Jonathon Engels: A Life Abroad

I’ve been waiting for my new crop of Better World Books books to arrive, and in the meantime, I’ve nursed from the last dregs of those I have. This week’s installment of thoughts on travel literature includes The Places in Between, an amazing journey on foot across Afghanistan; The Magic Bus: On the Hippie Trail from Istanbul to India, a road trip along the old intrepid traveler trail between Istanbul and, umm…India; and Eating Animals, a very sobering look at factory farming and alternative reasons (beyond not wanting to kill animals) for being—at the very least—a responsible meat-eater. It’s been a rather serious path, but one that ultimately left me feeling rewarded, a little more enlightened, and a lot more inclined to live more adventurously. Let us begin.

The Places in Between, Rory Stewart

This book intimidated the hell out of me, which is why it was the last of my last order for me to pick up. It seemed to promise such serious, hard-to-read stuff, a la The Kite Runner. I tend to find myself more often swerving towards the more light-hearted reads of the travel world and endeavoring into the serious stuff with a sense of responsibility. Whatever the case, I finished somewhat interested in visiting Afghanistan and, in the same breath, happy I’m too far away and fund-depleted for such ill-advised adventuring.

Rory Stewart, having had to cut Afghanistan out of his walk across Asia, excitedly backtracks when the country is again opened to tourism. Despite everyone doubting his ability to make across the country, especially to do so on foot without being killed or kidnapped, he does so, and his adventure puts him into close contact with soldiers, former Taliban leaders, and possible wolf attacks. Stewart’s writing made me sympathize, envy, and respect him. His descriptions of the people he meets feel incredibly honest, unflinching in the face of fear, honestly but carefully reactive in the face of appall.
Despite a heavy subject, the book never felt exhausting to read but rather an answer to curiosities I didn’t know I had.

The Magic Bus: On the Hippie Trail from Istanbul to India, Rory MacLean

In the sixties, backpacking came into its own. Hundreds of thousands of travelers set out of trips seeking instant karma and reenactments of dharma. Rory (how on earth did I manage to read two authors named Rory this time!) MacLean presents an amazing premise: Travel this trail again and meet people who have remained along the route, aged hippies who’ve never pushed on, inspired Iranians who left the countries for free love and returned for roots of culture, the drivers and handlers and hostel-owners. What we get is an appropriate far-out mix of Allen Ginsberg, ex-military stragglers, and ever the in between.

What I really like about this book is its unlikely but completely accurate collection of characters you meet along the “trail”, be it the hippie trail from Istanbul to India or the north-to-south route from Patagonia to Alaska. I tend to too often lump travelers into being more similar than we are, but MacLean provides a real look at the eclectic array of intrepids out there, completely different souls on a similar wavelength. It’s an interesting thing to see your own versions of these characters in the people around you, in the homes of your pasts.

Anywhere you go, the book suggests to me, has people with incredibly heart-breaking, interesting lives to share with you, and they are all worth knowing.

*My one complaint was this one was that sometimes the “trip” was a bit too much, as if the writer became too distracted by being mystical and mythical. The stories that are more grounded in reality work much better for me, which meant enduring a bit of odd storytelling in Istanbul.

Eating Animals, Jonathan Safran Foer

That afternoon, I’d had some heart-warming moments touring a turtle hatchery and animal conservation facility, CECON, where I got to bury turtle eggs and release a baby olive ridley sea turtle into the Pacific. They were moments that linger. After dinner at our hostel, scanning the book exchange, I spotted Eating Animals, which I’d been wanting to read for over a year.

Within twenty minutes of picking it up, I regretted it. I put the book down, if only for a minute, to mutter a “son of a bitch” before reading on. I’m no stranger to the horrors of animals in the food industry. I’ve seen a collection of online videos, watched the appropriate documentaries, and read tough stuff like The Omnivore’s Dilemma. For whatever reason, maybe the image of that little turtle climbing around in my hand, I knew this time was different.

I’ve been vegetarian for nearly a decade now, unwavering in meaty communities—Russia, Turkey, Guatemala, Louisiana—around the world. I began the book almost as another pat on the back for sacrificing on behalf of the good cause. I stood confident in my oft-repeated doctrine of “If I can’t kill it myself, I don’t eat it”. Seriously, what was there to be afraid of? I’d already taken the plunge and was living an easy meat-free existence.

This past November, my wife Emma upped the ante on her vegetarianism by giving up milk, cheese, eggs, yogurt, and all those great dairy treats—ice cream—we veggies hold dear. Hey! We still have pizza, fried egg sandwiches, and the occasional gelato, so life can’t be so bad. I resisted the change, clinched a little firmer onto my smoked Gouda. I understood why she was doing it but wanted no part.

In fact, we’d had lunch at a nearby restaurant that day, and I’d already selected my breakfast for the next morning: chilaquiles—a delicious Mexican speciality with crispy tortillas simmered in a red pepper sauce, covered in fresh cheese, side of beans, two fried eggs oozing from atop the mountain. Dinner that night had just been a precursor, biding my time for morning. Then, I found Eat Animals and read my way right out of it.

For the next twenty-four hours, the book rarely saw a tabletop. As I waited for my breakfast, minus eggs and cheese and sour cream, I plowed on.
Beside the pool with my mayo-free vegetable sandwich and beer, I waded through page after page. On the shuttle ride home, cramped between bags and passengers, I only grew stronger in my resolve: Being vegetarian—not eating animals—simply wasn’t enough.

What makes Eating Animals so powerful for me was that, unlike those other aforementioned objections to the food stuff, Jonathon Safran Foer was not out to slander. The premise of the book is vegetarian father—Foer—exploring the idea of feeding his child meat. In fact, he seems to chase every lead to make it okay, from discussing the nostalgia of traditions—Thanksgiving, his grandmother chicken and carrots—to visiting the most ethically minded animal farmers out there.

I’ve explained my vegetarianism hundreds of times over the last few years, but this book changed all of my logic. Foer’s most compelling arguments, the ones that ultimately stuck me with a choice, have nothing to do with animal rights. Rather, his data on the other implications, environmental damage and world hunger, brought about by factory farming are so disturbing I just can’t…not even if I really, really want a cheese and mushroom omelet.

He points out that the ethical choice of vegetarianism (or quasi-veganism—I will eat cheese or eggs under very specific circumstances where I absolutely know it didn’t come from factory farming)…the ethical choice of vegetarianism has become less and less about whether or not you agree with eating animals. The choice to do so these days means so much more, means supporting something with irrefutably evil ties. So, I’m left with pretty much no cheese now, no yogurt, and so on, just praying he never decides to investigate beer.

My list of places left to visit in Guatemala is steadily depleting. This past weekend, I went to Monterrico for my first proper visit. It was far beyond what I expected: On the first morning, we spent two hours on eco-tour through miles of mangrove, in the distance, Volcan Fuego spewing smoke as the three other volcanoes—Pacaya, Agua, and Acatenango—also decorated the skyline. I visited an animal sanctuary with prehistoric fish, sea turtles, caiman, and iguanas. I buried rescued turtle eggs and released an olive ridley turtle into the Pacific Ocean. Then, there was also swimming, black sand beaches, cheap beer, and hammocks. By and large, I never heard rave reviews about Monterrico, or much of anything really. I loved it.

On to the next place: One of the remaining Guatemalan destinations for me is a northern city called Quetzaltenango (the land of quetzals), otherwise identified as Xela (pronounced Shay-la). Frankly, I’ve never wanted to go. It’s Guatemala’s second largest city. It gets cold there because of being at a ridiculously high altitude (2330 mts/7600 ft). It’s a place I best know for cheap Spanish classes, and I’ve got Emma, whose Spanish skills have undoubtedly far surpassed mine, for that. The only other thing I know is going on is hiking, and herein lies this month’s NGO and the reason Xela will feature in my future at some point.

Quetzaltrekkers is an idea I’m completely jealous to have not come up with. Essentially, there are kids in need in Xela, kids in danger of living life on the street, malnourished, undereducated, and so on, and there are people who want to help with that situation. These helpers are not necessarily educators, doctors, or multimillionaires, but what they can do is walk…trek, if you will. So, in 1995, Quetzaltrekkers—a non-profit tour company—comes into being to create sustainable funding for a school for these kids, and as many great ideas do, it grows.

These days, Quetzaltrekkers continues to work with Asociación Escuela de La Calle (EDELAC), a school in an impoverished neighborhood that provides education to over 175 kids, either from the street or at high-risk of being so, as well as operates Hogar Abierto, a dormitory/permanent residence for 15 adolescents which includes supplying them with clothes, medical care, and food. Over 80% of the funding required by EDELAC comes from Quetzaltrekkers, from tourists paying to go on their guided hikes and the profits from that going to good.

As Quetzaltrekkers has grown into its own, the NGO has become involved with other local projects. Primeros Pasos is a NGO focused on providing women and children with healthcare and treated over 7,000 patients last year. The Chico Mendes Reforestation Project is planting trees in rural areas outside of Xela, places the Quetzaltrekker crew leads tours, and it is attached to a Spanish school that helps finance its mission. And, now there is also the Quetzaltrekkers’ Scholarship Fund that provides tuition for students who have earned and want tertiary education (usually alumni from EDELAC).

Volunteer opportunities are vast and plentiful when getting involved with this project and its friends. First and foremost, Quetzaltrekkers looks for guides for its walk. EDELAC needs educators and/or helpers for the classroom. Hogar Abierto needs people to help with running the dormitory. These opportunities can all be pursued the Quetzaltrekker group, but there also chances to volunteer and work with Primeros Pasos and the Chico Mendes Reforestation Project. Oh, I haven’t mentioned the fact that a-whole-nother branch exists in Nicaragua.

So, I’ve got to go to Xela, I suppose. I really dig what this place is doing, and I want to be a part of it. I really want to be a trekker.

I’m fairly excited this week because, after waiting patiently for nearly six months (for, of all things, my mother-in-law to visit), I got to experience three of the five things I most wanted to do in Antigua that I had yet to do. It only took a weekend and about $50. And, it occurred to me how easy it was to do them, how little effort it really took, and how rewarding it felt. It got me to thinking about “bucket list” type things we tend to make and, ultimately, our ability to ignore them.

A New Article on Transitions Abroad: 10 Ways to Experience a Culture Authentically While Traveling. I would love this one to get some attention, some likes and love, maybe a Tweet or two, a comment if you are feeling especially generous. This site is tops in my book, the best paying (for me) and truly informative (for you).

I—and I think many of us—have spent a lot of our lives disregarding the things we want to do. I recall putting off great weekend camping trips because of a two-hour drive then watching six hours of television instead, sometimes 90% of which was composed of nature programs. I was too tired or hadn’t taken the time off to do it or needed to get this or that done. There was always a reason to procrastinate, and it was—is—usually enough. Why do we do this? It’s so unfulfilling and so easy to change.

1. Schedules are worth ignoring for a day. (Friday)

Schedules are a pain, no matter how much you've stripped them down. Since I’ve been living in Antigua, my average day consists of 3-4 hours at Bagel Barn working on the writing side of my life, and 3-4 hours at Oxford Language Center working on the still got-to-pay-for-stuff side of my life. In between, there are lunches, grocery shopping trips, walks across town, occasional basketball games, and a night or two out on the town. I managed to negotiate a schedule of a 15-hour work week before agreeing to my current job then take that and fill up the rest of my day with seemingly non-negotiable obligations. It’s life.

Visiting the Choco Museo this past Friday, however, defied the busy-ness of things. I rearranged my life a little, going to Oxford earlier than normal, putting the writing side of things on hold, and doing something I’ve wanted to do for over a year. But, was it really necessary to wait until there was a mother-in-law here to do it? It seemed that with very little sacrifice or effort I was able to do something that was on my list. My mother-in-law’s presence simply provided the outside influence necessary for me to do what I wanted.

And, the Choco Museo turned out to be awesome, something I’d highly recommend to visitors. Our guide, Pablo, was fun and lively, able to mix a good wealth of information with a healthy dose of tourist-y foolishness, and in the end, I got to make my own chocolate. In fact, we made two types of hot chocolate—Mayan and Spanish (they are very different)—and I made a tray off imaginative chocolates, the type of fabrication that involves a table full of ingredients and someone telling you to mix them and make something funky.

2. If you don’t know how, it’s not that hard to figure out. (Saturday)

Valhalla is an organic macadamia nut farm about 20-minutes outside of Antigua. It’s too far away to walk to, which means for Emma and I, a visit either required talking someone else into going or braving the chicken bus system, which I’ve been told is not even that difficult and even been given directions for. Whatever the case, it’s something that’s been on the backburner for months now because it required…something new.

Then, again, with the mother-in-law in town, it was time to wow her something else, so Friday morning, I talked to Bryant (my boss at Oxford) about going this weekend. He’s a Valhalla veteran, has a car, and loves to host folks. Saturday, a mere fifteen minutes late (Bryant, Guatemalan at heart, is late for everything), he picked us up outside our apartment, our friends Jeff and Salina in tow, with their two children. It was a proper outing, with friends and family. All it took was asking.

And, Valhalla was our type of place. The food was amazing: Macadamia pancakes topped with homemade blueberry jam and macadamia nut butter, coffee grown by people who work on the farm, and free samples. The farm was beautiful and open for exploration, nooks with cool machinery invented by the owner, crannies stuffed with vegetative oddities and experiments. There are opportunities to volunteer there, to camp, to get free facials with macadamia beauty products…The owner, Lorenzo, will entertain you with an old-school, welcoming wit.

3. It’s not too far if you can do it in a day. (Sunday)

We joked at six a.m. over coffee: Emma, her mum, and I had gotten up go to Chichicastenango, and Emma’s mum, let’s call her Sheelagh, has been studying Spanish. Here in Guatemala, many places end with “-tenango”—Acatenango, Quetzaltenango, etc. In Spanish, boobies—read it again, BOOBIES— are often referred to as chi-chis (odd that I used to eat at restaurant called Chi Chi’s). So, to the point, I was caught up explaining to Sheelagh how Chichicastenango was a “land of boobies”. I’m clever that way.

Anyhow, the shuttle picked us up at seven a.m. Emma got a little queasy on the ride, and we were there by nine. Chichicastenango is famous for market shopping (not the aforementioned) here in Guatemala. It’s one of the big destinations to “experience”. I found it a bit disappointing. Perhaps, I’m tainted by having been to a plethora of foreign markets and bought more Guatemalan tourist tat than any one person should ever. We walked around for about two hours, slithering through throngs of people, stopping for the occasional picturesque photo op, and wound up finding a bar balcony to kill time on.

Still, it’s not on my mind anymore. I’m not wondering if I really do want to go to Chichicastenango. I don’t regret going. Most of the time, we don’t regret going, doing things that we want to do. For me, for the weekend, two out of three ain’t bad. I loved the Choco Museo, and I’ll definitely be back at Valhalla. Going to the market at Chichicastenango means, when I leave here this November, it’s one less thing I’ll be wishing I would have done. That makes me feel good, a little more complete.

Admittedly, Antigua is a top tourist destination in Central America. It’s got stuff to do, but as I think back to my life in Baton Rouge, in Memphis, and other places, I know that I had similar lists there: Taking an airboat swamp tour, bike-riding along the Mississippi River, overnight canoe trips, taking full advantage of Memphis in May, the Jazz Fest…there were things, things to create those lists wherever I’ve been, things—new and old—wherever we are, and there are lessons to be learned from a good weekend in Antigua. Yes, we can.

Nearly every morning, I write in The Bagel Barn, a rather westernized coffee/bagel shop near the southeast corner of Central Park in Antigua, Guatemala. I sit in the corner at one of the bigger tables, where two two-tops have been pressed together to make a four-top with plenty of space to spread at my collection of notebooks, mouse pad, and coffee mug. Mostly, I come here for that space, for the WiFi I need to work, and for the fact that the staff just lets me at it—one cup of coffee and to work. I come here so often that, when people need to find me, they don’t call, they just stop by here. My old boss, Bri, says I’d be an easy man to assassinate.

On the surface, Bagel Barn is not an especially cultural experience. The food is vanilla in that, if anywhere in the states, even rural Louisiana, you’ve been exposed to 90% of the menu items. At least 50% of the clientele is foreign, many of them plunking down large backpacks next to their chairs as they are fresh off of shuttles or awaiting departure. Others, like me, meander in every morning with laptops and focus, and we are pleased to be here rather than another Starbucks. Well-to-do Guatemalans, the more westernized side of the population, come here, but I’ve yet to see a woman in traditional traje (outfit) stopping in for a quick jolt. The staff is Guatemalan except for the Swiss manager, Isabella, who immediately befriends all.

Still, it’s possible to order in English, and the waitresses—who don’t speak English—have heard it all so many times that they can decipher orders in a foreign tongue, even the hold this-es and add that-s, and manage to get it out right. Isabella knows me by name, smiles at me and always offers a “Buenos dias” and little conversations, making me practice my Spanish rather than her practice her English (which is better than my Spanish). Every day, one of the staff asks me to turn on or turn off the switch behind my seat, adjusting the fan to people’s demands. They often give me a free Maya nut cookie—over a full box’s worth now. Recently, they stopped adding the automatic 10% gratuity to bill, depriving themselves of a quetzal a day (about 12.5 cents).

As a traveler, this is the type of place I’d probably scoff at—hissing at the overtly tourist-y set-up, ostensibly pining for the “real” experience. However, in reality, that authentic experience is something I never really want: Life for most locals is very poor, difficult, and involves an abundance of tortillas, not by choice but bargain necessity. I’ve seen lots of backpackers on lots of tight budgets, but I’ve not seen many so penny-pinched that tortillas and salt is their daily sustenance. Truth be told, as a traveler and/or resident, I rarely deny myself anything I want—beer binges abound, as do well-fatted breakfasts and however many freshly prepared cups of coffee I desire.

As a resident, I feel I’m allowed certain liberties, or more brashly put, I live here so if some tourist-traveler wants to tssk me for being sell-out and frequenting a bagel shop in Guatemala—well, I’ve always got that “This is my home” ace up my sleeve. In my case, I’ve lived here three times, including a stint in Guatemala City, where most people are scared to go let alone live, and nearly two years in Aldea El Hato, a village small enough that most Guatemalans I’ve met away from it have never heard of it. So, can’t have my coffee wherever the hell I want without any authentic experience guilt hanging over my head. Is it really necessary to question that?

In general, Antigua is the destination equivalent to a Bagel Barn. People scoff at the clean, preserved feel of the place, at the abundance of tourists and tour groups running around with cameras and matching t-shirts, at the ready availability of pizza and WiFi and English-friendly locales, and whatever else—the fact that a group of expats regularly frequent a bagel shop at the corner of the what-should-be culturally iconic Parque Central with our laptops and flip-flops and websites/blogs/social media accounts to maintain. For backpackers hell-bent on experiencing the country, this side—though most certainly a real part of modern-day Guatemala— is not particularly suited to their tastes, which are not particularly salivating for the aforementioned vanilla-familiar eateries that much of the world is moving towards.

Living in a place like Antigua is wonderful, unconcerned with the motivations of the raging traveler looking for places where no foreigner has ever tread. In fact, it’s a town where I say hello to Donald, a computer programmer, every morning for the simple fact that we work in the same place (A stout shout-out to Donald for helping me with web-hosting problems last week). It’s a town where my fifteen-minute walk to work might yield a dozen hellos, high-fives, or nods to folks I know or recognize. I’ll see lots of cars. I’ll get offered taxi rides by the same group of taxi drivers I pass everyday because, after seven months of walking this same route, many of them still don’t recognize me from the other internationals. Maybe I should introduce myself? Would that be weird?

Anyway, my time here—the end of it—is nigh again, with less than two months to go, and for the first time ever, leaving Guatemala this time feels less permanent, as if there is little doubt about returning at some point and likely some point soon. This has become a home of sorts, for a person who has all but abandoned “home”. And, one of the main reasons for that warm feeling, that welcoming feeling, is that it’s such an international place, such a small place, where neighbors are often neighbors you know and from somewhere else. It’s not the sort of place I’d want everywhere in the world to be like, but it is the sort of place in which I like to stay and to which I want to return, not to get away from it all but to feel comfortable. A bit like The Bagel Barn, I suppose. I've always enjoyed loitering in breakfast joints. I'm not sure it's something to be ashamed of.

View my blogs and publications at Jonathon Engels: A Life Abroad or follow direct links to more articles and odes to Antigua: New Life in Old Guatemala, An Expat Right of Passage in Guatemala, and Ode to Antigua: Central America's Tourist Capital.

I started my travel blog over a year and a half ago. I read that it was a non-negotiable aspect of becoming a contemporary writer, even a writer who wanted to earn a living through the craft rather than blogging opinions on the latest iPod (which incidentally earns a lot of people a living). I’d made it my mission to put seven years worth of university towards something related to the degree it earned me: Creative Writing. It was not fiction, as I’d once planned, but travel writing, something much more in-tune to my life since graduating in 2005.

Starting off, I wrote about life as an expat in Russia and the grammar qualms of being an EFL teacher. Some of it was interesting (I think), some of it humorous (to my wife), and all of it fairly self-indulgent. I was writing about me for an audience of people who knew me, or potentially were in need of a new and distant friend who liked to write about himself. Most of the entries, however, I enjoyed writing, and I was sure they were improving me as a writer. It felt right in some way, but I also recognized that I had not garnered the thousands of readers necessary for a blog to earn you some income.

This month, when the last of my internationally-shipped travel books had all been read and my new shipment was in the abyss of Guatemala City’s post office, I stumbled upon a fantastic article about 10 of the Most Inspiring Websites for Aspiring Digital Nomads. I bookmarked it and ignored for the next week. Then, in a fit procrastination—I’ve been having trouble getting the travel words out lately—I opened it up. Lo and behold, I was inspired. Many of the websites/blogs were about creating websites and blogs. Others, such as Nomadic Matt, were more travel-y. Whatever the case, a new fire was set alight.

Firstly, I downloaded an ebook. I’ve not been much of ebook reader, partly because of a dusty pre-Twitter/rugged nomad attitude and partly because my wife uses the iPad and I the laptop. (Seriously, who reads a book on a laptop? Or, for that matter, calls himself a rugged nomad then mentions using a laptop in the same sentence?) Anyway, inspiring website number one was The Art of Non-Comformity, which sounded fairly heady but proved to be as practical as philosophical. The suggested reading for said website was How to Be Awesome, which I enjoyed. Next thing I know, I’m downloading a book: 279 Days to Overnight Success.

Now, I’ve never read a self-help book in my life, feeling that I’m pretty adept at helping myself. This seemed like Chicken Soup for the Writer type thing, but Chris Guillebeau had sucked me in a little (and it was free). I wanted to read what he had to write. Fresh coffee on the coffee table, reclined on the sofa, Emma in the bed reading Spanish Harry Potter on the iPad, I mouse-d my way to the .pdf on my desktop and started. It was really good. Interesting. It was, as promised, very inspiring. I began making notes for a new blog as I read. I began thinking of how blogging might provide me a little more stable income than freelancing. I took another step into the 21st century world of writing.

After his book, after having looked at all the inspiring websites on the list, I got sucked in again with the list’s honorable mention: Smart Passive Income (Smart Passive Income wasn’t in the top ten because the blogger is stationary). However, the site has officially stoked me and pushed me over that final hurdle into acting on my impulse to blog for dollars. Patt Flynn, the generous author, takes readers through a step-by-step recounting as he makes his own income-generating site. Honestly, I’ve read a few of these sorts of articles, trying to figure out what I’m supposed to be doing, and for once I feel as though I understand what that is.

So, while my book review is a little unconventional this week, maybe less book-y than normal, not quite 100% vagabondish, I’m recommending these two sites. Travelers and aspiring writers, curious cats and kitties of all sorts, I think, would get a great deal from them. Over my last couple of months in Antigua this year, I will be working on this project—my new blog—with the hopes of “launching” it before I leave. What better can one say about a piece of writing than it has literally inspired me to change something in my life.

Don't forget to visit my current website/blog, Jonathon Engels: A Life Abroad, for loads of articles and thoughts about travel and being an expat. And, while you're at it, join my Facebook page.