The Future of Petén

FLORES, Guatemala — A bottle of clear water was set before me, drops of condensation from the recent refrigeration clinging to its sides. I just had to twist off the cap and drink. And I did, and it was good and tasted just like water should taste, like nothing but refreshing just the same. Of course it should be refreshing, we were 50 miles deep in the jungle earlier this week in the mud and heat and rain and … well you can read the posts we have on that …

That bottle, carelessly placed before me by an overworked bartender/waiter, tasted like water and it was cold — it was what I am used to but it felt strange this time. It didn’t have that plastic taste weakly masked with Gatorade or crystallized coffee or powdered milk, it wasn’t consumed at the temperature of the jungle. My first trek into the rainforest had been replete with analysis of processes, comparisons of livelihoods and shear toil against many physical obstacles, and here I was contemplating the water in front of me. After a day of sitting in on interview after interview the water was something that needed no immediate translating.

The more I thought, the more I realized what I had to be grateful for. For the table and chairs where I was resting. The company of traveling companions equally exhausted from more than a week of non-stop travel and reporting. The beautiful view of Lago Petén Itzá that cradled the boats just a few feet from where we were sitting. The sunset filtered through wispy clouds that had already released their rain drops earlier in the afternoon when we were under cover and could stay dry. All these things were good.

But I sat there and felt an emptiness. The team of archeaologists, workers and cooks that we has just spent an intense but short time with were still uncovering ancient pottery, art pieces and tools far away to the north. The jaguars, monkeys, snakes and insects stayed deep in the jungle as we plodded along step after step away from its center. I began to think about the pleasures in life, privileged living and its relationship to comfort.

Comfort can come in a hot shower after a week in the wilderness, but it can also come from sitting around a long table discussing ancient artifacts and their role in a people’s lives thousands of years ago. Privileged living can come in air-conditioning but it can also come from knowing that there isn’t an automobile or a scooter noise that is going to ruin your audio. Comfort can come in a bed but it can also come in having a conversation with someone with no television that distracts.

Sitting in a hotel lobby after a night’s rest in an air-conditioned room, I think about how the good-byes at camp El Mirador were long and heartfelt. Now it is check out time at Hotel Petén and the guests checking out are all walking with there eyes to the ground trying to avoid interacting with other guests. We all have a shared experience but there is not the same willingness to share in it as I had experienced last week. This is not the jungle.