Livingston

Livingston, Guatemala, where the living is very good... yet quite complicated. That may be the best way to initially describe a place that in many ways is paradise--coconut trees lining miles of clean sandy shores on the Caribbean Sea, fresh catches of fish and shrimp every day, and rum that flows like the river that cuts through the city--but at the same time, has its share of complications and frustrations.

The first thing one notices as an outsider in Livingston is that every one wears a mask to you. The human behind the mask holds back, and instead chooses to reveal only certain things to you, depending on what his or her intentions are. Each amigo who approaches you on the street knows the best beach, and the best restaurant to eat at, because behind your back he is being paid to tell you where to go. In this way, as tourists in Livingston it is very easy for your experiences to be owned by the locals, as they will show you what they think you want to see.

To arrive at Livingston, we took a boat from Puerto Barrios, a city founded and constructed by none less than the United Fruit Company themselves--the barons of globalized unfair trade who even today bring bananas and pineapples to our grocery stores in the United States. Thanks to these friendly business men, Guatemala has been through countless coup d'etats and military government. Hence the phrase: banana republic.

Livingston was founded by a group of slaves who freed themselves from their Spanish captors, and today the population is a colorful mixture of Mayan, African, and Hindu ethnicities and cultures. The local culture and language is known as Garifuna. The language is a mixture of Spanish, English, French, Yoruba, and Quiche.

Our meanderings through the town and beaches yesterday were peppered by encounters with some of the town´s more, um, colorful characters, to be polite. We did our best to show them that we are not what they expect us to be, whatever that is--uneducated in the ways of Latin American culture, unpracticed in Spanish, unable to make our own decisions. Once that was established, we met a lively and warm family drinking the local hooch, Guifiri, in a bar that was perhaps one of my favorite places so far in Guatemala. A dance party commenced, with sister Epiphanía giving dance lessons to Ashleigh and el viejo whirling me in salsa circles. The walls were sparse, the juke box was blaring, the drunks kept wandering in from the streets and had to be thrown out repeatedly, and the beer was cold, and yes, I do think this was one of the best places we have stumbled into in Guatemala.