The Museum of the Invisible Musicians

Glorious circus/carousel blaster from lovely Tonawanda, NY

That post title is the real name of a museum in Guatemala City, so naturally I had to find it. Not surprisingly perhaps, it was a little difficult to track down, requiring a confusing ride on a murder bus followed by an amending overpriced taxi (hard to bargain when you don't know where you are) that, to the driver's credit, included him jumping out for directions to locate the joint. They were closing, but relented, proceeding to struggle to open the gate and subsequently handing me the key to open it from the outside. (How were they going to ever leave if I hadn't come?)

I was granted the speed tour by the ancient little old lady who lords (ladies?) over the small museum. When I stopped to take pictures, she just kept going, clearly not giving up her evening plans for this gringo. As the photos reveal, the museum showcases early musical devices of all sorts including gramophones, player pianos, and a lot of things I don't know the names for (Wardo?!)

This one might tell musical fortunes.

That's wood.

For recording harps, apparently.

My entire harp collection is on cylinder.

Before the jukebox.

Steeplechase songs?

The little old leader soon passed me off to her young protege, a fresh faced local boy of probably 16 years who eagerly continued the tour, first worrying me by showing off a room of clocks that seriously threatened the curiosity quotient, then recovering wonderfully by leading to another floor with all the good old gear, like the early Edison cylinder players.

Yes, that Edison.

Best of all, he flashed an impish grin and began cranking up any machine that still survived, blazing out a variety of cacophonous melodies and some sweet ones including some delightful circus music. He told me the bosses don't let him run them all, but it was after hours and they'd already split. Another overlooked joy of the third world.


Check out the guts of the wildest one I heard that had keys, xylophone, drum, cymbal, and some kind of pump organ for which I could find no visible source.

Maya Maya

There are a couple good reasons to tarry in Guate, mostly being the better museums. After a lesson in Guatemala time where I rose early to match Hans's work schedule, then waited an hour and a half for him to get out of bed, his Mom having to badger him several times, I scored a ride to the middle of town to the tourism agency, more Hans's pick for a dropoff than mine but convenient to his ride out of town for work.

For all the conscientious guidebook reading, it's astounding how quickly one will defy the guidance. According to Hans, 700 bus drivers were killed last year, in part for the money they collect from passengers. There are several bus options but the only ones the tourism board seem to know are the red murder buses (so far, I'm the only one calling them that). And they're packed, so the good people of the city must know something. So, I rode them all day and didn't get killed or see anyone else get killed, not even once. And mostly they got me where I was going, though it can be hard to figure out where to get off when you're standing and can only see the road and cars.

I managed to make it to the archaeological museum, jammed with some amazing pieces from the various Mayan sites. I followed up with an even better museum, but they wouldn't permit me to take photos. See some samples from first museo above and below.

Demon mask - definitely looking for one of these to add to the collection.

Finally got to see the other guy.

One of the famous and few Mayan codexes - mostly have it figured out, largely about war and fancy dancing.

This guy means business, which was usually war.

Arrival - in good Hans

Hola amigos!

I arrived safely in Guatemala on Wednesday after a painfully early flight, especially given the international demand of being extra early. This meant I was actually early given my usual penchant for pushing the limits of latecomer status. Turbulence prevented proper sleep but I held a comfy haze through Houston and perked up for arrival in Guatemala City, or Guate as folks call it here. With the remarkable sprawl and the airport on the edge of the city proper, it's a scary landing, sure you're going to crush some low lying buildings when the runway appears at the last minute.

I made it smoothly through customs with all my snacks and weapons safely in tow, then wandered out into the controlled fray of the exit. Eager to get a handle on the city, preferably with the help of locals, I'd contacted one such fellow, Hans, via CouchSurfing.org, a cool travel site where you register to find people with which to crash (or to put up at your pad). Hans jumped right in, giving me his cell number and telling me he'd pick me up at the airport. Of course, my cell won't work there and I've only seen a rather bad pic of Hans on the web. In the caged exit area of the airport, there are 50 dudes insisting that you want to go to Antigua (the colonial capital, not the Caribbean island) and no phones. I eyed one guy who I thought looked a lot like Hans but who had so little interest in me, it just didn't fit, then tried to go back inside for a phone. The guard offered to make the call for me. What is that? Then Hans shouted my name, having just arrived and I was safely escorted past the clown who still wanted me to change my destination.

We rumbled off in Hans's old Toyota pickup, complete with peace sign dangling from the rearview and less so for all the missing panels, both interior and exterior. Then we went to work. This is what Hans does:Here he is removing meters that measure the flow of electricity through the pole. We (well, he) took a few of these down, with him nimbly climbing up and sliding down the poles. Then we went back to his place way up in the hills in the last zone of the city. We chatted and hung out for a bit before he had to go back to work and let me rest, still not having slept in a couple days.

I'd expected to meet Hans's wife and their two kids, but apparently she shuffled back to her native Colombia in December with the wee ones, prompting Hans to quote that international adage, "Women, can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em." The tail of that may offer some explanation for why Hans's Mom now lives with him, something he rather likes and hopes to keep in place. I tend to approve since she played the role nicely, cooking dinner and a couple breakfasts for us all, as well as worrying about me when I was out late in the big bad city.