The state of emergency in Alta Verapaz and the drug runner Northern Transversal Strip discouraged my vacationers yearning to know Lachuá Lagoon. I hope to go before it's too late, and asphalt and the sale of parrots, break with wild dream. Meanwhile away from me shootings and roadblocks without collateral. There is enough risk on the roads washed out and ruined, at the foot of the truck driver on the accelerator.
If the country was a map I'm on edge, the edge bordering the sea. I'm a natural border of white beach and gentle waves. A Garifuna black people with heart beating at different rates than the rest of the country. Here the corn is the coconut.
confirm that all we have in common the Guatemalans are the contrasts in our lives. The largest ship is called Chiquita bananas Q1 unit cost. Livingston is just as dirty as the last time I came. Recycling, reuse, separation are not concepts that manage the locals. Diapers float on the beach next to bottles of beer and detergent. Drains out of the houses directly to the inlets and rivers. Children play on or near the trash, and dogs scatter any debris on the streets. A paradise for not caring.
The feeling of being a tourist in your own country, a foreigner, a white man brings U.S. dollars at times becomes too obvious. Despite that, the warmth of the Garifuna people are musical and rhythmic.
Road on the beach, looking for a cool shade, a piece of land to rest and think, a log to sit and watch the beautiful egrets assaulting a fishing boat, to laugh crab walking pa 'back.
And to think that life is always a metaphor for something else. Something bigger and more important than the sea.
(Column e lPeriódico )
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