The Guayabera

Guayabera: A men's shirt, popular in Latin America. It has four pockets and two finely pleated strips running along the front and back.

I am not a good dancer. Years ago, when I tried my feet at Israeli circle dancing, Yossi and Kobi would have to place themselves at either side of me and steer me in the correct direction, almost lifting me off the ground in their enthusiasm. I do have a good sense of rhythm, and without the restrictions of choreography, I enjoy free, disco style, dancing. In Mexico, I liked the sound and feel of Latin dance, and even took a few Salsa lessons.

In Oaxaca, we encountered the Danzon. Every Wednesday night, Danzon enthusiasts gather in the Zocalo and dance to the sounds of a live band. On the first evening, the syncopated music and the elegant style captivated us. We made our way through the ring of onlookers and entered the dance area. The first part of each partitura is slow and romantic. Embracing at the appropriate distance we could gaze at each other while enjoying the smooth movement. The music then erupts into a fast rhythm which allowed us to utilize our newly learned Salsa moves and go wild. It was love at first dance, and we became Wednesday night regulars. The MC made it a habit of introducing us as the "Visitors from Korea." and the crowd responded with enthusiastic applause.

Soon we realized that the Danzon has more structure than slow-dance and Salsa, and we took classes to learn the rules. As our style improved so did our standing in the dancing community. We were no longer just ignorant gringos that hop on the dance floor, but respectful, bona fide danzoneros. We would exchange hugs and kisses with the regulars as is the customary Hello and Goodbye. In the small city of Oaxaca, we became local celebrities. Walking the streets, people would stop us and exclaim "We saw you on Wednesday night!" As Adi pointed out "It is more fun to be head of the snake than tail of the Dragon."

Over time, I became a less frequent target of our Maestro's admonishments "Point your toes!" "Don't lift your feet!", and enjoyed an occasional compliment of "Mas o menos". Our repertoire increased to over two dozen standard moves which we could mix during each dance. With more confidence, our sense of intimacy and enjoyment grew. We also received more compliments on our style from the other dancers.


Now that I was a visible representative of our Maestro's Danzon group, it became clear that my formal attire of (faded) white T-shirt and jeans was not to his liking.

"You need to buy a Guayabera." Lucio would remind me after each class.

I tried to explain that my wardrobe is already one shirt over the allocation (Three T's and one long-sleeved shirt.), but he persisted. Maybe for a man that owned several differently colored Guayaberas, and whose girlfriend collected about a dozen flowing dresses just for Danzon, a garment allocation was too hard to comprehend.

One Wednesday night we arrived as usual at the last minute, when all the seats around the plaza are already taken. As usual, the group of elegantly dressed "Golden age" couples sat in the front row. They come early and save each other seats. As I looked around for an available chair, the diminutive silver haired lady who is a prominent member of that group waved and gestured to a couple of empty seats which they were reserving, this time for us. This was a major status step up from the hello and goodbye hugs. Later during that evening, a man who introduced himself as a Danzon teacher, approached, complimented us on our dancing, and continued to say that I should wear a Guayabera. These were just too many signals for me to ignore. The next day, I selected a white Guayabera, and while already in the swing, added a pair of black pants.

For the following Danzon night, Adi wore her glamorous green dress, and I put on the costume. I was surprised to realize that a shirt can alter my mood. I felt dashing and handsome, and furthermore, I felt that I was dancing better. Whether or not it was due to the Guayabera, at the end of that evening we were invited, for the first time, to join some of the other dancers for drinks at the nearby café. Sitting there, one gentleman invited us to join his group at a future dance event, and a couple of attractive single women came over and told me that I am a good dancer. I just hope that the Guayabera will give me enough confidence to reciprocate by inviting them to dance.



To see the Guayabera in action, click on the link below.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Sd0kuRnrxs&feature=related

In Search of a Serpent

We walked, single file, along the narrow jungle path. The lowland jungles of Guatemala are teeming with life, and the night was filled with unfamiliar, sometimes eerie, sounds. We were here to catch reptiles, and Ofer, in the lead, was intently listening for the subtle rustling of snakes slithering in the foliage. Suddenly, a loud roar echoed through the darkness. Ofer stopped moving.

'Sounds like a jaguar,' I thought, 'Lonely Planet says they are out here.'

We shone our flashlights into the thick vegetation, hoping to get a glimpse of the elusive predator. Another roar, this time directly above, dispelled my hopes. High in the tree canopy ahead, was a howler monkey proclaiming his territory. We continued moving deeper into the forest. With the aid of Ofer's giant flashlight, we encountered other interesting creatures, some of them he could even name. A pair of crocodile eyes shone back at us from the shores of a small lagoon. Ofer directed me to keep my flashlight on while he circled the lagoon. I understood his plan, and I didn't like it. Last night at Finca Ixobal, I witnessed how he swiftly shed his clothes, jumped into the murky water and came out with a large frog (or toad) in his hand. Fortunately, this time the crocodile swam away before Ofer had his chance. We concluded the night's walk without sighting any other reptile; not even a frog.

"No frogs, no snakes." Ofer summarized, in a sentence that would become our mantra on this expedition.

We settled into our tent.

"Don't be discouraged," Ofer consoled me, "it will take several days for our senses to get accustomed to the new environment and enable us to see and catch something."

I fell asleep despite the loud and annoying racket of the howler monkeys in the surrounding trees.

The next morning as we walked to the Mayan ruins of Tikal we encountered many other birds and mammals that seemed unafraid in our presence. Like all tourists we were impressed by the size and height of the stone structures erected by this civilization. Unlike other tourists, when Ofer reached the top of the 50 meter temple, he approached the sheer edge, and kicked into a handstand. I thought he abandoned that practice thirty years ago.

In the afternoon we moved our camp to the shore of Lake Petén Itza. The result of the night hike was the same as the previous night.

"No frogs, no snakes."

This scenario repeated itself for several days. In the mornings we visited places of interest (to me), where Ofer amazed tourists with handstands on tall ancient structures, and at night we went into the jungle, coming out empty handed. Reluctantly, Ofer consulted his "Amphibians & Reptiles of Northern Guatemala" guide, and confirmed that during the dry season, the frogs are gone, and the snakes are mostly dormant. Our frustration scientifically confirmed, we decided to continue our nightly searches while travelling towards the highlands and visiting other famous natural attractions.

On the last day of our expedition, as we were driving down into a deep canyon, Ofer slammed on the brakes, left the stalled car in the middle of the dirt road, and jumped out of the car yelling "A snake!" The creature disappeared out of sight into the thick grass. Ofer searched for a while, and after concluding that it was gone, took the opportunity to relieve himself. As he was doing so, his trained ear and eyes caught a movement in the grass. Without hesitating, he pounced forward and came back with his pants wet, holding a furiously struggling snake by its tail. I instinctively moved away. I saw a green triangular head, and the words Green Mamba, rang alarm bells in my head.

"Is it poisonous?" I asked.

"I am ninety-five percent sure it is not," Ofer answered while staying focused on the snake's attempts to double up and bite his hand, "and Green Mambas live only in Africa."

Not satisfied with these odds, I kept my distance. Slowly the snake relaxed and allowed Ofer to place it in a plastic bag, and retrieve his guide book. We had a Bronze-Backed Parrot Snake. It is one of the few diurnal species in Guatemala. I also relaxed, and admired the serpent's long, colorful body.

At the bottom of the canyon was Semuc Champey. We could not find a more wonderful place to celebrate Ofer's success. After a refreshing dip in the blue pools, and a couple of beers in the laid-back jungle hostel, we photographed our green companion and released it back to the jungle.

In total, we spent a week in the jungle, and caught one snake.

"It was worth it," Ofer concluded, "I never caught this kind before."