Disney is NOT the Most Magical Place on Earth

The plane touched down. Guatemala City was covered in a blanket of sparse lights, revealing, despite the darkness, the contours of the mountains in the distance. After the usual rush to unbuckle, retrieve carry-ons, and wait patiently to disembark, I walked down the corridor, passed through another series of hallways, retrieved my luggage, and took my first official steps into Guatemala.

If traveling has taught me anything (and I like to believe it has), it is that the international news, while factual, is not written to assuage anyone's fears about an area. It is meant to cause a stir; a sensation. As always, in the weeks leading up to my departure, I read every news story published on Guatemala in the previous month. I scoured travel forums, e-mailed friends who had traveled to the area recently, and dutifully prepared myself for whatever dangers may lay ahead. I was prepared as I could be for unrest, theft, violence, run-ins with drug cartels, and possibly being kidnapped as soon as I set foot in the capital.

And again, as always, I was surprised and relieved by what I actually encountered. I exited the airport and was politely offered a taxi. After requesting a shuttle and finding that due to my initial missed connection I had arrived too late to catch the last one leaving for Antigua, I hesitantly accepted a private taxi to Antigua for $25USD, thinking of the ample warnings I'd received about armed robbery of taxis and buses in Guatemala City. I asked the driver if it was safe; he assured me it was. At that point, it was my only option.

Yet again, pleasant surprise. The taxi driver, a personable man who displayed a clear pride in his country, maneuvered the roads safely and adeptly. My ride was entirely devoid of the "white-knuckle" moments which have generally dominated my international taxi experiences. As we rose and descended the gentle hills leading from the city, lined with clean, bright, attractive buildings that easily rivaled those found in small cities at home, I asked the driver how safe he felt Guatemala City is. He explained that it can be dangerous, but that it is not all bad. Taking a chance, I asked him about the military take-over in Coban and the recent news reports of Mexico's Zetas cartel terrorizing towns in the north of the country. Smiling, he shared that in Guatemala, there is rampant poverty, alleviated by only two industries: farming, and tourism. Guatemala works hard to safeguard both, and assured me that the government swiftly addresses any threats that arise (thus the recent siege).

We rode along, passing trucks and the eponymous "chicken buses" winding quickly around the dark curves of the highway leading out of the city. I settled into my seat, relishing the awareness that yes, I was finally back. I was below the border, in a beautiful place, with kind people. I was on my way to volcanoes, and lush tropical forests, and most importantly, a place where I would meet little children who need some of the few, humble things I had to offer: love, hugs, and a growing ability to impart some understanding of how to (hopefully) help them develop as best they're able. We wove down a steep road with tight curves before easing onto the flatter highway in the valley. 

Pulling onto the cobblestone streets in Antigua, you´re suddenly conscious of every single stone as the old taxi rolls slowly along; this is not a place for those looking for a smooth ride in any sort of vehicle. The short plaster and cement buildings grow brighter and more vibrant as you near the city center, giving you the impression of driving into an architectural sunset. Grand, elaborate cathedrals, in saturated peach and rose tones with incredibly intricte whitewashed designs curved above their entrances and their windows are interspersed with the humbling ruins of those razed by a succession of earthquakes several hundred years ago; a reminder that no matter how idyllic or majestic the present churches may be, they're no match for the rumblings that have plagued the country throughout history. The ruins are enormous, larger than some of the cathedrals, and peering through the fences erected around them, one can even see arches and walls that have somehow retained the beautiful detail that once covered the building. Ivy and flowers have crept up the walls of some and create a stunning contrast between the barbed wire strung through the crumbling windows.

In any former colonial city, there are captivating details in places one wouldn't expect or find at home. I've always been amazed by the variety of doors I see walking down a colonial-era street. Strolling the streets of Cusco, Bogota, and Antigua, one could create a pictorial volume of beautiful doors. Some look as if they belong guarding a medieval prison, others as if they're the entrance to a forbidden mansion. Some are mde of dark, heavy wood and crossed with wrought iron bars, others display carvings and impressive doorknockers. All are impressive.

The architecture and details pale in comparison to the surroundings. Antigua is set in a lush valley ringed with volcanoes; Agua to the south, making it easy to maneuver the city, Fuego, and one other whose name I have yet to master. At night, as I arrived, the soft yellow lights twinkled around windows and doorways, illuminating the deep wood doors and hinting at the colors waiting for sunlight to reveal them. On sunny days, the city takes on a subtle glow as the light ignites the warm tones on all the buildings and deepens the green covering the mountains. On cloudy days, spots of sunlight pass over the mountains and the tops of the volcanoes remain shrouded in fog; the city remains bright, light, and fresh, bathed in the cooler light making its way through the clouds. On clear days, Fuego can be seen erupting; a slow cloud of dark ash rising from its summit and diffusing into the surrounding sky.

The people are equally as bright and beautiful, completing the dream-like experience. Everyone passes with a smile and polite "Buenas dias" or "buenas tardes." Unlike my travels in other South American cities, I have had wonderful experiences with street vendors and taxi drivers alike; the prices have been fair and the transactions friendly. In Antigua and the small surrounding towns of San Felipe and Jocotenango, where I'm staying with Ray, the discernible threat I've often felt upon leaving the "tourist zone" of a city is almost non-existent. There are dangers, to be sure, but with wits kept about you it's easy to avoid them.

Quite simply, Antigua is heavenly. Walking out the door every morning, whether we're greeted by sunshine or clouds, I can't help but smile. The volcano Agua looms ahead of us, its peak hidden until the clouds clear for the day. A bright orange house stands alone in the center of a small field directly ahead, stark against the green mountains and blue sky surrounding us. There are flowers growing on porches and there is a clean, spring-like feeling in the air. The walk from Ray's apartment, safe behind massive gates protected by unexpectedly pleasant security guards, to the Nuestros Ahijados campus is about fifteen minutes long. Passing young children, old women, and everyone in between, the walk is punctuated with smiles, nods, and greetings as we traipse along on the dusty sidewalk. Motorcycles and buses power past us, momentarily leaving us with a face full of exhaust fumes before it dissipates and the cool, clean air takes over again.

Nuestros Ahijados was thoughtfully, passionately designed by the founder of God's Child Project, Patrick Atkinson, to be a haven for the children and families they serve. Knowing that many of those benefiting from their services live in one-room homes with dirt floors, some in even more dire conditions, the team at Nuestros Ahijados felt it was important to show them that they are worth the effort; that they deserve to have a beautiful, clean place to learn and receive needed services. In a country where many children choose to leave school to work with their families or on the streets, the team wanted the setting itself to be an incentive for maintaining enrollment.

The complex at Nuestros Ahijados includes an elementary school, several office buildings where the long-term staff (both foreign and local) work side-by-side, a health clinic, a dental clinic, a kitchen and cafeteria as well as a food storage area for the many donations received from local farmers, an auditorium, a sprawling playground, a soccer field, and a non-denominational chapel. Built in the traditional colonial style, there are whitewashed banisters, wrought iron gates and windows, towers with twisting staircases, and cobblestone paths and walls throughout. The entire complex is swathed in a thick covering of deep green ivy; it twists around the bougainvilleas creeping down from the roof and crawling up from flowerpots. Palm fronds wave gently in the breeze that passes through the open areas, and several large trees in the center provide shade. It is a setting that rivals many of the costly hotels in the center of Antigua.

At all times of day, there are mothers and fathers and children milling about. School is not yet in session, but when it is, their numbers will increase and the courtyard will be filled with activity. For now, mothers sit chatting quietly on stone benches and watch their children climbing stone walls, crawling through gaps in the stone in the center of the courtyard, and running around the playground. While the volunteers and staff return to the types of homes that most of the families served can only hope to someday inhabit, there is a feeling of community and equality within the tall walls surrounding the complex. The families served value the help they receive, and the caring staff serving them value the families as the individuals they are, and for their cooperation and active involvement in improving their futures and those of their children.

Ray's office stands on the second floor of a simple stone building overlooking the courtyard; thin white curtains filter out some of the strong sunlight that shines through the windows. The door is open, the breeze passes through, and as I sit typing this, the sound of children laughing is audible below us.

Every day here is graced with a sense of serenity that seems to escape me at home. My nights have ended lounging lazily in the hammocks on Ray's porch, looking out over the rooftops to the volcano Agua and sharing liters of Gallo (a light, refreshing Guatemalan beer) as the sun sets and the orange glow moves from the buildings to the sky behind the mountains. It is easy to see why Antigua captivates so many people and holds them as happy hostages forever. There is so much available to do in the sense of supporting the community, and yet life here is so unhurried and undemanding. It's an intoxicating combination. Everyone here seems to know someone, know someone who knows someone, or be someone who passed through enroute to another destination, and simply never left...

Antigua is magical.