Tuesday, March 12, 2013

FORWARD






Black Sand Beaches is set on the beaches near El Salvador.
Located in southern-most corner of Guatemala’s Pacific Coast, about 45 kilometers from the border of El Salvador, is a narrow, meandering, two lane road that runs from the Bridge at Iztapa to the large estuary at El Dormido.  

Like the scales of an iguana, the Aldeas line up along the meandering, two-lane road from the Bridage at Iztapa to the large estuary at El Dormido.




If you ever travel along this scenic two-lane byway that is shaded by Mango orchards and coconut groves you will see more than 100 small villages – called Aldeas – that line the road like the scales of an iguana, individually independent and communally interconnected.








The names of these Aldeas are lyrical and mysteriously descriptive like Saints of a church, the players of a soccer team, or the varieties of shells along a beach:  Montericco, La Curbina, El Cebollito, Los Limones, Hawaii, Las Mananitas, El Rosario and El Dormido.


















Living within these towns are people who are as colorful and symbolic as they names of the towns they inhabit. Like Herman the fishermen who rises at the darkest hour of dawn to launch his small fishing boat into the limitless and unpredictable Pacific Ocean; Don Jose the store owner who sells the goods and staples to neighbors; caretakers – called guardians – like Chato who mows lawns, paints walls and fills pools; Felipe the construction laborer who digse holes, mixes cement and constructs walls; Herman the mechanic who fixes tires, repairs brakes, and replaces motor oil; waiters like Fernando and waitresses like Lesle who serve breakfast, clean shrimp, and tend bars for the area; Don Ramiro an entrepreneurs who vends anything from clothes to horses, and resident foreigner – called extranejeros -  like Hank, Chuck and Becky, who have discovered the magic of the area but haven’t the means to live there fulltime.












These Aldeas and these people are intertwined and are blurred together through blood, marriage, religion, or money so that it is never really known which is more important, the Aldea or the person.


“Black Sand Beaches” is a collection of short stories inspired by the colorful and authentic people and Aldeas of the area. The stories describe the themes of family, fear, adventure and survival that are universal to the human condition, while also being infused with the texture and unvarnished primitiveness and devotion to an uncomplicated lifestyle that is wholly unique to these coastal communities of Guatemala. While these stories describe events and situations that may be hard to believe, they are in fact are as real as the waves that crash along Guatemala’s black sand beaches. 






The Passing of El Viejo


THE PASSING OF EL VIEJO

"When you people walk me to the tomb I don't want anybody crying. All I want you to give me is a band singing my favorite songs while closing your memory with only good blood."

There are three things every wise man knows: when he has found true love; when he must defend himself; and when his body is ready to die. For El Viejo, the awareness that his life was coming to an end presented itself only two days before a doctor in Guatemala City pulled a white sheet over his head and pronounced him dead.  But El Viejo told nobody, not even Roberto, who was with him at the time of this awareness. You see, El Viejo was drinking a cold Gallo [1]beer that sunny and hot afternoon with his friend Roberto. As he sipped his beer, El Viejo could not taste the flavor of the beer, and he could not determine whether the beer was warm or cold. His senses of taste and touch were fading, and El Viejo knew his death was close. But he didn't want to trouble his friend, Roberto with this knowledge. So, El Viejo took notice of the small droplets of moisture on the can of beer. He took another sip and looked out at the peaceful ocean, noticing a school of thousands of small fish creating a large bubbling shadow on the surface of the blue ocean.

"This beer is cold, Roberto,” he said.  “ I like a cold beer on such a beautiful day. Look, even the fish are happy today. They are all dancing on the water’s surface.”

As he said this, he felt the fingers of his right hand loose all sensation, and he dropped the can of beer into a foamy, sandy mess. He wanted to bend over to retrieve the beer, but he couldn't. He didn't feel well at all. His head became very, very hot and he felt like he wanted to vomit.

"What's wrong with you?" Roberto asked. "You do not look well. Have you been to the doctor yet?"

El Viejo didn't answer, continuing to stare at the shadows, churning on the ocean. The familiar and ever-changing drama of Hawaii’s coast brought calm throughout his body.

"No," El Viejo thought. "I have not gone to a doctor, but I am drinking beer with my young friend, Roberto; my old friend and my best friend; the friend who has let me live in house for more than 18 years."

Roberto’s house was a green concrete dwelling with a palm thatched roof. There were no lights inside the house because there was no electricity. Electric lines had been installed throughout Hawaii less than seven years ago, but Roberto never wanted the burden of receiving a monthly electric bill. As for water, Roberto used a well that tapped into the underground aquifer. A gasoline-powered motor pumped the water up from the subterranean river and delivered the water to a tank that was positioned above the house.  Gravity pushed the water throughout the house allowing Roberto to have a flushing toilet, running water and a working shower.

Roberto inherited the house from his father when Roberto decided to marry Rosa, a local girl. He was 19 and she was 20. But after only three years, Rosa left Roberto for an American living in Antigua, taking with her their joint possessions and their two-year-old daughter, Angelina. The only thing he remembered about Angelina was her eyes large and black, and so similar to his. After Rosa left with Angelina, Roberto remained alone in the empty house, broken in spirit, with a new craving for drink. He would devour bottles of "La Indita", a strong, nearly pure, clear alcohol that was made from the local red plant "Rosa de Jamaica." Roberto made just enough money fishing the shores of Hawaii to sustain his need for drink. That was Roberto's life for more than 20 years. Then one day as he stumbled drunk along the empty and windy beach, he saw El Viejo sitting in the shade of an old, dilapidated and abandoned rancho.

A rancho is a palm-thatched roof supported by four or more vertical mangrove wood posts. The original ranchos were used as houses for the poor families of fishermen that first inhabited the Guatemalan beaches. Many of these ancient and nearly collapsed ranchos still exist along the beach and are used to shade fishermen from the blazing tropical sun as they repair their fishing nets or wait for the tide to change. Rancho’s along the Guatemalan coastline are as common as coconut trees and mango groves.

El Viejo lived under the rancho, and made his living weaving fishing nets that were considered the best in the area. El Viejo saw Roberto walking drunk down the beach, and beckoned him to sit with under the rancho with him. Together on that hot, windy afternoon under the rancho, they shared a bottle of La Indita. As they drank from the bottle with its colorful cartoon label of a pretty Mayan woman harvesting the red plant, Roberto watched El Viejo meticulously weaving fishing nets. After that day, Roberto would join El Viejo for a bottle of La Indita while observing the craft of making fishing nets. Before long, the strong liquor of the Jaimaica plant was replaced by cold beer, and without uttering a word of reprimand or condemnation, El Viejo had stopped Roberto from being a drunk, and showed him how to make fishing nets.

The two became close, combining the relationships of a father and son; uncle and nephew; brother and brother. But most of all their relationship was that of a friend and friend. Through the months and years, El Viejo learned about Roberto's life and the pain he experienced by losing the only daughter he had. El Viejo would always attempt to make Roberto call his daughter, but he never saw Roberto call, and really never even knew if Roberto placed a single call. After two years together working under the rancho, Roberto asked  El Viejo to come live with him in the house his father gave him; in the house that his wife and daughter abandoned.  El Viejo accepted the offer, and moved into the best room of the house. It was a perfect, compatible relationship that was bound by mutual respect, quiet understanding and non-confrontational conversation.

El Viejo heard Roberto ask again, " Have you been to a doctor yet, Old Man?"

El Viejo looked into the black eyes of Roberto and asked, "Have tried to call Angelina this week?"

It was a style of conversation the two had developed and perfected over the years. When one didn't want to answer a question or address a topic of discussion, they would simple change the subject. It was a graceful way they created harmony between themselves, without losing respect.

However this day, El Viejo insisted on pushing the subject.

"I asked you have you called your daughter? You need to try and tell your daughter you love her as much as possible, my friend Roberto. Family is the most important thing in this life. This thing I know as well as anything I know in this world," said El Viejo.

"You talk stupid, Old Man. How do you know something of which you are ignorant? You don't have any family, and you haven't had any family for more than 25 years," said Roberto.
"Yes," El Viejo said. "But just because I have never been bitten by the sharp teeth of a caiman in the canal doesn't mean I don't know how painful it could be. At my age, I have seen much more than I have personally experienced, and I tell you now, family is the most important thing in the world. Promise me, Roberto, you will try and call Angelina today," said El Viejo.

Roberto employed the conversational strategy of non-responsiveness the two developed and shared.

"Have you been to a doctor?" Roberto asked.

Again, El Viejo continued to stare at the ocean ignoring not only Roberto's question, but also the signs of death within his body. He liked watching the ocean, he thought. He liked watching the schools of moving fish and the jumping manta rays because it reminded him of when he was a young boy. He remembered walking along the beach with Oscar, who was now 81 - almost as old as El Viejo. Together he and Oscar would run along the beach with their fishing nets, trying to anticipate the paths of the moving fish in the breaking surf. On good days, he and Oscar could hurl their lead weighted nets in a perfect parachute shaped circle, trapping more than 50 small fish that they would later sell as bait. As he watched the shimmering blue ocean with Roberto, El Viejo remembered one day in February, many, many years ago when he and Oscar first saw Lucia. She was 16 and already she was the most beautiful girl in Aldea Hawaii. Both he and Oscar immediately fell in love with Lucia. For more than one week, the two competed for her attention in the only way they knew, by seeing who could catch the most fish. After all, which ever of them could catch the most fish would earn the most money to buy pretty things for Lucia. It was a simple yet direct way to win the heart of any girl. One day, El Viejo recalled, during this competition for Lucia's heart, he and Oscar's net became entangled together and they began to fight over whose net rightly owned the large school of fish trapped in the nets. The two began the fight with small, short, strong pushes.

"You have your net tangled in my net. You did that on purpose!" said Oscar.

"Me!?", retorted El Viejo. "You threw your net on top of mine!"

The two began to wrestle on the black sand beach. At first, Oscar gained the advantage by managing to hold El Viejo's head down against the beach as the waves rolled over the two. The white ocean foam covered El Viejo's face, preventing him from breathing and threatening him with being drowned. The fear that swept over El Viejo's body was instantly converted to strength beyond anything he had experienced before, and he found that he was able to push the much larger and heavier body of Oscar off the top of him, giving El Viejo the advantage on top of Oscar. Oscar was able to roll his body under El Viejo's so that Oscar's face was now facing the sand. If you were watching the two, it was like El Viejo was riding the back of Oscar. El Viejo felt anger and rage, and he pushed Oscar's face into the black sand until Oscar's nose and mouth were filled with sand, preventing him from breathing.

"Stop! Please stop!" Oscar pleaded with a mouth full of sand. "I give up. You win!"
El Viejo let Oscar up and saw his friend's face as black as a moonless night on the beach. The only things that were not black were the whites of Oscar's eyes.

"OK, Oscar," El Viejo commanded. "But you have to promise me you will leave Lucia alone, so that I can take her for my wife."

"Yes, I agree. Lucia is yours; the fish in the nets are yours; and you can even take my net as a symbol of total victory. Happy?"

The war was settled  between El Viejo and Oscar was settled, but neither of them had realized that Lucia had been watching the whole thing from one of the small alley ways that opened up to the beach. When Lucia saw how El Viejo had humiliated and embarrassed Oscar by pushing his face into the sand, she ran down to the beach and pushed El Viejo away angrily then throwing her arms around Oscar lovingly. She then scooped up a hand full of ocean water and cleaned Oscar's face. Together, Lucia and Oscar walked away together, leaving El Viejo alone with his fish and the two nets. It was one of those lifelong lessons, El Viejo never forgot. 

El Viejo continued to stare at the ocean with Roberto, and smiled. Oscar and and Lucia had been married for more than 50 years and had seven sons. He laughed to himself as he thought about how stupid young men can be when it comes to understanding women. By losing a fight, Oscar was able to win the heart of Lucia. It was El Viejo's first lesson in understanding that strength seldom surpasses sympathy.

El Viejo looked at Roberto who was looking back at him. It was one of the few times either one of them could remember being eye-locked without the other quickly breaking the stare by looking away. As El Viejo stared into the black, shiny eyes of Roberto, he could see his own reflection in Roberto's eyes.

"I visited my friend Oscar yesterday, Roberto. He and I walked to the center of town and visited our old friends in the cemetery. I told Oscar I wanted to be buried in the center of the cemetery," said El Viejo.

As he said this, El Viejo's face grew as pale as an old piece of driftwood on the beach, and he fell unconscious from his char, landing at the feet of Roberto.
The next three hours were more frantic than anything Roberto had experienced. First, he had to run to a neighbor's house to borrow a car; then he had to run to three more neighbors’ houses to borrow enough money to buy gas for the car. Finally, he had to drive El Viejo into Guatemala City -more than 180 kilometers- to the hospital. Roberto waited outside the examining room of the hospital and examined his cracked and dirty nails of his feet; he studied the tan lines of his feet under the straps of his sandals. He didn't know what to feel, and so he felt numb.

"Senior?" Roberto heard a voice say. "I am doctor Prado. Pedro Prado. I have very little to say to you except that if I were you I would prepare for your friend's funeral."

Two hours later, Dr. Pedro Prado pronounced El Viejo dead.

Now, Roberto sat in a small office of a hospital administrator. The office was neat and organized, with a wastebasket containing a discarded paper cup of coffee from earlier that morning. On the wall behind the desk was a poster that had hundreds of small hearts and proclaimed the only thing in this world that really counts is God. On the desk of the administrator were a small pile of thin files and a cup of freshly sharpened pencils.  A small picture frame faced the empty chair of the administrator. Roberto quickly grabbed the frame and turned it toward him to see the picture. It was a photo of a young couple with two children - a boy about 8 and a girl roughly two years younger. The man looked happy and neat and the woman was dressed in a flowered blouse with her hair pulled back.

"What a nice family," Roberto thought as he replaced the picture frame back to its original position.

As he placed the photo back on the desk, a young man walked into the room. He had a thin file in his hand. He shook Roberto's hand and sat behind the desk. The young man had a simple haircut that was cut above his ears and brushed to one side. His black hair shined with gel. He wore a pair of thin-wired glasses that looked like something an accountant would wear. The young man wore a grey suit with a white shirt and simple tie. On the lapel of the suit, Roberto noticed the young man wore a pin in the shape of a cross.

"Well, senior, I am Senior Martinez, the hospital administrator. I am very sorry for your loss. Did you know the old man well?" Mr. Martinez asked?

Roberto responded, "For most of my life, and for the past 18 years he lived with me."

Mr. Martinez looked pleased, and said "Very good. Now in order for us to release the old man, we must first have some kind of identification. The only credential he had was an ancient residence card that cracked, faded and torn into 28 pieces." Mr. Martinez shook his head sadly, and added, "That is simply not enough. No, it will not do. Can you please produce something else to prove the old man is in fact who you say he is?"

Roberto shook his head no.

"No. I don't think he had identification. I didn't even know he had the torn residence card."

"Well, what about a family relative that could produce evidence of the old man's identity? Something official you understand."

Again Roberto shook his head no and added," he hasn't any family. I am the only one he has and I am his only friend."

The hospital administrator looked confused and frustrated at the same time.

"Well did he have a bank account?"

This time, Roberto looked pleased and quickly responded "Oh yes! He had a bank account!"

"Fine. Then we can simply have someone from the bank produce some kind of evidence of identification."

Roberto's face quickly changed from happy to embarrassed. "But he never had to produce evidence of who he was at the bank either. People just knew him as 'El Viejo' and he could deposit or withdraw money because everyone in the bank knew who he was. I know this too because one day I overheard the bank manager say one day 'we must set up some proper paperwork for El Viejo one day.' But it never happened," said Roberto.

Roberto eventually had to drive to the Hall of Records - more than 60 kilometers from the hospital in order to obtain a copy of El Viejo's birth certificate. He was pleased when he was able to obtain the document just minutes before the office closed for the weekend. Roberto drove back to the hospital to find Mr. Martinez as we was leaving the office. A Bible was under his arm. Unfortunately, Mr. Martinez looked at the document and said, "I am sorry. But this document does not have the stamp of the Director from the Hall of Records, and it needs to be notarized. Have a good weekend," and left the office, turning the light out as he left. Roberto stood in the dark, and realized that the only thing to do was to wait in the hospital over the weekend and then return to Hall of Records on Monday in order to obtain the necessary stamps. In the dim light of the office, he looked at the administrator's photo on his desk and said "your wife is ugly and your kids look like iguanas."

As Roberto waited to return to the Hall of Records, news of El Viejo's death and dilemma spread throughout the small town of Hawaii, Guatemala. Plans for a memorial and funeral were discussed, but the real focus of conversation became when will the body of El Viejo return?

"They haven't released the body yet," one person would say to another in one of the small tiendas.

If you passed a neighbor in the street, instead of exchanging news of the family or fishing successes from the morning, people would now say, "Has the body come back, yet?"

In the morning, little kids would wake up and instead of asking for breakfast, they would want to know if there was any news of El Viejo's body.
"Has the body come back yet, mommy?" they would ask with large, innocent and demanding eyes.

"No mio. The body as not come back yet," the mother would answer while shaking her head in sadness.

It took five days for the body of El Viejo to return to his lifelong home in the small fishing village of Hawaii, Guatemala. The delay resulted from the wrestling match between a complicated bureaucratic government system and a simple, uncomplicated life that valued personal relationships more than paperwork. Both lifestyles are so common in Guatemala, and yet are in direct opposition of each other. Whomever is caught in-between these opposing forces is paralyzed, unable to move or fight the powerful undertow of immobility that invariably is created. Roberto understood this, and simply considered the dilemma as if he were fighting the smashing waves of the beach with a small launcha. The only way to punch through the pounding waves is to patiently wait until there is a small lull in the ocean, and then that is the point of penetration. Roberto patiently waited and returned on Monday afternoon with the body of El Viejo.

When Roberto returned to Hawaii with the body of El Viejo, he found than more than 30 people were waiting for him. The body was removed from the truck Roberto had  borrowed, and for the next 24 hours, the men drank and sang and told stories of El Viejo. The women cried while they played "Con Quien", El Viejo's favorite card game. In the morning, following the small wake, the group of 30 people made a procession and walked down the main street of Hawaii. Six of El Viejo's oldest friends acted as pall bearers  and lifted a large, black casket on their shoulders. As they began to leave the home of Roberto, a truck pulled up with six men in the back. The men had musical instruments and began to assemble themselves to play while El Viejo's body was carried down the street. On top of El Viejo's casket, were two of the three final fishing nets El Viejo had made before he passed away.

One of the people in the crowd asked, "who paid for the band?" Nobody knew. It was a mystery, but like so many problems in life, the solution was more important than the equation. It didn't matter who paid for the band, but it was nice to hear the music behind the proceeding body of El Viejo. Women cried and men wiped secret tears from their faces as the band played, "Cuando al pantion ya me lleven no quiero llanto de nadio. Solo quiero que me lleven con una banda tocanda y el luto llevenlo dentro tenido con buena sangre."  Roughly translated, this means "When you people walk me to the tomb I don't want anybody crying. All I want you to give me is a band singing my favorite songs while closing your memory with only good blood."

It was roughly five kilometers down the main street, to the old cemetery in the center of Hawaii. As the group progressed down the street, the sky above seemed to change with the rhythm of the marching band. The sky turned from a brilliant blue to a fuzzy grey with white, wispy thin clouds moving from the volcanoes in the east to the tranquil ocean in the west. Then the clouds moved together with synchronicity like couples on a dance floor, and they glided gracefully to form a group of dramatic dark grey static clouds on top of brilliant white moving clouds. The sun disappeared behind the heavenly skies, and small drops of rain began to fall. The light rain and eclipsed sun provided relief from the hot beach climate, and comforted the growing crowd that was walking behind the casket of El Viejo. As the group progressed toward the center of town, one or two men would move forward, tapping one of the pallbearers on the shoulders before taking their place under the weight of the casket. At one point, a group of women simultaneously replaced the group of men, taking the casket from the men without losing a beat. After five minutes of walking with the heavy weight of the casket, the men relieved the women, and continued to move toward the cemetery. The clouds moved from light rain into a soft umbrella, still protecting the mourners from the sun, but removing the falling rain. All the time, the band continued to play. As the group walked passed Oscar's house, the men carrying the casket made an abrupt left turn, and walked into Oscar's house. Once inside, they placed the casket in front of Oscar and Lucia, who were sitting on a couch crying. Roberto took one of the fishing nets from the top of El Viejo's casket and handed it to Oscar.

"I thought El Viejo would like to visit you both one more time," and handed the fishing net to Oscar. It was not a net made for fish, but rather it was a shrimp net and so it took much longer to make, and required much more patience and skill than when making a fishing net. Roberto handed Oscar the fishing net and said, "Our friend, El Viejo was making this for you before he died. I asked him why he was making you a fishing net, but he only said that only Oscar would understand."

Oscar took the net and immediately knew the meaning of the net. It was to the replace the net El Viejo had taken from him when the two fought as young men and lost the heart of Lucia.

The men picked up the casket again, and walked out of Oscar's house. Oscar jumped up, put the fishing net in the lap of Lucia, and took the place of one of the men carrying the casket. As the procession continued down the main street, they passed in front of Tienda Fabiola,  El Viejo's favorite tienda. Roberto motioned one of the men to replace him under the casket, and then Roberto ran into the store to buy a cold beer. He drank the beer with the memory of El Viejo in his heart and a desire to quench his thirst. He no longer had the need to drink in order to get drunk. When Roberto finished the beer, he ran out of the store and rejoined the group, who had now made its way to the cemetery.

The cemetery was located directly in the center of town, immediately next the street, and adjacent to a large patch of sand that was used as a volleyball court and beach soccer field. The cemetery contained approximately 75 old white crosses, and large light blue and white concrete boxes that held the bodies of Hawaii residents. On some of these boxes, flowers were arranged. In the center of the cemetery was a small hill that had been formed by the blowing wind, and on top of the hill was an unpainted, open concrete box. The entire town of Hawaii had created the concrete box, with each family contributing either a concrete block or a small piece of concrete. Together, they formed the finally resting place for El Viejo. The procession had now grown to more than 150 people, and now they all gathered around the empty concrete box. The casket was placed inside. There was a moment of silence that was intended for public remembrances of El Viejo. But nobody stepped forward to speak. There was a noticeable feeling of awkwardness as the timid and silent crowd continued to stare at the casket that was now placed in the concrete box. Somebody touched Roberto's shoulder and encouraged him to say something about his friend. He shook his dead, and pointed to his eyes as evidence that he could not speak because he was too sad. It was at this moment when a woman, who nobody recognized stood on top of a chair, and began to speak. A small rumble went through the crowd.

"Who is she?" someone would ask.

"Have you ever seen her before?" Another person would continue.

"I heard he had a young girlfriend," A more informed person shared with the promise of secrecy.

"I think I have seen them together on the beach," Another person would confirm.

But when the woman began to speak, silence replaced the hum of speculation in the group. The woman was no more than 30, and while small in stature, she had possessed a stature that made her appear taller than she was. She had beautiful black hair that was worn down, and she wore a sparkling black dress and delicate crochet shawl that covered her shoulders and matched a thin black veil that covered her face.

"I want everyone her to know that this old man, was more of a father to me than anyone else in my whole life," the strange woman yelled to the crowd over the roaring ocean.
"For 18 years, this old man has called me every month to ask about me and my family. When I needed food, the next day a bag of food mysteriously appeared on my door; when I needed help with a car, a mechanic would be at my house the next morning; but most of all when I needed a person to talk to and hear my mind, he was always there. And so, when I look at this beautiful man that is now with God,  I feel sad. Not because he has passed on to the other and better world, but I am sad because this old man had to lie in a hospital morgue for more than five days before they would release him. Nobody should have to endure that, whether in life or in death...especially not this man," the woman continued in a loud, confident voice.

Roberto watched the woman, and watched the entire town captivated by the woman. He was amazed not only how commanding the woman was, but also more by how many people had come to see El Viejo's body be buried in the cemetery. He thought how wrong he had been that El Viejo was alone. In fact, he felt even more amazed to understand that these were not just his friends, but his family. He then remembered the final words of advice his friend had given him before he died: "Family is the most important thing in this world..."

The woman continued, "This old man was stuck in the morgue because he didn't have proper paperwork. Now I tell each and every person here today. Go home and make sure your grandfather, grandmother, mother, father, who ever, has there paperwork in order so that this tragedy does not happen again here in Hawaii. The next thing I want everyone to know is that family is the most important thing in this world, and so go home today and tell those people you call family that you love them. Tell them that you are with them and that nothing can escape the net of the family. God bless you old man. I love you and you will always be with me."

The woman climbed down from the chair and silently walked away from the crowd toward the ocean. As she walked toward the beach, she turned around and lifted her vail from her face. From afar, she stared directly into the black eyes of Roberto, eyes that were exactly the same shape and size and character as his. She lifted her veil completely off her head, while carefully and silently mouthing the words "I love you dad," to Roberto.
###



[1] The most prominent beer in Guatemala. 

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Add caption
Black Sand Beaches is a collection of short stories drawn from the colorful and authentic people who inhabit the more than 100 small fishing villages lining the beaches of
Guatemala’s Pacific Coast. While these stories describe the universal themes of family, fear, adventure and survival, their texture and tone are definitely unique to the culture and lives of the people who inhabit Guatemala’s black sand beaches. 

It is amazing to observe how the people of this region remain devoted to their uncomplicated way of life despite pressures from outside influences as tourists, international drug trafficker’s, and natural evolution.

“Aldea Hawaii” is a beach area of about 8 kilometers in length and, on average, about one kilometer in width and is located directly parallel the Pacific Ocean on the west and the Chiquimulilla canal to the east. This unique area has approximately 500 inhabitants who live in more than 60 small homes that are scattered along the beach and Mangrove forrest. The locals live in simple huts and sustain themselves on fishing (either in the canal or the ocean) and simple agriculture. With very little exception, these families have lived along these beaches for more than 100 years. For most of these early decades, this coastal area was reachable only by boat. 

However, in 1996 a bridge and the first road were constructed that connected Iztapa to Monterrico, and consequently the interest in the area abruptly increased. As a result, larger summer cottages and hotels emerged and electricity, roads and other infrastructural improvements evolved.

Since 2000, the region had definitively has developed to a national and international tourism destination with currently over 30 hotels and almost as many restaurants, groceries, clothes shops, a bank, and churches. Still, the people, customs and community spirit have been reluctant to change. 

Since the 1960s, affluent families from Guatemala started buying land that was situated near or on the beach and began to build so-called summer cottages. At the same time, the first simple hotels started to emerge, originally only for locals by the 1970s these rustic hotels also attracted backpackers who were interested in the rustic beauty of the deserted volcanic beaches and the rich wildlife.