After a brief stop-over in Houston to visit a good friend, I'm now safely back in Boston... packing up boxes and shipping out again for some family time and the trip up to Hanover. Upon reflection, I've come to some pretty deep and meaningful conclusions about the trip: Vacations rock.
The blog too has been fun! It gave me a fun little objective at the end of each day. Hopefully, all of you have enjoyed it as well! Given that the gringo is now back up north, I guess it's time to retire this bad boy. Thank you all for reading, writing, and posting the occasional comment.
Before signing off, the top five memories from Central America:
5) Pepian: The only culinary gem I found down there--it's a traditional Mayan dish my guatamom made for me one afternoon to prove that she did, in fact, make the best traditional food in Xela. Even better: No mayo involved!
4) Fuentes Georginas: Sitting in a volcanic hot spring on the side of a mountain in the middle of a lightning storm may not have been one of my wiser decisions, but boy was it pretty!
3) Santa Maria: Getting to the top of the first (and highest) of the three volcanoes I hiked felt pretty good. Seeing it's sister volcano exploding a few minutes later made the sore legs very worth it!
2) Lava: It's just that cool.
1) Chicken buses: There are lots of specific chicken bus stories, but if they were broken out, they'd dominate the top five. Jumping onto an old US school bus, squishing three to a seat, and making new friends whether you want to or not, never quite lost it's uniqueness and strange charm.
Honorable mention: El subjuntivo. Learning spanish in Guatemala was actually quite fun... even the subjunctive.
Photos will be posted soon... Thanks again for reading! And hasta pronto....
Monday, July 28, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
El pollo* penúltimo
Trust is a funny thing. When I showed up in Central America, I was thoroughly on guard, but also strangely trusting of anything that seemed remotely official (like ICA). As I grew more comfortable in Xela and more comfortable with spanish, I became more trusting: I started leaving the door to my room unlocked when I was at home; I took the directions and advice people gave me at face value; I was quite content to realize that Guatemalans were really nice, friendly people!
After being robbed and ripped off; after encountering more than a few taxi drivers who wanted to charge me triple the going rate (and became surprisingly indignant when I chose to find another taxi) and an alarming number of helpful strangers who seemed to feel that their unsolicited (and dubious) advice was worth quite a bit of money; and after quite a few days on the road alone, with no one around to fall back on for moral support or camera watching duty, I´ve become a bit more credulous once again. I´m actually a little bit proud of the improvement in my negotionating and navigating skills. This morning´s taxi driver from San Jorge to Rivas--who thought he could convince me a $30 taxi ride to Granada was a good deal by kindly explaining there were no more buses and taking me to an empty "bus terminal" a half mile away from the real (and quite full) bus terminal--found himself sadly disappointed, despite many protestations.
Despite that, I´m amazed at what I will trust! After wandering to the correct bus station, telling a few folks I needed to get to Granada, and getting herded onto a bus bound for Managua with promises the conductor would tell me where to switch, without any fear I let the aforementioned conductor toss my bag out onto a highway while the bus was still moving, with some vague instructions to wait over by a sign for the next Granada bound bus. (Jumping out of the back of a slow moving school bus was something of a childhood dream, so actually seemed sort of fun. Seeing a car approaching right after I landed on the ground was a bit more disconcerting.)
But, the trust paid off. Just a few minutes later, a Granada bound bus passed by, I jumped on, and a twenty minutes later I found myself in the colonial capital of Nicaragua (along with the 16-20 year old girl who, I think, was propositioning me in a spanish english combo at the bus stop--once on the bus, I found a seat next to a far more harmless seeming middle aged woman!). And, all for about 2 US dollars, darn near as fast as a taxi could have made the trip. They´re dirty, they´re crowded, and I still can´t figure out why I don´t see more flipped over on the side of the highway, but I have come to truly love the chicken bus system down here.
As for Granda, it is probably the prettiest place I have been so far. It´s got the same colonial charm as Antigua, with beautiful churches, pastel colored buildings, and horse drawn carriages careening around the city center. But it feels less gringofied and somehow more tranquil. I´ll spend the night here, and tomorrow hop my final bus to Managua early in the morning, from where I´ll haggle with a taxi driver over a ride to the airport, and fly back to the US.
Hasta pronto, Amigos!
*If you ever find yourself in Centro America and try to use the word pollo to describe a form of transportation, you might end up with a tasty meal, but you won´t end up getting anywhere worth going. Even the phrase "chicken bus" is readily understood only in tourist hotspots; shortening that to pollo (chicken) is purely a Mateotómasism.
After being robbed and ripped off; after encountering more than a few taxi drivers who wanted to charge me triple the going rate (and became surprisingly indignant when I chose to find another taxi) and an alarming number of helpful strangers who seemed to feel that their unsolicited (and dubious) advice was worth quite a bit of money; and after quite a few days on the road alone, with no one around to fall back on for moral support or camera watching duty, I´ve become a bit more credulous once again. I´m actually a little bit proud of the improvement in my negotionating and navigating skills. This morning´s taxi driver from San Jorge to Rivas--who thought he could convince me a $30 taxi ride to Granada was a good deal by kindly explaining there were no more buses and taking me to an empty "bus terminal" a half mile away from the real (and quite full) bus terminal--found himself sadly disappointed, despite many protestations.
Despite that, I´m amazed at what I will trust! After wandering to the correct bus station, telling a few folks I needed to get to Granada, and getting herded onto a bus bound for Managua with promises the conductor would tell me where to switch, without any fear I let the aforementioned conductor toss my bag out onto a highway while the bus was still moving, with some vague instructions to wait over by a sign for the next Granada bound bus. (Jumping out of the back of a slow moving school bus was something of a childhood dream, so actually seemed sort of fun. Seeing a car approaching right after I landed on the ground was a bit more disconcerting.)
But, the trust paid off. Just a few minutes later, a Granada bound bus passed by, I jumped on, and a twenty minutes later I found myself in the colonial capital of Nicaragua (along with the 16-20 year old girl who, I think, was propositioning me in a spanish english combo at the bus stop--once on the bus, I found a seat next to a far more harmless seeming middle aged woman!). And, all for about 2 US dollars, darn near as fast as a taxi could have made the trip. They´re dirty, they´re crowded, and I still can´t figure out why I don´t see more flipped over on the side of the highway, but I have come to truly love the chicken bus system down here.
As for Granda, it is probably the prettiest place I have been so far. It´s got the same colonial charm as Antigua, with beautiful churches, pastel colored buildings, and horse drawn carriages careening around the city center. But it feels less gringofied and somehow more tranquil. I´ll spend the night here, and tomorrow hop my final bus to Managua early in the morning, from where I´ll haggle with a taxi driver over a ride to the airport, and fly back to the US.
Hasta pronto, Amigos!
*If you ever find yourself in Centro America and try to use the word pollo to describe a form of transportation, you might end up with a tasty meal, but you won´t end up getting anywhere worth going. Even the phrase "chicken bus" is readily understood only in tourist hotspots; shortening that to pollo (chicken) is purely a Mateotómasism.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Café
On of the great mysteries of Central America is coffee. Along the coast and in the lowlands, in both Guatemala and Nicaragua, some of the best coffee in the world is grown. And yet, I have yet to find a decent cup of it anywhere down here! It seems that somehow, the coffee is exported or hidden away, roasted, ground, sold to Nestlé, converted to Nescafé, and only then sent back to Central America where restaurants and homeowners everywhere mix up a pot of hot water, toss in some delicious granules, and add enough sugar and milk to pretend thehir drinking something delcious.
Howard Schulz, if you´re reading this, one of your most loyal drinkers misses your green Mermaid a whole lot.
(Of course, I´m sure there´s potential for a giant tirade here about the negative consequences of globalization, the criminality of stealing resources from a resource rich country for resale in money rich countries, and much much more. But, right now, I just miss good coffee!)
Howard Schulz, if you´re reading this, one of your most loyal drinkers misses your green Mermaid a whole lot.
(Of course, I´m sure there´s potential for a giant tirade here about the negative consequences of globalization, the criminality of stealing resources from a resource rich country for resale in money rich countries, and much much more. But, right now, I just miss good coffee!)
Maravilloso del Mundo
Isle de Ometepe in Nicaragua is the second official candidate for wonder of the natural world I´ve had a chance to visit on this trip. (Lago Atilan was the first.) It´s a stunning island in the middle of lake Nicaragua, with two volcanoes rising out of the water, one of which is active, the other of which has a crater lake at the top (making for, as some of you have heard once or twice, the most interesting geographic formation I can imagine: a lake, on a vocano, in a like, on an isthms, in between two oceans).
Alas, the only real regret of my trip thus far is that I wasn´t able to summit Volcán Maderas or to reach the lake at the top. As it turns out, using the public buses and dirt roads, two days on the island isn´t enough time to make it the 45km to the base, hike up the vocano, and get off the island in time to make my flight home on Saturday. And, since I mentally converted to the Cordoba price scale a few days ago, paying the 800 odd Cs to hire a private taxi back to the docks seems unjustifiable. (To put things in perspective, two nights in a pretty decent hotel is costing me just over 200. To further put that into perspective, that equates to a little under $7 per night.)
To make up for this, I rented a bike and rode out to a small lagoon on the island, about 10km away from the town I´m staying in. So, I can now check off the lake within a lake box. And, this morning I hiked up Volcán Concepción, the active (and slightly taller volcano), which means I can check off the volcano on the island box as well. I´m not remembering symbolic logic all that well, but I think by some sort of transitive-communitive-interoperability-wtftk property, I can now claim to have also been to the top of the volcano with the lake.
Even if I can´t, the official (and final) volcano count is now three. And, Concepción had the added advantage of being a hike through a great big bosque, which I think means forest, but appeared a lot more jungle like to me! In that bosque, I got to hike up through the clouds, see a ridiculous number of butterflies, new fruits, giant green plants, views of the other side of the lake, and... monkeys! The trip is truly complete!
Alas, the only real regret of my trip thus far is that I wasn´t able to summit Volcán Maderas or to reach the lake at the top. As it turns out, using the public buses and dirt roads, two days on the island isn´t enough time to make it the 45km to the base, hike up the vocano, and get off the island in time to make my flight home on Saturday. And, since I mentally converted to the Cordoba price scale a few days ago, paying the 800 odd Cs to hire a private taxi back to the docks seems unjustifiable. (To put things in perspective, two nights in a pretty decent hotel is costing me just over 200. To further put that into perspective, that equates to a little under $7 per night.)
To make up for this, I rented a bike and rode out to a small lagoon on the island, about 10km away from the town I´m staying in. So, I can now check off the lake within a lake box. And, this morning I hiked up Volcán Concepción, the active (and slightly taller volcano), which means I can check off the volcano on the island box as well. I´m not remembering symbolic logic all that well, but I think by some sort of transitive-communitive-interoperability-wtftk property, I can now claim to have also been to the top of the volcano with the lake.
Even if I can´t, the official (and final) volcano count is now three. And, Concepción had the added advantage of being a hike through a great big bosque, which I think means forest, but appeared a lot more jungle like to me! In that bosque, I got to hike up through the clouds, see a ridiculous number of butterflies, new fruits, giant green plants, views of the other side of the lake, and... monkeys! The trip is truly complete!
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Raw Food Friends
Back in college, Romel, Mike and I (the three original residents of 238 S. Barnard St, owned by Maggie Biddle, still the worst landlord I have ever had!) coined the terms "slow roasted" and "flash fried" friends. At the time, as Mike and I threw ourselves into activities, campus leadership roles, and secret societies, we began to make many friends of convenience--fast, immediately satisfying, but not nourishing over the long term. A lot like McDonalds: It smells great from the highway, the first few bites are delicious, but about six miles later it´s time to pull over and get that stuff out of your body! The slow roasted friendships, built up over many years, with layer upon layer of meaty, vegetably flavor, kept us healthy. And, when I´m really hungry, it´s still the slow roasted friends I turn to.
This trip has made me wonder if their might not be another group: the "raw food" friends. Quick and delicious. But, natural and healthy. The raw ingredients, perhaps, for eventual slow roasting, but without the time for cooking.
My friends in Xela--Amy, Tim, and Sarah, as well as folks like Bryan, Joe, Elizabeth, Kim, Claire, and Jecca, who I didn´t get to know quite as well or as quickly--seem to demand the creation of this group. Even knowing that I would only spend a few weeks with them, I come to admire and respect each tremendously, and to rely on them all quite a bit. After saying goodbye a few days ago on the beach in Panajachel (before jumping on a lancha!), I didn´t feel any sadness or regret, and the queasiness in my stomach was entirely due to the cracking boards of the small boat I was on. Much like having just eaten a really good salad, I felt healthy and full, and (unlike the salad) tremendously lucky for having much such wonderful people.
This trip has made me wonder if their might not be another group: the "raw food" friends. Quick and delicious. But, natural and healthy. The raw ingredients, perhaps, for eventual slow roasting, but without the time for cooking.
My friends in Xela--Amy, Tim, and Sarah, as well as folks like Bryan, Joe, Elizabeth, Kim, Claire, and Jecca, who I didn´t get to know quite as well or as quickly--seem to demand the creation of this group. Even knowing that I would only spend a few weeks with them, I come to admire and respect each tremendously, and to rely on them all quite a bit. After saying goodbye a few days ago on the beach in Panajachel (before jumping on a lancha!), I didn´t feel any sadness or regret, and the queasiness in my stomach was entirely due to the cracking boards of the small boat I was on. Much like having just eaten a really good salad, I felt healthy and full, and (unlike the salad) tremendously lucky for having much such wonderful people.
Fue robado
A month on the road... it had to happen at some point. During the several days of travel, from comfortable, known Xela; through Lago Atilan, El Salvador, Honduras, and Managua; en route to Ometepe... I was robbed. Twice. Sort of. And, I can say that being robbed does not feel good.
I´m still not quite sure what happened time number one. I lost a little under $200 from the bag I was carrying, tossing on top of vans, and stashing in hotel rooms. The good news is that my passport, credit card, drivers license, cell phone, and stash of original 15th century romantic poetry were all left intact. (I honestly don´t know what I would have done on the bus ride without crackly pages of old poems to flip through!)
The second time was far les direct, but far more personally embarassing. At the El Salvador border, I decided to change some Quetzales into dollars (given the first robbery, I no longer had any of those available!). I´m pretty good at math, and pretty good at thinking on my feet, and yet, when the shady looking fellow with the giant stack of bills offered me $31 dollars for 410Q at a 1:7.6 exchange rate, I didn´t really object. I mean, after all, his calculator said 31 on it, and he sounded so nice and sincere. In the US, I think I would have caught the scam for what it was in a matter of seconds, but I´m learning that it´s not just difficult to talk in a new foreign language, it´s difficult to think coherently and quickly in one! That fact was doubly put on display when, right after rip off number one, I handed my passport to a shabbily dressed fellow who assured me he was an official Salvadorean border official... despite the fact that I had just seen everyone else on my bus walk into a cement building clearly labeled emigración. Fortunately, my brain turned on a little more quickly during the second go-round, and with a little American pushiness combined with a little pidgin spanish, I got my passport back sin problema.
I´m still trying to be very open to meeting new people and trusting the folks I meet... but near the bus terminals, I met enough scam artists and potential theives that I am now keeping a far closer eye on my stuff, bargaining a whole lot more aggressively, and trying desperately to avoid bus terminals!
I´m still not quite sure what happened time number one. I lost a little under $200 from the bag I was carrying, tossing on top of vans, and stashing in hotel rooms. The good news is that my passport, credit card, drivers license, cell phone, and stash of original 15th century romantic poetry were all left intact. (I honestly don´t know what I would have done on the bus ride without crackly pages of old poems to flip through!)
The second time was far les direct, but far more personally embarassing. At the El Salvador border, I decided to change some Quetzales into dollars (given the first robbery, I no longer had any of those available!). I´m pretty good at math, and pretty good at thinking on my feet, and yet, when the shady looking fellow with the giant stack of bills offered me $31 dollars for 410Q at a 1:7.6 exchange rate, I didn´t really object. I mean, after all, his calculator said 31 on it, and he sounded so nice and sincere. In the US, I think I would have caught the scam for what it was in a matter of seconds, but I´m learning that it´s not just difficult to talk in a new foreign language, it´s difficult to think coherently and quickly in one! That fact was doubly put on display when, right after rip off number one, I handed my passport to a shabbily dressed fellow who assured me he was an official Salvadorean border official... despite the fact that I had just seen everyone else on my bus walk into a cement building clearly labeled emigración. Fortunately, my brain turned on a little more quickly during the second go-round, and with a little American pushiness combined with a little pidgin spanish, I got my passport back sin problema.
I´m still trying to be very open to meeting new people and trusting the folks I meet... but near the bus terminals, I met enough scam artists and potential theives that I am now keeping a far closer eye on my stuff, bargaining a whole lot more aggressively, and trying desperately to avoid bus terminals!
Más diferencias
Before even reading this, head to www.justapparel.org. It´s the website of a nonprofit organization started by two friends of my roommate, both of whom live in Santiago de Atilan Guatemala. Just Apparel--and the women it works with--are half of what amounts to the largest study in contrast I´ve yet seen on this trip. The other half of that study are the expats who live along Lago Atilan, many of whom frequent La Posada, the hotel and restaurant I stayed at and at which Heidi and Ryan (the founders of Just Apparel) have been living for the past year.
Just Apparel sells hand embroidered clothing to big groups in the US. (Feel free to place big orders!) In doing so, they´re able to create a living wage job market for former residents of Panabaj, all the victims of a 2005 mudslide that completely razed the town, and all of whom currently live in the USAID tarps that they have called home for the past three years. Equally important, the women working with Just Apparel will be able to manage the profits from the endeavor through a sister NGO incorporated in Guatemala, creating social projects in their town. To me, Heidi and Ryan reflect the best of America: People willing to put themselves in a near impossible situation because of an intense desire to improve the world. And, the women they work with reflect the best of humanity: An ability to thrive and a desire to work for a better life, despite unfathomable odds and scores of implicit messages that scream they aren´t worth anything.
The contrast to all of this: The expats that inhabit the Posada. In the middle of Guatemala, surrounded by poverty, is an oasis where Americans can live like kings, staying in gorgeous bunagalows for $40 a night; having meals in a giant stone building with windows overlooking with lake; buying cocaine with little or no challenge; and being waited on, respected, and treated with the utmost courtesy by dilligent Guatemalteco waiters. All this, less than five minutes from a village flattened by mud and gifted tarps by USAID. I realize I have no right to pass judgment, but the fact that expats can live like kings (despite, I surmise, being completely unable to handle life in the US) thanks to an accident of skin color and a fortunate exchange rate--while Guatemaltecos are trapped in poverty--angers me quite a bit. Of course... I´m then reminded that the only reason I can travel here for a month is that I too have been gifted with a fortunate exchange rate and a wonderful accident of birth to a supportive family.
If you have a church, school, or group that needs shirts, skip the screen printing and get in touch with Just Apparel. The work is amazing. (And, it will help me assuage my terrible American guilt!)
Just Apparel sells hand embroidered clothing to big groups in the US. (Feel free to place big orders!) In doing so, they´re able to create a living wage job market for former residents of Panabaj, all the victims of a 2005 mudslide that completely razed the town, and all of whom currently live in the USAID tarps that they have called home for the past three years. Equally important, the women working with Just Apparel will be able to manage the profits from the endeavor through a sister NGO incorporated in Guatemala, creating social projects in their town. To me, Heidi and Ryan reflect the best of America: People willing to put themselves in a near impossible situation because of an intense desire to improve the world. And, the women they work with reflect the best of humanity: An ability to thrive and a desire to work for a better life, despite unfathomable odds and scores of implicit messages that scream they aren´t worth anything.
The contrast to all of this: The expats that inhabit the Posada. In the middle of Guatemala, surrounded by poverty, is an oasis where Americans can live like kings, staying in gorgeous bunagalows for $40 a night; having meals in a giant stone building with windows overlooking with lake; buying cocaine with little or no challenge; and being waited on, respected, and treated with the utmost courtesy by dilligent Guatemalteco waiters. All this, less than five minutes from a village flattened by mud and gifted tarps by USAID. I realize I have no right to pass judgment, but the fact that expats can live like kings (despite, I surmise, being completely unable to handle life in the US) thanks to an accident of skin color and a fortunate exchange rate--while Guatemaltecos are trapped in poverty--angers me quite a bit. Of course... I´m then reminded that the only reason I can travel here for a month is that I too have been gifted with a fortunate exchange rate and a wonderful accident of birth to a supportive family.
If you have a church, school, or group that needs shirts, skip the screen printing and get in touch with Just Apparel. The work is amazing. (And, it will help me assuage my terrible American guilt!)
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Las lanchas (y... se fue la luz!... y... no hay internet en el bus!)
Hola amigos! It´s probably best to pretend this was written a few nights ago. Alas, a lack of internet access (or the energy to hunt it down) while on the road, and a pair of power outages in Managua last night kept me from writing it until today!
The topic? One of my new favorite forms of travel: La lancha. A lancha (there are many) is sort of like a chicken bus for the water, complete with conductors running up and down the beach loudly advertising their boats and subtly ignoring the question of price until you bring it up. Fortunately, the lanchas don´t seem to be quite as packed as the chicken buses. Each seats about 20 people in a few rows of bench seats, and drivers seem to realize that to put too many more in would result in putting the little motor boat at the bottom of the lake.
I took my first lancha Saturday afternoon, en route to Santiago Atilan on Lago Atilan, Guatemala´s stunning candidate for wonder of the natural world. The lake earns it´s reputation: A giant crater lake, surrounded by volcanoes and a lush green forest, all many thousand feet above sea level, resulting in a pocked of the world filled with natural beauty and (what I have been told is) an eternal spring.
On my first ride, I somehow managed to find myself the only passenger in the boat of a Guatemalteco on his way home (although, I´d be lying if I didn´t admit to wondering if this might be an elaborate plan to mug me... more on criminal acts later). As a general rule, I don´t think I get sea sick. At least, I´ve never before been sick on a oat. So, I have to guess that the queasy feeling in my stomach came more form the sounds of cracking wood I heard each time the boat crested a wave than it did from the waves themselves! The next ride was much smoother. Riding a chicken bus a few days later, I came to really miss the happy, spacious lanchas!
The topic? One of my new favorite forms of travel: La lancha. A lancha (there are many) is sort of like a chicken bus for the water, complete with conductors running up and down the beach loudly advertising their boats and subtly ignoring the question of price until you bring it up. Fortunately, the lanchas don´t seem to be quite as packed as the chicken buses. Each seats about 20 people in a few rows of bench seats, and drivers seem to realize that to put too many more in would result in putting the little motor boat at the bottom of the lake.
I took my first lancha Saturday afternoon, en route to Santiago Atilan on Lago Atilan, Guatemala´s stunning candidate for wonder of the natural world. The lake earns it´s reputation: A giant crater lake, surrounded by volcanoes and a lush green forest, all many thousand feet above sea level, resulting in a pocked of the world filled with natural beauty and (what I have been told is) an eternal spring.
On my first ride, I somehow managed to find myself the only passenger in the boat of a Guatemalteco on his way home (although, I´d be lying if I didn´t admit to wondering if this might be an elaborate plan to mug me... more on criminal acts later). As a general rule, I don´t think I get sea sick. At least, I´ve never before been sick on a oat. So, I have to guess that the queasy feeling in my stomach came more form the sounds of cracking wood I heard each time the boat crested a wave than it did from the waves themselves! The next ride was much smoother. Riding a chicken bus a few days later, I came to really miss the happy, spacious lanchas!
Nicaragua!
After several days on the road, by boat, tuk tuk, taxi, and bus, I've arrived safely in Managua. On the way here, I passed through Panajachel, Santiago de Atilan, El Salvador, and Honduras; spent more hours than I would like to count sitting on a bus; got to know some older gentleman from Nicaragua, a couple from Ireland, and a girl from Argentina; and learned a quite bit more than I would like about traveling safely! A few more 'catch up' blog entries will follow now that I've found a computer. Tomorrow morning, I'm off to Isle de Ometepe in Lago Nicaragua! Only three days left...
Friday, July 18, 2008
¡Adios Xela!
After three weeks living in Xela, taking spanish courses at ICA, and living with a host family, I´m moving on. The final week of my trip will be a whirlind of travel, first to Lago Atilan, and then on to Nicaragua by Bus, passing through El Salvador and Honduras along the way. I´m excited to be on the road again, but also a little sad. I came to really like the city of Xelaju, made some great new friends, had a wonderful time with my family, and was beginning to feel quite at home. Before I leave, some final, quite random observations and thoughts about my time in Xela:
Las Tiendas
It seems that any building or home located on any even sort-of-kind-of-major street has a small store in front of it. Some of these sell tortillas; others sell children´s clothing; some sell random knicknacks; and some seemingly sell nothing. I haven´t quite yet figured out how the economy can support this many stores (hopefully, business school will help in this department...), but what is almost even more striking than their prevelance is the relatively constant naming convention: "Tienda"/type of tienda + person´s name. It´s an amazingly efficient way to title businesses. Although, how they actually paint the names on the walls given how often it rains is still a mystery...
Two stores on cuarto calle, near my house.
Las armas
In addition to just having lots of stores, Xela also seems to have a lot of protection for it´s stores. Every fifth or sixth business seems to have someone standing out in front with a large rifle, sometimes in uniform, sometimes not. Not surprisingly, the folks with the rifles do not seem excited about having their pictures taken, and I´m a little reluctant to snap a photo of an armed person after they´ve politely said no. I was able to covertly snap this shot of an electronics store a few blocks north of my spanish school.
The armed guard at a small electronics store, about three blocks north of ICA.
Las aceras estrechas
The (very) narrow sidewalks. The sidewalks down here took some getting used. At most, they fit about two folks abreast... although, even that is generous; they seem to vary in height from between a few inches above street level, to nearly a yard above the roads; and, the flat surfaces are punctuated with frequent slopes down towards the street. All of this has the net effect of making them fairly tricky to walk along. None of this would be worth mentioning were it not for the fact that the streets themselves, after most rainstorms, begin to resemble rivers. Result: After three weeks, I have a suprisingly high degree of comfort with wet feet!
Agua caliente
Hot water for showers is handled in what strikes me as a truly brilliant way down here. Rather than heat the water in a giant tank where it could eventually grow cold, a small gas-powered device is hooked up to the outside of the shower, heating the water on it´s way to the showerhead. Hot water elsewhere in the house (I´m coming to agree) isn´t all that imporant, and the showerside heater is suprisingly efficient. Whether it would work in a New England winter remains to be seen.
Telma y Luís
These two are the family that took me and a few other students up to Momostenango to learn how some of the traditional products of the indigenous inhabitants of Guatemala are made. I bump into one of them every few days, either on the streets of Xela or in ICA, selling their goods. I can´t help but smile every time I see them: Mostly, because they´re happy, wonderful people who always remember my name, but also a little bit because, well, they´re Telma and Luís.
Luis and I on a bench in ICA.
Telma at work spinning wool in her house.
"Tenango"
I still have no idea what this means, despite it being part of the name of just about every city in the highlands. Quetzaltenango. Momostenango. Huehuetenango. Chichicastenango. The list goes on. As far as I´ve been able to discern, it´s a Qui´che phrase for something... but no one (not even my Mayan mother) seems to know what!
Guatemadre
The most important, last. My guatemalan family--Flory, my guatemom; Ibahn, one of her sons; and the extended family, consisting of three other sons, a daughter, nine grand children, and countless brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, and grandnieces/nephews--have been wonderful. Down her, it seems fairly common to have huespeds stay with one´s family for an extended period of time, but I still find it wonderful that someone I just met (and who is getting paid, at most, $50 a week) could take me in, feed me three meals a day, and put up with my pidgin spanish through conversation after conversation, without even the smallest complaint!
Flory in the kitchen, making eggs and beans (a breakfast and dinner staple).
My casa! My room is on the left, the bathroom is straight ahead, the kitchen and living room are to the right, Ibahn is visible in the background, and--if you look very closely near the bathroom--you can see the real reason I had such a great time: A small stuffed monkey hanging from the clothesline!
Tomorrow morning, I´m off. As I leave the highlands, I´m hoping to retire the fleece vest until next winter. But rain and relative cold aside, I´m going to miss this place and all of the wonderful people I met here. ¡Adios, Xela!
Xela from the roof of ICA on one of the few clear mornings we´ve had here.
Las Tiendas
It seems that any building or home located on any even sort-of-kind-of-major street has a small store in front of it. Some of these sell tortillas; others sell children´s clothing; some sell random knicknacks; and some seemingly sell nothing. I haven´t quite yet figured out how the economy can support this many stores (hopefully, business school will help in this department...), but what is almost even more striking than their prevelance is the relatively constant naming convention: "Tienda"/type of tienda + person´s name. It´s an amazingly efficient way to title businesses. Although, how they actually paint the names on the walls given how often it rains is still a mystery...
Two stores on cuarto calle, near my house.Las armas
In addition to just having lots of stores, Xela also seems to have a lot of protection for it´s stores. Every fifth or sixth business seems to have someone standing out in front with a large rifle, sometimes in uniform, sometimes not. Not surprisingly, the folks with the rifles do not seem excited about having their pictures taken, and I´m a little reluctant to snap a photo of an armed person after they´ve politely said no. I was able to covertly snap this shot of an electronics store a few blocks north of my spanish school.
The armed guard at a small electronics store, about three blocks north of ICA.Las aceras estrechas
The (very) narrow sidewalks. The sidewalks down here took some getting used. At most, they fit about two folks abreast... although, even that is generous; they seem to vary in height from between a few inches above street level, to nearly a yard above the roads; and, the flat surfaces are punctuated with frequent slopes down towards the street. All of this has the net effect of making them fairly tricky to walk along. None of this would be worth mentioning were it not for the fact that the streets themselves, after most rainstorms, begin to resemble rivers. Result: After three weeks, I have a suprisingly high degree of comfort with wet feet!
Agua caliente
Hot water for showers is handled in what strikes me as a truly brilliant way down here. Rather than heat the water in a giant tank where it could eventually grow cold, a small gas-powered device is hooked up to the outside of the shower, heating the water on it´s way to the showerhead. Hot water elsewhere in the house (I´m coming to agree) isn´t all that imporant, and the showerside heater is suprisingly efficient. Whether it would work in a New England winter remains to be seen.
Telma y Luís
These two are the family that took me and a few other students up to Momostenango to learn how some of the traditional products of the indigenous inhabitants of Guatemala are made. I bump into one of them every few days, either on the streets of Xela or in ICA, selling their goods. I can´t help but smile every time I see them: Mostly, because they´re happy, wonderful people who always remember my name, but also a little bit because, well, they´re Telma and Luís.
Luis and I on a bench in ICA.
Telma at work spinning wool in her house."Tenango"
I still have no idea what this means, despite it being part of the name of just about every city in the highlands. Quetzaltenango. Momostenango. Huehuetenango. Chichicastenango. The list goes on. As far as I´ve been able to discern, it´s a Qui´che phrase for something... but no one (not even my Mayan mother) seems to know what!
Guatemadre
The most important, last. My guatemalan family--Flory, my guatemom; Ibahn, one of her sons; and the extended family, consisting of three other sons, a daughter, nine grand children, and countless brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, and grandnieces/nephews--have been wonderful. Down her, it seems fairly common to have huespeds stay with one´s family for an extended period of time, but I still find it wonderful that someone I just met (and who is getting paid, at most, $50 a week) could take me in, feed me three meals a day, and put up with my pidgin spanish through conversation after conversation, without even the smallest complaint!
Flory in the kitchen, making eggs and beans (a breakfast and dinner staple).
My casa! My room is on the left, the bathroom is straight ahead, the kitchen and living room are to the right, Ibahn is visible in the background, and--if you look very closely near the bathroom--you can see the real reason I had such a great time: A small stuffed monkey hanging from the clothesline! Tomorrow morning, I´m off. As I leave the highlands, I´m hoping to retire the fleece vest until next winter. But rain and relative cold aside, I´m going to miss this place and all of the wonderful people I met here. ¡Adios, Xela!
Xela from the roof of ICA on one of the few clear mornings we´ve had here. Thursday, July 17, 2008
Se fue la luz
For the most part, Guatemala seems to have a fairly solid electricity infrastructure. But, if California can experience the occasional brown out, I suppose it´s only fair to allow that Quetzaltenango can as well. Each of the past three days, la luz se ha sido. In other words, se fue la luz. In other (more english) words, the light left--a simple way of saying the power went out, which becomes especially endearing when said by a sweet, diminutive guatemalan grandmother, and preceded by a gently gasped "Ay dios mio! Se fue la luz!"
Last night, the power shut down as I was trying to cook up an American style dinner of pasta and veggies for my host mom, her son, and Andrè, one of her nietos. With a candle in hand and two burners going, we finished the pasta and ate by candle light in what was one of the most fun evenings I´ve had down here! A lack of real language skills becomes a lot less important when you have lots of interesting things to point at and mumble about! (In trying to teach André Go Fish, I discovered the same is true of card games... although, a stronger recollection of the rules probably would have been helpful!)
Later that night, the lack of power also gave me a wonderful opportunity to erase any doubt in the minds of Quetzaltengans that I am, in fact, a gringo: Just in case the bright orange "high performance" t-shirt, black fleece vest, gray running shoes, scraggly beard, and pasty white skin weren´t proof enough, the headlamp I put on to walk to a salsa class slapped an excamation point on the phrase ¡Yo soy Gringo! The salsa class turned out to have been cancelled on account of the light, but the small children I walked past had no end of amusement at the pale, tall man walking past their stores with a car´s headlamp strapped to his cabeza! On the way back, I carried the light in my hand.
Hasta pronto, amigos!
Last night, the power shut down as I was trying to cook up an American style dinner of pasta and veggies for my host mom, her son, and Andrè, one of her nietos. With a candle in hand and two burners going, we finished the pasta and ate by candle light in what was one of the most fun evenings I´ve had down here! A lack of real language skills becomes a lot less important when you have lots of interesting things to point at and mumble about! (In trying to teach André Go Fish, I discovered the same is true of card games... although, a stronger recollection of the rules probably would have been helpful!)
Later that night, the lack of power also gave me a wonderful opportunity to erase any doubt in the minds of Quetzaltengans that I am, in fact, a gringo: Just in case the bright orange "high performance" t-shirt, black fleece vest, gray running shoes, scraggly beard, and pasty white skin weren´t proof enough, the headlamp I put on to walk to a salsa class slapped an excamation point on the phrase ¡Yo soy Gringo! The salsa class turned out to have been cancelled on account of the light, but the small children I walked past had no end of amusement at the pale, tall man walking past their stores with a car´s headlamp strapped to his cabeza! On the way back, I carried the light in my hand.
Hasta pronto, amigos!
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
La Mayonesa
The Guatemalans and I seem to agree on a lot of things: sleeping is good; George Bush is bad; cerveza is an important part of life. Unfortunately, we seem to disagree on one very major topic: Appropriate uses for mayoinaise. I´m of the opinion that mayonaise should be used rarely, if ever. Perhaps the occasional potato salad or club sandwich requires a bit of congealed oil, but most of the time, it´s better to leave the stuff tightly sealed in a refrigerated jar. Down here, the opinion seems to be that most, if not all, foods require the addition of mayonesa--preferably, a lot of mayonesa--in order to be muy rico! Sanwiches. Mayonaise. Fried stuff. Mayonaise. Corn on the cob. Mayonaise. Hot dogs. Lots and lots of mayonaise.
It was after this last one that I had to fess up to my Guatemom* that I, in truth, really don´t like mayonaise. Being the wonderful woman she is, mayonaise has disappeared from my food (replaced, on sanwiches at least, with a healthy layer of butter...). Fortunately, my moderate fear for the slimy white goo hasn´t forced it out of the country. In bottles, jars, and bags, it is here to stay.
Me in the local Paiz grocery store, having fun in the mayonesa aisle. The expresion on the clerk´s face when I asked her to take a picture of me with a bag of mayonaise was priceless. (Yes, bag of mayo... everything you see here is a bag of mayo.)
Advertising Guatemala´s favorite delicacy. Yep. It´s a hot dog. With mayonaise! ¡Que Rico!
*Guatemom: Guatemalan host mom. Muchas gracias to Timoteo--an english professor from Chicago, en route to New York for some more studies, who has quickly become one of my favorite travel friends--for coining such a brilliant phrase!
It was after this last one that I had to fess up to my Guatemom* that I, in truth, really don´t like mayonaise. Being the wonderful woman she is, mayonaise has disappeared from my food (replaced, on sanwiches at least, with a healthy layer of butter...). Fortunately, my moderate fear for the slimy white goo hasn´t forced it out of the country. In bottles, jars, and bags, it is here to stay.
Me in the local Paiz grocery store, having fun in the mayonesa aisle. The expresion on the clerk´s face when I asked her to take a picture of me with a bag of mayonaise was priceless. (Yes, bag of mayo... everything you see here is a bag of mayo.)
Advertising Guatemala´s favorite delicacy. Yep. It´s a hot dog. With mayonaise! ¡Que Rico!*Guatemom: Guatemalan host mom. Muchas gracias to Timoteo--an english professor from Chicago, en route to New York for some more studies, who has quickly become one of my favorite travel friends--for coining such a brilliant phrase!
Estoy aprendiendo... poco a poco
Yesterday, I booked a bus ticket to Nicaragua... in spanish... over the phone! I have to admit, I´m a little bit impressed with myself for pullng that one off! But, I´m even more impressed with just how patient the woman on the other end of the line--and just about everyone else down here--has been with my bumbling spanish.
I can´t really imagine the phone operator for an American bus company putting up for too long with a slow talking foreigner who really enjoyed the phrase "I don´t know? Wait? Say that again?" to questions like "What is your birthday?". Nor can I imagine that there are too many other places where the person on the other end of the phone would genty suggest to a heavily accented fellow that his name is probably not spelled "Mattjew Tjomas". (In my defense, the spanish j really sounds like it should be an h!)
Over the past few weeks, I have been equivocarme-ing non stop with the language, repeatedly breaking out brilliant phrases that roughtly translate to "Wake up yourself good" in place of "Sleep well"; or "Can I pass me to the bottle of hot" when I was really hoping someone might pass the hot sauce; or "I am in love with the beer" instead of "I´d like a beer please" to the perpetually bemused waiter. Fortunately for me, and the other gringos in centro america, the reaction of the guatemaltecas has simply been to smile, offer a subtle correction, and reassure me that I speak "bastante"... for a gringo!
(Estoy aprendiendo poco a poco = I´m learning... little by little!)
I can´t really imagine the phone operator for an American bus company putting up for too long with a slow talking foreigner who really enjoyed the phrase "I don´t know? Wait? Say that again?" to questions like "What is your birthday?". Nor can I imagine that there are too many other places where the person on the other end of the phone would genty suggest to a heavily accented fellow that his name is probably not spelled "Mattjew Tjomas". (In my defense, the spanish j really sounds like it should be an h!)
Over the past few weeks, I have been equivocarme-ing non stop with the language, repeatedly breaking out brilliant phrases that roughtly translate to "Wake up yourself good" in place of "Sleep well"; or "Can I pass me to the bottle of hot" when I was really hoping someone might pass the hot sauce; or "I am in love with the beer" instead of "I´d like a beer please" to the perpetually bemused waiter. Fortunately for me, and the other gringos in centro america, the reaction of the guatemaltecas has simply been to smile, offer a subtle correction, and reassure me that I speak "bastante"... for a gringo!
(Estoy aprendiendo poco a poco = I´m learning... little by little!)
Monday, July 14, 2008
Lava... y más pollos
Intellectually, I´ve understand since second grade that lava was quite hot. Until this weekend, I don´t think I appreciated quite appreciated how much heat is really required to melt rock. Early sunday morning, I went with a group of other students to the top of Volcán Pacaya, which is one of Guatemala´s three active volcanoes, and one of the most impressive displays of nature I´ve ever been close to! I was literally able to stand on a rock that was hot enough to boil the water I poured on it, while watching rock ooze down a slope and while poking a stick into a tiny rivulet of lava closer by. Of course, after the photo op, I quickly jumped off the rock for fear of my shoes melting! I´m fairly sure that there is nowhere in the US where someone would be allowed to get within a hundred feet of lava, let alone five. It makes driving through a country without guardrails (and with very steep cliffs) completely worth it!
A lava flow from about 10 feet away.
Me on top of vocán Pacayay. Look closely at where the stick is pointing.
The trip to Pacaya and back to Xela was a study in the contrasts Guatemala has to offer. To get to the volcano, four other students and I spent Saturday in Antigua--a gorgeous colonial town, about 4 hours from Xela--that doubles as the tourist capital of the country, where I ate in a German restaurant, complete with weinerschnizel, a German language menu and a Guatemalteca waitress dressed in leiderhosen. The hike to the top was similarly tourist friendly--horses walked up and down the (very) gently sloping trail to pick up any travelers that might have grown a bit tired.
The trip back to Xela was 100% Guatemalan, and my most exciting experience on a chicken bus to date! This time around, I didn´t just get to see Guatemaltecas standing in the aisle while each seat was filled with three people... I got to spend the first half hour standing in the aisle, where I learned that the handhold that run along the top of the bus are less useful for keeping one´s balance (the throng of people on all four sides of my took care of that no problem!), but far more valuable for using to pull oneself towards the back of the bus through otherwise impassible spaces! After three bus changes, two completely unexpected, we made it back to Xela just before nightfall, completely safe and lava-burn free!
¡Hasta pronto!
A lava flow from about 10 feet away.
Me on top of vocán Pacayay. Look closely at where the stick is pointing.The trip back to Xela was 100% Guatemalan, and my most exciting experience on a chicken bus to date! This time around, I didn´t just get to see Guatemaltecas standing in the aisle while each seat was filled with three people... I got to spend the first half hour standing in the aisle, where I learned that the handhold that run along the top of the bus are less useful for keeping one´s balance (the throng of people on all four sides of my took care of that no problem!), but far more valuable for using to pull oneself towards the back of the bus through otherwise impassible spaces! After three bus changes, two completely unexpected, we made it back to Xela just before nightfall, completely safe and lava-burn free!
¡Hasta pronto!
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Chocolate
One of my favorite english words happens to translate quite nicely into Spanish, especially Guatemalan spanish. On the coast, where rains are steader, temperatures are higher, and the soil is outstanding, Guatemalans grow cacao trees (among many other things). I´m sure much of this is shipped abroad to Hershey, Mars, and lord knows who else. But a few of the cacao pods get shipped to Victoria (after a week, I finally remembered!), who roasts the seeds and makes chococolate in here house here in Xela.
Standing up close to chocolate being ground, mixed with sugar, and pressed -- all in a room the size of a generous walk in closet -- puts the smells of Hershey to shame! Eating chocolate right out of a press is ane experience I very much want to relive. Even better: Almost all the chocolate you can buy down here is for mixing into hot water and drinking. I wish I´d brought a bigger backpack... Swiss Miss just isn´t going to be the same!
Victoria grinding cacao
Some pods and some finished products -- the
Standing up close to chocolate being ground, mixed with sugar, and pressed -- all in a room the size of a generous walk in closet -- puts the smells of Hershey to shame! Eating chocolate right out of a press is ane experience I very much want to relive. Even better: Almost all the chocolate you can buy down here is for mixing into hot water and drinking. I wish I´d brought a bigger backpack... Swiss Miss just isn´t going to be the same!
Victoria grinding cacao
Some pods and some finished products -- theWednesday, July 9, 2008
¡Buenas!
I think I´ve found my new favorite phrase: Buenas. It took me a few days to understand exactly what it was people were saying to me on the street every morning, afternoon, and evening, but I think I´ve cracked the accent code! It´s "Buenas" -- "good", as in good morning, good afternoon, good night, good luck, good haircut. I love it! So short, so simple, so kind!
Entonces amigos... ¡Buenas!
Entonces amigos... ¡Buenas!
Educacíon Bilinguë
Early yesterday morning, I had the chance to take a microbus (read: minivan) to a bilingual school about 40km outside of Xela in an especially rural, agricultural part of Guatemala. The two languages: Español and Mayamam, one of the many Mayan languages still spoken by families in rural parts of the country.
It was at once a fascinating, uplifting, and troubling experience. Fascinating in part because of the drive itself--about an hour and a half over primarily dirt roads (with the occasionally intervening paved strech that seemingly popped out of nowhere!), including one especially narrow, especially muddy bridge that left me grateful to live in a country where guardrails are required!--and fascinating in part because of the school itself--a formerly clandestine operation, now approved by the government of Guatemala and funded by the government of Japan. It was uplifting for many of the reasons one might suspect: Happy children are infectious; it is wonderful to see opportunities being created both to preserve a language and culture and to increase the odds that children in a rural area might go to college.
It was troubling to know how few of the students would actually make it there: Only one in 200 would finish university. Despite that and limited funds--or perhaps because of it--all of us who showed up were treated like kings! The students put on performances; some folks in the community cooked us an enormous meal; the teachers brought us a giant bottle of rum. (Drinking rum at 1:00 in the afternoon, in a school, with teachers, before going to talk to students about dental hygiene in spanish, is not an experience I expect to have often!) Being here, much like being in Mississippi, reminds me of how great an influence the accident of birth has on life. It also reminds me that, regardless of birth, there are happy people everywhere.
Some of the Mam students at the school.
It was at once a fascinating, uplifting, and troubling experience. Fascinating in part because of the drive itself--about an hour and a half over primarily dirt roads (with the occasionally intervening paved strech that seemingly popped out of nowhere!), including one especially narrow, especially muddy bridge that left me grateful to live in a country where guardrails are required!--and fascinating in part because of the school itself--a formerly clandestine operation, now approved by the government of Guatemala and funded by the government of Japan. It was uplifting for many of the reasons one might suspect: Happy children are infectious; it is wonderful to see opportunities being created both to preserve a language and culture and to increase the odds that children in a rural area might go to college.
It was troubling to know how few of the students would actually make it there: Only one in 200 would finish university. Despite that and limited funds--or perhaps because of it--all of us who showed up were treated like kings! The students put on performances; some folks in the community cooked us an enormous meal; the teachers brought us a giant bottle of rum. (Drinking rum at 1:00 in the afternoon, in a school, with teachers, before going to talk to students about dental hygiene in spanish, is not an experience I expect to have often!) Being here, much like being in Mississippi, reminds me of how great an influence the accident of birth has on life. It also reminds me that, regardless of birth, there are happy people everywhere.
Some of the Mam students at the school.Monday, July 7, 2008
Coger el coche
One of the many things I´ve learned down here is that the español de Guatemala es muy diferente que el español de España. (And, as any self respecting Guatemalteca would argue, quite vociferously, the spanish of Guatemala is far superior!)
My favorite difference thus far: The rather innocent sounding phrase, "Voy a coger el coche." In spain (and accroding to my high school spanish), this very simply means, "I´m going to chose a car," something I´m hoping to do shortly after getting back from Central America.
Down here, the slightly less innocent phrase means something akin to I´m about to have coital relations* with a pig. I´m learning very carefully to coger my words very carefully!
Buenas dias, amigos!
*Of course, the phrase "have coital relations" should be replaced with your favorite, slightly more vulgar, expression!
My favorite difference thus far: The rather innocent sounding phrase, "Voy a coger el coche." In spain (and accroding to my high school spanish), this very simply means, "I´m going to chose a car," something I´m hoping to do shortly after getting back from Central America.
Down here, the slightly less innocent phrase means something akin to I´m about to have coital relations* with a pig. I´m learning very carefully to coger my words very carefully!
Buenas dias, amigos!
*Of course, the phrase "have coital relations" should be replaced with your favorite, slightly more vulgar, expression!
Saturday, July 5, 2008
Dos volcanes y tres perros
This morning, I hiked my first volcano. It was exhausting, exhilirating, beautiful... pretty much everything I could have hoped for (except, I´m sure to my mother´s relief!, lava).
For the first time since coming to Xela, I was grateful for the rooster, who helped me jump out of bed just after five. I tossed some water, bread, and a rain coat into a bag; hopped into the back of a pickup for a twenty minute ride over dirt roads, and pulled up at the bottom of Santa Maria -- a 3700 meter dormant volcano, located next to Santiaguito, a slightly smaller, very active volcano.
The 9km (like how I´ve gone metric after just a week!?) hike to the top took about four hours with some occasional water/exhaustion breaks. By the time we reached the top, we´d crossed the tree line and the cloud line, the second being a new, surreal experience. At the tip of the volcano, we were well above the clouds, through which we could see small towns, mountains many miles away, and--twice in the hour we were up there--Santiaguito erupting, launching a miniature mushroom cloud into the sky.
For the first time since coming to Xela, I was grateful for the rooster, who helped me jump out of bed just after five. I tossed some water, bread, and a rain coat into a bag; hopped into the back of a pickup for a twenty minute ride over dirt roads, and pulled up at the bottom of Santa Maria -- a 3700 meter dormant volcano, located next to Santiaguito, a slightly smaller, very active volcano.
The 9km (like how I´ve gone metric after just a week!?) hike to the top took about four hours with some occasional water/exhaustion breaks. By the time we reached the top, we´d crossed the tree line and the cloud line, the second being a new, surreal experience. At the tip of the volcano, we were well above the clouds, through which we could see small towns, mountains many miles away, and--twice in the hour we were up there--Santiaguito erupting, launching a miniature mushroom cloud into the sky.
Along the way up, we also made some new friends. At our first break from hiking we picked up a small dog who seemed to have mastered the fine art of begging food from gringos. Within a few hours, we´d picked up two more! Delta flashbacks were not something I´d expected to have on the side of a volcano, but I´m beginning to think every rural part of the world is filled eiher with dogs or monkeys. Hopefully, I´ll encounter more of the laer soon!
Friday, July 4, 2008
La primera semana
La primera semana (the first week) at language school has come to an end. The whole experience has been wonderful. After spending a few days in a total blur, wondering how my spanish speaking ability could grow so much worse so very quickly, I feel like I´m finally starting to make some progress! I can occasionally understand the telenovelas my host grandmother likes to watch; I´ve been able to have some real conversations with my teacher and my host family on topics ranging from George Bush to the Guatemala Civil War; and I think I understand el preterito!
Spending a week largely immersed in another language and another culture (excepting, for rhetorical purposes, the frequent interactions with other gringos in my school, several of whom I´ve come to truly like and others of whom I´m excited to get to know) has stretched my thinking in other ways as well. I´ve developed a far greater appreciation for ESL students in the United States, and hope that I will be far more patient with the tourists who frequent Boston. I think -- although dare not presume to much -- I can empaphize a bit with autistics. It would require many hands to count the number of times I´ve had something insightful or deep to say but completely lacked the faculty to express it to the people around me. In just a week, I´ve come to appreciate the extent to which technology, systems, and infrastructure in America facilitate everyday life. I spent two days this week trying to find a functioning ATM at a bank that had electricity so I could take out money to pay for next week´s classes. It seems like my host grandmother spends a large part of her day walking to the market to buy food for the next day´s meals. Life is pleasantly slow here, but in large part because it isn´t able to move much faster!
The rain is about to start once more, so I´m off to dinner and then early to bed. Tomorrow is the first volcano hike. Hasta pronto mis amigos!
Spending a week largely immersed in another language and another culture (excepting, for rhetorical purposes, the frequent interactions with other gringos in my school, several of whom I´ve come to truly like and others of whom I´m excited to get to know) has stretched my thinking in other ways as well. I´ve developed a far greater appreciation for ESL students in the United States, and hope that I will be far more patient with the tourists who frequent Boston. I think -- although dare not presume to much -- I can empaphize a bit with autistics. It would require many hands to count the number of times I´ve had something insightful or deep to say but completely lacked the faculty to express it to the people around me. In just a week, I´ve come to appreciate the extent to which technology, systems, and infrastructure in America facilitate everyday life. I spent two days this week trying to find a functioning ATM at a bank that had electricity so I could take out money to pay for next week´s classes. It seems like my host grandmother spends a large part of her day walking to the market to buy food for the next day´s meals. Life is pleasantly slow here, but in large part because it isn´t able to move much faster!
The rain is about to start once more, so I´m off to dinner and then early to bed. Tomorrow is the first volcano hike. Hasta pronto mis amigos!
Some introspections
I´m about halfway through a book that a friend gave me before I left: Indecision. The main character, as the title might suggest, is a bit directionless. Without going into too much detail about the book (which is quite good, by the way) I´m struck by the extent to which I empaphize with him. Without question, I´ve made many good decisions in life. But, I´m still struggling to figure out what they all add up to. I´m sure this isn´t a unique sentiment, but removed from the pleasant, every day distractions that my cell phone, laptop, friends, and god-knows-what-else afford, the doubt and questioning strike me especially clearly. At the end of my life, who do I really want to be?
Traveling alone, not surprisingly, is a bit lonely at times -- especially for a person who is prone to feelings of lonliness! I find myself often saying (in life, but occasionally in Guatemala as well) "I want to go home", usually during moments where I feel a bit scared or out of place or confused. The thing is, I don´t really know what that means. What is my safe space? For a time, I think girlfriends played that role. But now that I´m not in a relationship, that safety net is gone. Like most people (I think), I want something in life that is clear, and safe, and simple, and reasurring.
I´m struggling to figure out where most people find this. Does everyone settle into something? Religion? Work obsession? Relationships? Is this a bad thing? Or is it an essential part of being human? Even a second rate marriage can provide a useful grounding or focal point for life; a sense of purpose and security. But, that strikes me as merely settling. (Clearly, I´ve attached a value judgment to that word, but I´m not sure that I should have.)
I suppose what I really want is to find this safe place and sense of purpose entirely within myself. But, I´m still not quite sure how. I suppose it isn´t indecision I´m wrestling with so much as a sense of uncertainty. I haven´t yet decided where I want to go, or who I aspire to be, or what I stand for. And, as confident as I often appear, I don´t think I´m yet confident that once I make those decisions, I actually have the capacity to create the world I envision.
I´m pretty sure this isn´t a unique set of thoughts. (And I´m also pretty sure it isn´t fully coherent!) But thoughts are always appreciated. Guatemala is a wonderful opportunity to see the world and to learn spanish and to have a set of wonderful adventures. But, just as importantly, it has been a wonderful time to think.
Te vayas bien, amigos!
Traveling alone, not surprisingly, is a bit lonely at times -- especially for a person who is prone to feelings of lonliness! I find myself often saying (in life, but occasionally in Guatemala as well) "I want to go home", usually during moments where I feel a bit scared or out of place or confused. The thing is, I don´t really know what that means. What is my safe space? For a time, I think girlfriends played that role. But now that I´m not in a relationship, that safety net is gone. Like most people (I think), I want something in life that is clear, and safe, and simple, and reasurring.
I´m struggling to figure out where most people find this. Does everyone settle into something? Religion? Work obsession? Relationships? Is this a bad thing? Or is it an essential part of being human? Even a second rate marriage can provide a useful grounding or focal point for life; a sense of purpose and security. But, that strikes me as merely settling. (Clearly, I´ve attached a value judgment to that word, but I´m not sure that I should have.)
I suppose what I really want is to find this safe place and sense of purpose entirely within myself. But, I´m still not quite sure how. I suppose it isn´t indecision I´m wrestling with so much as a sense of uncertainty. I haven´t yet decided where I want to go, or who I aspire to be, or what I stand for. And, as confident as I often appear, I don´t think I´m yet confident that once I make those decisions, I actually have the capacity to create the world I envision.
I´m pretty sure this isn´t a unique set of thoughts. (And I´m also pretty sure it isn´t fully coherent!) But thoughts are always appreciated. Guatemala is a wonderful opportunity to see the world and to learn spanish and to have a set of wonderful adventures. But, just as importantly, it has been a wonderful time to think.
Te vayas bien, amigos!
Thursday, July 3, 2008
La lluvia
The word of the day: La lluvia -- rain. In fact, I think it might actually be the word of the month. Or, every monthy between May and October! Lonely planet warned me Guatemala was going to be rainy this time of the year. So did everyone I know whose been down here! I´m only now beginning to realize just how right everyone was!
This morning, we had a few solid hours of cloud free sunshine. First, Xela is absolutely stunning on a cloud free morning: From the top of my school, which sits atop a hill, you can look around and see mountains in every direction, a volcano in mid-eruption and extraordinarily lush forests. Second, and of far greater importance to me early this morning, the few hours of sunshine provided a wonderful opportunity to put my shoes on the roof of my casa to dry them out! It is wet down here.
This afternoon, the rain provided a stunning backdrop to las Fuentes Georginas, a natural hot spring on the side of a volcano about 30 minutes outside of Xela. Along with a few other students, I sat atop a mountain, surrounded by forests, in a clear, large pool of hot water, while a cool rain splashed down around me and while lighting occasionally lit the sky and thunderclaps gave emphasis to the percussion of the rain.
Hasta muy pronto, mis amigos!
This morning, we had a few solid hours of cloud free sunshine. First, Xela is absolutely stunning on a cloud free morning: From the top of my school, which sits atop a hill, you can look around and see mountains in every direction, a volcano in mid-eruption and extraordinarily lush forests. Second, and of far greater importance to me early this morning, the few hours of sunshine provided a wonderful opportunity to put my shoes on the roof of my casa to dry them out! It is wet down here.
This afternoon, the rain provided a stunning backdrop to las Fuentes Georginas, a natural hot spring on the side of a volcano about 30 minutes outside of Xela. Along with a few other students, I sat atop a mountain, surrounded by forests, in a clear, large pool of hot water, while a cool rain splashed down around me and while lighting occasionally lit the sky and thunderclaps gave emphasis to the percussion of the rain.
Hasta muy pronto, mis amigos!
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
El gallo y el pollo
Yesterday, I discovered two new things in Guatemala: El gallo (the rooster) y el pollo (the chicken). Gallo is one of the two Guatemalan produced beers. It´s good, but nothing special, except for the fact that the factory is very close to my language school, and provides a convenient topic of conversation during otherwise headache inducing lessons on grammar. More interesting than the beer is the rooster -- the real, live rooster -- that lives in the house next to the one I´m staying in. Yesterday, it began it´s crowing at 4:00 am, and continued until I consented to get up around 6. In truth, it´s probably a good thing! Many of you reading this know just how little I like the combination of early mornings and being out of my bed!
El pollo is a staple in Guatemala, less so in the form of food and more so in the form of the ubiquitous chicken busses. After classes yesterday, a few other students and I traveled up to Momostenango, a small town filled with indigenous craftspeople. The visit itself was incredible, but the ride there left a far bigger impression. Shumway, if you´re reading this, everything you described about the chicken buses is true in spades! These buses are old, retired US school buses, with the same interior I remembered from elementary school, but enhanced with a brightly painted multi-color exterior, including a small sign up top indicating the route the bus travels.
Two chicken buses, hoping to pick me up.
Inside the buses are two very important individuals: the driver, and the "helper". I´m not sure which job requires a braver person. The driver was responsible for rapidly popeling the bus forward along windy, muddy, mountain roads; for passing trucks on the uphill; and for narrowly avoiding the other cars, motorcycles, and people in the street. I had a few flashbacks to Inida; Amy, one of the girls from my school who was sitting in front of me, put her head in her lap and almost got sick! The helper spent some of his time winding back through the aisle collecting money from passengers. The rest of his time was spent doing three things: leaning out the bus while moving, either to yell "Momostenango" or look to see when it was safe to pull back into the right lane after passing a bus; and, most impressively, climbing out the back of the moving (quickly moving!) bus and up onto the roof. When we first got on the bus, it was largely empty, but a few stops later, everyone on the bus was sitting three to a seat, and children were standing in the aisles next to the parents! I´m still not completely sure what to make of the chicken bus experience, but I am positive this was the first of many rides por un pollo!
Hasta pronto, amigos!
The inside of a chicken bus
El pollo is a staple in Guatemala, less so in the form of food and more so in the form of the ubiquitous chicken busses. After classes yesterday, a few other students and I traveled up to Momostenango, a small town filled with indigenous craftspeople. The visit itself was incredible, but the ride there left a far bigger impression. Shumway, if you´re reading this, everything you described about the chicken buses is true in spades! These buses are old, retired US school buses, with the same interior I remembered from elementary school, but enhanced with a brightly painted multi-color exterior, including a small sign up top indicating the route the bus travels.
Two chicken buses, hoping to pick me up.Inside the buses are two very important individuals: the driver, and the "helper". I´m not sure which job requires a braver person. The driver was responsible for rapidly popeling the bus forward along windy, muddy, mountain roads; for passing trucks on the uphill; and for narrowly avoiding the other cars, motorcycles, and people in the street. I had a few flashbacks to Inida; Amy, one of the girls from my school who was sitting in front of me, put her head in her lap and almost got sick! The helper spent some of his time winding back through the aisle collecting money from passengers. The rest of his time was spent doing three things: leaning out the bus while moving, either to yell "Momostenango" or look to see when it was safe to pull back into the right lane after passing a bus; and, most impressively, climbing out the back of the moving (quickly moving!) bus and up onto the roof. When we first got on the bus, it was largely empty, but a few stops later, everyone on the bus was sitting three to a seat, and children were standing in the aisles next to the parents! I´m still not completely sure what to make of the chicken bus experience, but I am positive this was the first of many rides por un pollo!
Hasta pronto, amigos!
The inside of a chicken busTuesday, July 1, 2008
Bienvenidos a Guatemala!
Que Bueno! I made it! Getting safely to Quetzaletenango safely seems like it was pretty simple: I flew to Houston, got on a plane to Guatemala City, met someone at the airport, spent a night outside of town, took a bus the next morning to Xela (Quetzaltenango´s shorter, much easier to say name), met my family, and jumped into my first language course.
Somehow, my head is still spinning! Largely, I think, due to the language gap. Sitting down and typing this in ingles is a wonderful respite, but I love the immersion approach to learning.
A few thoughts on mi familia en Guatemala, and more stories later. I´m staying with a very small, sweet woman namd Flory. She´s a grandmother (many times over!). I think she lives by herself, but that desn´t stop the house from being constantly full of children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews, most of whose names I can´t begin to remember! The house itself is made of cinderblocks, and consists of an open courtyard, a small room to one side of the couryard (my home for the next few weeks), a bathroom and outdoor sink to the other side (which seems to be used both for cleaning hands, brushing teeth, doing dishes, and some food preparation), and the main house on the other side of the small courtyard from my room. In there is the kitchen, living room, and (I think) a few bedrooms. The conversations with Flory have, thus far, been very simple (si, yo tengo una hermana. cuantos ninos tiene ud.), but I´m excited to get to know her better and eat lots more beans, rice and eggs!
Hasta pronto, mis amigos!
Somehow, my head is still spinning! Largely, I think, due to the language gap. Sitting down and typing this in ingles is a wonderful respite, but I love the immersion approach to learning.
A few thoughts on mi familia en Guatemala, and more stories later. I´m staying with a very small, sweet woman namd Flory. She´s a grandmother (many times over!). I think she lives by herself, but that desn´t stop the house from being constantly full of children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews, most of whose names I can´t begin to remember! The house itself is made of cinderblocks, and consists of an open courtyard, a small room to one side of the couryard (my home for the next few weeks), a bathroom and outdoor sink to the other side (which seems to be used both for cleaning hands, brushing teeth, doing dishes, and some food preparation), and the main house on the other side of the small courtyard from my room. In there is the kitchen, living room, and (I think) a few bedrooms. The conversations with Flory have, thus far, been very simple (si, yo tengo una hermana. cuantos ninos tiene ud.), but I´m excited to get to know her better and eat lots more beans, rice and eggs!
Hasta pronto, mis amigos!
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