Dog Lovers, Freeloaders and Coffee Growers

Wednesday 17 February 2010

Dog Lovers, Freeloaders and Coffee Growers

Since we had had a few disappointing meals in Antigua, I decided to search the internet for some recommended restaurants. I happened upon Kaffee de Fernando which seemed to be the perfect breakfast nook. Gordon and I took a fifteen minute walk to find the café and meet our parents there. William, true to usual form, was still fast asleep in bed as he did not return home from a night on the town until 5 o’clock in the morning. Fernando’s is a cute café with a shady courtyard, an inquisitive cat, and an expat following. It was reported to have the best coffee in Antigua, and we had already had some damn good coffee so far. We all ordered the plato tipico for breakfast which consisted of eggs with tomatoes and onions, plantains, black beans, and fresh corn tortillas. The coffee truly was delicious; the latte was full of rich smooth milk foam. It was so good that Dad insisted on ordering another one about five minutes after he finished his double latte. Fernando’s actually makes their own coffee, roasting the beans right in the shop. Doesn’t get much fresher than that!

On the way out, Dad spotted some chocolates for sale and decided to buy a large bag to bring home as a gift. The workers had to go into the back and prepare said package. While we waited for the return of the chocolates, an older woman started a conversation with us, she was holding a coffee in one hand and a lease which attached to 5 dogs in the other hand. We all noticed across the street there was a dog on the roof of a building. Dog lady said, “Oh yea, I know that dog. His mate was just killed recently by a car. That dog is up there on the roof because now his owners have locked him up and he wants out. I told those owners they can’t be doing that!” I commented on the five dogs she was toting with her, “Are those all yours?” I wondered if she could be a dog walker. She confirmed, that yes, they were all hers and starting describing them. “See the black one? I found her in a burlap sack right across the street from here on the corner. Do you see how she is staring at the corner now? She remembers what happened! She always stares.” The floodgates on dog information were now open and the stories kept flowing. “This dog here has a heart defect, the vet said she wouldn’t make it, wouldn’t live three months, but she runs and plays all day long with no problem! It’s been three years now, still alive!” Dad inquired about another dog, “Is that a basset hound?” Crazy dog lady answered, “Oh yes, she and I have a special relationship. She I got her, she was pregnant with puppies, and she wound up delivering two dead puppies. I gave those puppies artificial respiration and I saved one of them! Never even knew how to give artificial respiration before that either, but I just did it!” When she had exhausted the subject of her dogs, she went on to tell us about her recent cataract surgery and how she had come to Guatemala in 1994. She told me that she had been here once and loved it, always wanted to come back. For the next eleven years, she claims she continued to receive signs from god that she should return, “When I would go to the post office, the woman selling me the stamps would be from Guatemala! When I bought clothes, the tag said ‘Made in Guatemala.’” Gordon later wondered why the signs hadn’t led her to some place like China instead…but I think we all know that “signs” are what we make of them. In any case, she finally left Miami and moved to Guatemala, at first as a missionary for some sort of Bible church. She’s been here every since. “My father said I was crazy for moving down here!” I wondered if he thought she was crazy for a few other reasons…

When we returned to the hotel, Gordon and I went to our room to relax a bit and our parents entered the hotel lobby. On the way in, they ran into the Canadian Dilbert man who had helped us find a restaurant on our first night in Antigua. Since meeting him, we had decided that he resembled Theodore of Alvin and the Chipmunks. Theodore was the chunky chipmunk. Turns out his name is really Howard. My parents greeted him and asked what he was doing there at the hotel, knowing that he was staying at his Spanish language school. Howard explained that he had just come from taking a swim in the hotel pool. As any person would wonder, my parents asked how he had used the pool if he was not a guest. Howard then said that he would let them in on a little secret. Howard told them that he is a professional freeloader. He is even in the process of writing a book on how to be a professional freeloader. He explained that he has found out ways to get things for free, like hotel breakfasts and amenities and that he freeloaded his way through Japan already. His trick to the free breakfast is that he will walk through the hotel corridors and look to see which room has a “Do not disturb” sign on the door and make a mental note of that room. Then when he goes to claim “his” free breakfast, he gives that room number under the assumption that these people are still sleeping and have not yet come forward for breakfast. I am not really sure if this “skill” is something that a person should brag about. Gordon’s response, when he heard the story was, “So really, he’s a professional scumbag!” Is there anyone out there who really likes a freeloader? The funny addition to the story, is that William also bumped into Howard that morning at the hotel without knowing he’d seen our parents. William was sitting out on the moped he had just rented when Howard left the hotel. They struck up a conversation and it wasn’t long before Howard was asking William for a ride home. William was hesitant to give him a ride because he was afraid the chubby little chipmunk man wouldn’t fit on the back of the bike. In the end, William did his good deed and gave the man a ride home, in essence, facilitating his freeloading ways. My only question was, “Where did he put his hands when he rode the bike with you?”

Since we’d been enjoying the local Guatemalan coffee all week, we decided we should make a visit to one of the local coffee farms. There are half a dozen right in and around Antigua and many more in the surrounding towns. We drove about 10 minutes to one called Azotea, located in the town of Jocotenango. As we were entering the plantation, we happened to meet the owner himself, a tall handsome man about 40 years old. He told us that the farm had been in his family for five generations, making coffee in the same tradition. He told us that he would like to stay and speak more, but he must return home to start cooking a meal for guests. We took two tours at the coffee farm. One was of a Guatemalan musical and ceremonial dress museum. The tour guide demonstrated the many instruments that were used for ceremonies in Guatemala, quite a few that have been around since Mayan times. In the other portion of the museum, we saw the traditional woven fabric clothes that are worn in different parts of Guatemala.

The other tour was of the actual coffee production part of the farm. I can now say that I know a bit about the stages involved in producing coffee. First, the soft bright red beans are harvested and the bean is removed. After this, comes the fermentation process. Once that is finished, the beans sit out to dry and later the parchment covering is removed. Eventually one the inner bean is exposed, it can be roasted and ground for drinking. We also walked through the rows of coffee plants. They are shorted plants, more bush like. Some had small white blossoms on them, reminiscent in look and smell of jasmine flowers. Azotea used organic means to cultivating their coffee. To get rid of pesky bugs, they would hang little vials of alcohol inside of recycled soda bottles. The bugs were attracted to the smell of alcohol, but when they entered the bottle, they would fall to the bottom which was filled with water and soap and they’d drown. We also learned that it takes about 6 pounds of harvested coffee to create one pound of roasted, useable coffee. The average worker could pick 100 pounds of coffee beans per day, and all of their beans were hand-picked. These Guatemalan workers earned $5 per 100 pounds of coffee picked. It is amazing to think of how the standard of living can differ so much in a developing country. It should make you think twice before you complain about your measly American salary.

By the time we left Azotea plantation, it was about 3 o’clock, we were starving for lunch and jittery off of tasting their coffee on an empty stomach. We stopped at one of the first open restaurants we could find on the outskirts of Antigua in a much less touristy area. There was no menu at this restaurant, but rather some wooden boards nailed to the wall which offered a few options including chicken soup, beef steak, hamburgers, and hot dogs. All I had wanted to see was a sign for pupusas, as these delicious little hand-made tortillas with cheese or pork rinds had become my favorite food in Guatemala. There was not a pupusa in sight, and I have to say I was in a serious state of despair. My family all observed that I had gone into “hunger shut-down mode.” They ordered me a vegetarian plate of beans, rice, potatoes and guacamole. It was OK, but it was no pupusa. While we ate our lunch, the man at the next table started talking to us. His name was Carlos. He was Guatemalan but was an American citizen living in White Plains, NY. He was here visiting his family for a few weeks and from the sounds of it, spending most of his time in this very restaurant drinking beer and watching football (soccer). He was very friendly and it turns out his ex-wife is a high-risk obstetrician in Westchester. Carlos looked like he may have taken a turn for the worse since the divorce, it appeared that he’d been on a week long bender as I could smell his beer stench at least three seats away. I think he needed to take a trip to the local Alcoholicos Anonimos I had seen around the corner.

We finished off our Wednesday night in Antigua with a trip back to the center of town. Gordon and I enjoyed a coffee and a chai latte along with a tiramisu at Café Barista. Then we sat down in the park across the street and enjoyed the last thirty minutes of daylight. Gordon finished his novel, and I worked on my blog. Before we knew it, it was time to meet up with William (who was off mopeding around town) and our parents for some beer. The surprise guest of the night was the German, Christian. We continued to enjoy his stories over beers at Café Bourbon. He told his why his face was so sunburned (a 12 km walk to the outskirts of Antigua in the blazing sun) and we heard more about his other interesting world travels, including India, China, and his experience on the Trans-Siberian railway. Another fun and interesting day in Guatemala was coming to an end. With Wednesday behind us, the week would fly by until we were back home. I was already starting to feel depressed at the prospect of leaving this fascinating country with gorgeous weather and returning to the cold Northeast and my eighty hour work week. Reality bites.