I’ve been learning about the history of Xela this week, about how it was built up before the turn of the 20th century by immigrants from Europe and other parts of the world. There was once a train that stretched from here to the Pacific coast, but a combination of natural forces and government corruption did away with the train and the industry it brought. If you look closely, though, you can see the history.
You can see small details, architecture, pieces of history that seem untouched by time. Some of these buildings were preserved by choice, but some are probably here just because there was never money to tear them down.
Every country I’ve been to seems to have its own character, its own kind of beauty. Guatemala is sometimes completely itself, and sometimes a borrowed mix of a thousand other places.
Some of these things I’ve probably walked past a dozen times, but haven’t taken the time to notice–like this tiled wall outside a tienda down the street.
Everything has a story, and I wish I knew more of the stories in this place. For now, I think it’s pretty amazing what we can notice if we just open our eyes.