion of Belize from the sheltered environment of the tinted windows of a rented 4WD, exiting occasionally to engage in activities and to eat and sleep. Boat rides to offshore tiny islands, rope swinging over rivers, swimming through caves by the light of headtorches, watching thunderstorms across the bay from the shelter of a top floor bar and general abuse of our vehicle on the long and winding dirt roads ensued.

By the time that Tim (whose photos I have stolen and am displaying above; thanks very much for that) flew from belize city airport to return to the world of work in the UK (a world that now felt more or less completely alien), I was feeling decidedly anti-social and in need of some alone time; it is mildly surprising to me that I have steadly become more averse to constant contact with others over the period of weeks, and certainly accentuates the point that I would find it very difficult to travel for any great length of time with the same group of people, finding great value in personal space and solitary time.

Thus I found myself crossing the border between Belize and Guatemala feeling strangely welcomed by the prevolence of Spanish, which had been steadily rotting in the back of my mind, and the general chaos and dirtyness of what seemed to be a slightly more genuine slice of Latin America. Parting company with the Whitaker sisters after a fairly gruelling overnight bus ride to Guatemala City, I bumped the hours away on a chicken bus to Quetzaltenango (fortunately also known as Xela) with no particular plan other than to drop a book off with a fellow ex-teacher before heading on to the Promised Land of El Salvador.

After a ride from a very amiable but completely inept taxi driver to the seeming unknown location of ex-teacher Abi (despite assuring me that he knew the spot right up to the point where we drove away from the curb) and meeting a very friendly and welcoming bunch upon arrival at said mystery location, it became abundantly clear to me that for the first time in a while, I really wanted to put my feet up and stew in one place for a while, and hence became the latest victim in the spider web that is Xela, where people come to stay for a couple of
days and wake up one day to find that months have passed.

Xela
29th July 2009