Perspective

If I were writing a book, the title of this week would be “Perspective”. I can hardly believe it’s only Wednesday. I started with my new family on Sunday afternoon. The poverty level at this new home is staggering. The house is roughly the size of the wooden deck at the house I grew up in on Gloucester Ct. On one side of the room is the wood-burning stove and table. On the other side of a half partition are two double-sized beds at best. The house is built of thick sheets of metal, with what appear to be trash bags or heavy plastic covering the gaps. The door is a hinged piece of tin. It is a family of 6, 2 parents, and children ages 13, 10, 7, and 5. The kids are bubbling over with happiness and excitement every time I come visit, and don’t seem bothered by their living situation. It’s their reality, and they know only that. They’re still kids who run and play and laugh and joke just like any others in what I know to be “better” living conditions. The family has been extremely hospitable this week, and again I am thankful for their patience, openness, and massive games of soccer and tag.

Because the economy has taken a beating here, it is difficult for a lot of the families to get work. Most of the men leave at 4 or 5 every morning to catch a bus to neighboring towns in hopes of finding work for the day. If they don’t get it, they still have to pay bus fare without replenishing an already small money supply. Often now, while the kids are out of school for break, the children, boys and girls, accompany their fathers to pick coffee and/or beans for the day. The pay varies by how much you pick, so more pounds equal more money. One thing that’s really great about the Mountain School is that our tuition goes directly to the families we stay with. It provides a source of income for the women in the community, helping their family’s economic situaion. You can actually see where your money goes every week. Life here makes that in Xela seem like that of privelaged royalty in comparison.

The conferences at the school this week were two of the most interesting speakers I’ve ever had the honor of hearing and brought much more clarity to how much I take for granted not only living in the States, but having been born there. I am lucky to be an American woman, to have the freedoms and choices I have.

Monday night, Enrique shared with us his experiences traveling to the U.S. in search of a better life. He explained in detail the 14-day journey, explaining that many Guatemalans leverage their homes to find the $5,000 (US) to pay a guide (called a coyote), to lead them through Mexico to the border. Paying this money is by no means a guarantee that they will make it through the Mexican checkpoints, let alone to the US border, or to a job. They had to learn Mexican Spanish, in order to be able to convince checkpoint police that they were Mexicans, and just passing through. If at any point they couldn’t get through a checkpoint, they could pay a bribe to continue the journey. A lot of the trip was taken hidden under layers of goods in a truck, where two fellow travelers nearly died from lack of air. They spent many days hiding in the desert, and nights covering as much ground on foot as possible. After a very long, stressful voyage, wrought with fear, hunger, and hope, the remaining American Dreamers made it across the border and into Arizona. As they were getting into cars to be transported elsewhere, the border police came, cuffed their hands and feet, and just like that the dream was over. After a few days in a holding facility, a meeting with the Guatemalan consulate, and a warning of future punishment if he came back illegally, he was deported back to Guatemala.

You would think that would be the end of it. But Enrique took the journey twice more in the same year, both times being sent back as well. He has two brothers who are in the U.S. who went at different times and are now living and working in the states, but whose families remain in Guatemala. I asked him if it was worth it for his brothers to have made it there, if it had bettered their lives as they had hoped. He said, without hesitation, that absolutely, it was worth it. Now they have work to feed and clothe their children. They will be able to afford to educate their children, and hopefully give their kids a brighter future. The kicker of it is, their American Dream is $5 per hour for intense manual labor. It’s not even minimum wage. The money they send home goes much further here, but in search of this dream most of them have left their wives and children behind.

I’ve never known what to think about illegal immigrants in the States. I haven’t really because their being there doesn’t affect me in a major way. But now, I have a little bit more perspective about their situation. It's a double edged sword.

On Wednesday afternoon, Juanita came to talk to us about life indigenous woman. She was married at age 13, to a boy who was 17, a deal made by their fathers. She thought it was a game. At the time she thought you got pregnant by talking to boys, and was told that having children was the same as playing with dolls. The only thing she felt when she had sex with her husband was an immense fear of him and what he was doing. She only knew she was pregnant 9 months later as she was giving birth and her mother said non-chalantly, “you’re going to be a mother”, then ran out the door to get the midwife. Juanita lived with a husband who was a stranger. She was happy every day when he went to work, and feared his return each night. He made every decision for her and their children. She had no opinion, no say, no voice. She, like most women here, was to stay in the house to cook, clean, raise the children, and ask for permission before doing anything outside of that. When pregnant with her third child she contemplated suicide, thinking it the only way out of a life she hated.

She never took her life because she realized how important her children were, but also that her life and her happiness were also priorities. In a brave move, she left her husband. Women do not leave their husbands here. It just doesn’t happen. Everyone told her to go back, that he would change. She knew it would be a great injustice to herself and her children if she did so. Life isn’t easy as a single mother, but she knows her children will have a better future. All she wants for her kids is for them to be able to get a great education, and someday be professionals. She wants them to choose who they marry and when they marry, if that’s what they want.

Now, Juanita works with five different women’s organizations hoping to strengthen women’s roles in society, and break through the traditional machismo thinking. It’s hard to change the men’s points of views, but she hopes that her work with youth programs will change the gender stereotypes of younger generations. The things she wants to change, and give to her own children are things I take for granted every day. Education. Choice of spouse. Career. Shelter. Freedom of speech. On and on and on.

I had quite an emotional reaction to the happenings of this week. Guatemala is pulling at my heart strings. I am so lucky. My life in the U.S. is severely blessed. I have never needed or wanted for anything. I take basic things for granted like clean running water and a house with four sturdy walls, basic needs that in my world are a given. I’ve never looked at the world from this perspective before, through the eyes of people whose reality is something I’ll never understand because I’ll never have to live it. But today, I have a different way of thinking about some stuff. And for that, I’m really thankful. 

Tamale-tastic

my favorite kids at the school...every time I saw them they yelled..."KELLY!!!! PHOTO PHOTO PHOTO!!!"

Did you know it was possible to overdose on tamales?

It is.

And I did.

The traditional food during holidays in Guatemala is tamales. They take hours to prepare, and are enjoyed for days afterward. Friday afternoon we had a cooking class at the school, and learned how to prepare everything. There is no use of a blender to mix the ingredients, but everything is ground by hand. Once  ready, the ingredients are wrapped in large leaves, and baked. Every family recipe is slightly different, variying the meats, veggies, saucees, etc. Mike, one of the Mountain School coordinators, warned us we would be eating tamales until they started coming out our ears. I thought he was kidding.

After preparing them, I headed to dinner with my family, where I helped the women finish wrapping their tamales, ate two, then headed back to the school. Our tamales were ready then, and we ate one of them as well. Full of tamales, Ethan, Hayley, and I posted up on the porch, enjoying the soothing serenade of the crickets, and the annoying musical lights on the Christmas tree (which we soon turned off). We had good chill time giggling and telling stories. At 11:30, we headed down to Nuevo San Jose to Hayley’s family’s house to celebrate Christmas. Here Christmas Eve is a much bigger deal than Christmas Day, and we were told it was best to be there for the midnight celebration.

We arrived at the house just in time for…you guessed it…more tamales. Now, eating a tamale is quite like the fullness you might feel after eating a burrito at Chipotle in the US. It’s not as big, but it’s packed with flavor and feels somewhat like a rock in your stomach. It took everything in me not to regurgitate my previous three tamales while consuming the fourth. After we finished, the pyroetcnics started. 

At midnight everyone came out of their houses into the street, yelling and screaming, and lighting off more fire crackers than I’ve ever heard. The kind that sort of sound like a machine gun and kind of scare you because that’s not out of the realm of possibility.  And it's always kids setting them off. You never know when it will happen, or if one will hit you. Imagine a bunch of 5-9 year-olds running around with candles and firecrackers, and dodging them, and that's what it's like. Then, fireworks in the sky, music, and dancing. It was so much fun to see the excitement of the kids as they celebrated the night. We finished our time with a dance party, which was mostly Hayley and Ethan dancing and the kids laughing at them. I couldn’t move for fear of barfing on people. The boys disappeared into their bedroom and reappeared with blanket capes and scary masks. It was too much fun.

Once back at the school, I suggested we have a slumber party in true Christmas Eve style, much like Michael, Jess, and I had as kids. Ethan demanded that everyone change into their pjs before reuniting to figure out the slumber party plan. We all bunked up in Ethan’s room, looking up dirty words in the dictionary in true Christmas style.

I woke up late and still full yesterday, and ran to breakfast. Imagine my excitement when we had…you know it...tamales for breakfast. I thought I was going to die, but I made it through, and spent my morning in the hammock reading and soaking up some rays. I had been invited to church activities with my family, but after such an activity-filled week, I declined. I joined in at the end on my way to lunch, praying for something other than tamales, and was overjoyed to help the women make tostadas for the whole church group. Guatemalan women know how to work quickly and efficiently, and had fed the whole 100 person crew in a matter of moments. I was overjoyed as Victoria made her way to me, yelling “these are for the student” as she guarded the plate from the passing grabbing hands.

I missed being at home with the fam for Christmas this year, and the less sickening full stomach of turkey and stuffing, but feel so lucky to get to experience it in a different culture.

Later note: The tamale factor came out on top when I barfed them all up on Monday night.

Below are some photos from last week which I couldn't post due to slow internet.

hot chocolate for the parties

getting ready to head to the water park last week 

pinata time

CANDY - this was legitimately dangerous. boys were literally throwing the little ones out of their way. 

everyone waiting excitedly for the candy

dance party 

wrapping up the tamales

barf...i mean tamales

Hayley, Ethan, Me - Merry Christmas from the Mountain School!

Christmas Celebrations at the Mountain School

Holy Christmastime Batman!

Monday night after dinner and a bit of studying, we went outside to view the lunar eclipse. This was a big deal because it was slated to start at 11pm, and we’re usually in bed by 9:30 or 10. Joel has the most amazing binoculars, and we could see every detail of the moon through them. Unfortunately, I had to call it quits at midnight because I couldn’t keep my eyes open.
Tuesday evening we got to take part in a Posada. A posada is an event many Guatemalans celebrate before Christmas every year. The community gathers together, walking from house to house singing, asking each house for room and board. The singing mob signifies Mary and Joseph looking for a place to stay for the birth of Jesus. They are turned away at every house, until the last where they are turned away, and then accepted. After they are accepted there is a fiesta of sorts. It was fun to see this side of the Christmas tradition here, and to play a part in it.
Wednesday I got a lesson in patience. Some of us planned to venture to the water park near the coast with our teachers. We agreed to leave at 11, cutting classes short an hour. Needless to say, because of multiple miscommunications we were still sitting in the back of the pick-up waiting for everyone to get ready at 12:30. After a few more delays, we finally arrived at the water park at 2pm. I still sometimes struggle to get used to the Guatemalan sense of time. (Julieta and Miguel informed us when we arrived at the school that if something starts at 3pm, they tell the community it’s 1 so they arrive by 3.) When we pulled into the parking lot we were elated that it was nearly empty. Then Joel pointed out that it was empty because no one else can afford to go there. Sad. We had a blast, and on the way home stopped at a road-side cantina for the best ceviche I’ve ever had. I didn’t find it the least bit strange when I went to the bathroom later to see the owner walking around the back yard with a live turkey in his hands. I find I’m less surprised at things these days. I have found that anything is possible, and many things are strange.

Yesterday was the big Christmas party at the school. There were probably over 200 people from the community in attendance. There were games, piñatas, and SANTA CLAUS. Poor Santa pretty much got trampled when he was trying to give candy out to all the kids, and you have never seen people dive for piñata candy like this in your life. It was really fun, and we ended the party with a great dance party. Last night we spent two hours delivering presents to the kids in the communities.
This week has been insanely busy, and I’m looking forward to a bit of relaxation this weekend. I feel really lucky to be here for Christmas, and to take part in the Guatemalan traditions. Christmas here is much less focused on presents and Santa and consumerism, and more on family and religion. These people have so little, yet are so happy this week with Christmas approaching. I feel really thankful for everything I have in my life, and how lucky I am to be so privileged to be here now.
In other news, it’s possible that I’m going to have diabetes by the time I leave here. Everything is made or sweetened with loads of sugar. No one drinks water plain, only with heaping spoon fulls of sugar.

No photos today because the internet is a little slow.

Merry Christmas y’all.

Life’s a Journey But Sometimes It’s Nice When You Reach Your Destination

Turns out that one month of traveling in Guatemala hasn’t made me any harder. I bawled my eyes out yesterday when I left the Ramos family. I spent the morning with them, laughing and taking pictures. I felt like a celebrity, and like if we took enough pictures, we would never forget each other. As if I would ever forget this experience.

As I packed up to head out, I hugged each family member, profusely thanking them for everything, wishing I could have said more to express my gratitude. Then the tears started. They came slowly at first, but by the time I made it to the door, I was sort of heaving. And when I turned around to say goodbye, I saw that the ladies were crying, too, which made me cry harder. I started walking down the street, trying to navigate through my tears, turning around every 5 seconds or so to keep waving, until I turned the corner. I will never forget them.

I met Hayley and Ethan at the school, and we began our journey to The Mountain School. Transportation from place to place when you’re backpacking is always guaranteed to bring people closer. There’s always a good story to tell, and yesterday was no different. We hopped a micro-bus to the park, where we missed our stop, then were told there were no buses running from that location since it was Sunday. So we flagged down another micro-bus to get to the other terminal. Of course we found the one had about 15 people in it already, which made climbing in with our packs a bit of a task. I went first, awkwardly plunking myself on the extra aisle seat near the back, thus making it impossible for anyone else to fit. Hayley came next forward, and had no choice but to awkwardly straddle me, and sort of sit on my lap/lean forward over the seat, backwards in the bus. Ethan was thus forced to squeeze in and stand near the door. To say that we were laughing hysterically would be an understatement, and getting out was another interesting battle as Ethan blocked the door so we could escape before the waiting passengers forced their way on.

We finally made our way through the sketchy market and boarded the Xela-Ju bus for Columba. It has been proven that I have an ability unlike anyone else I know to attract public masturbators. Some day the reason will be revealed to me, but for now I guess I will just continue to do so. I had just told Hayley about this talent the other day, and as we sat down on the bus while Ethan ran to buy fruit, I warned her that the young boy behind her had just unzipped his pants and was waiting for no one to be looking, but that we were probably going to see a show starring his hand and his package. Luckily, the bus got so full and he had to share his seat with another man, thus stopping the show.

There is always someone on the chicken buses trying to sell you something before the journey begins. Yesterday it was a man selling carrot juice based eye drops. He went on and on about the benefits, how children as young as 6 months can use them, and then he did a demonstration. On someone else. Some woman two seats in front of me let this man put these “eyedrops” in her eyes, no questions asked. She just tilted her head back and prepared to be eye dropped. All I could think about the rest of the trip was how she was going to go blind.

As we neared our stop for the mountain school, we started to fret about the art of getting off the bus. As the bus moved farther away from civilization it filled with more people than there are seats, again another characteristic of chicken buses. People don’t move out of the way, and when you’re trying to get off other people are trying to get on and it’s a shit show. It took us a few minutes, and a lot of yelling, as the bus tried to take off with Hayley and I still making our way down the aisle. But alas, we made it and no bags were slashed nor money stolen.

The Mountain School is a dream. It’s such an opposite of Xela, and a welcome change after a month there. Here we live at the school with the other students, and go to family’s houses for meals. The school is in the middle of the woods in the middle of the mountains near the communities of Fatima and Nuevo San Jose. There is a history here that is deep and interesting, and our tuition money goes straight into the surrounding communities. Just by being here we’re making a difference in the lives of the people, which I will elaborate on in a later post. There are 6 students this week, and it’s going to be amazing. The Christmas activities list will make this one of the most memorable holidays I’ve had.

After dinner and orientation last night, I hunkered down in my room for a good night’s sleep. The silence here is broken by the sounds of crickets, and every few hours in the wee morning, the sounds of dogs howling and chicken buses honking, calling to take the men to find work at 4am.

Today classes started at 8am, and I am working with Lupita. We study in small huts in the backyard, and it’s so much warmer here than in Xela. I didn’t have to sleep with socks, a hat, or gloves last night! After classes we headed in to Columba in search of Internet and ice cream. It’s a 20-minute ride in the back of a pick-up. The pick-up trucks are all equipped with a rail structure so that people can ride inside and hanging off the back of the vehicles. This is the legit transportation here, and it’s so fun. I’m making up for all the years I always wanted to ride in the back of a truck but wasn’t allowed to do so. In true Guatemalan style, they pack them full every time. It’s not uncommon to see a truck with 20 people standing up chugging up the mountain.

The drivers here do everything on their own terms. When we were returning to school today we stopped 3 times on the way for the driver to run his own errands. It’s good we have learned to always allow enough time, and to take start times with a grain of salt. I am already in love with the mountain school and it’s only been a mere 24-ish hours.



pick-up ride

have you ever seen a photo embody the love of ice cream in this way?

La Escuela de la Montana at night

Goodbye my Love

Mi familia Grande - Denia, Brenda, Oscar, Katie, Heydi, Mainor, Me, Marco, Lilian, Vinicio, Julia

Those were the words Uncle Oscar sang to me at dinner last night. He just repeats things he hears in English, having no idea what he´s saying. We were having one of our laughter-filled dinners during the serenade. I was laughing hysterically, thinking he knew what he was saying. Brenda asked me for a translation, and I told them it was like saying "adios, mi amor", which brought everyone to tears. I´m going to miss these people!

On Friday before the graduation dinner, I returned home to find that Lilian had finished the Nativity Scene in the living room. It´s so beautiful, and I asked if I could take a photo. Next thing I know, I´m in my bedroom with her, and she is dressing me in her traditional Guatemalan attire. My head is huge, and we struggled for a good 5 minutes pulling the top over it. Five minutes is a long time to get a shirt over your head. I was laughing so hard I was crying. We took some photos, then I had to run to graduation.

I did my Enrique song. The performance was not nearly as awesome as my HHK performance in NYC, but you can´t be a rock star all the time. It´s been a great four weeks, and I´m looking forward to the mountain school. I´m glad Hayley and Ethan are going to be there, and Tania will come next week. We´re going to have a blast.

Saturday morning we went to Concepcion, which is a town outside of Xela, to visit a community of midwives. The older midwives explained the birthing process, mother education, and the herbs and plants they use in place of modern medicine. They also run programs to teach women about their rights and self-worth. The goal is for everyone to learn that women aren´t just baby-making machines, but that they are human beings with feelings. It´s an amazing program, and they are currently educating the next generation of midwives, as many are getting older. They start training as young as 10, for a 2-year program. Imagine birthing babies at age 12?!

Xela has been amazing, and part of me wishes I found it later in my journey, as I´m not ready to stay put just yet. The other part of me knows i wouldn´t last long in this cold weather with the horrible air quality. There will be other places I´ll love more. I am looking forward to warmer weather, cleaner air, and some relaxation next week. 

Lilian, me, Brenda in front of the Nativity Scene  - isn´t it amazing?!

dance party graduation

cooking class

Salsa-Dancing Machismo Family Christmas

Machismo. Big in Guatemala. I can´t believe they kiss their wives and girlfriends with those mouths!

Wednesday morning a man almost got hit by a car because he was gawking at me, making inappropriate gestures and comments. I can now say I stop traffic with my looks. Funny. I spend a lot of my time here cursing at men under my breath, or flipping them off with my hands in my pockets.

I have been trying to decide if there is anything I like about the machismo culture. I found the answer at Salsa class on Tuesday night. I was paired with an American guy to practice some moves. I´ll call him "Dr. Serious Salsa Guy Who Doesn´t Really Dance Well Enough To Be So Serious" or DSSGWDRDWEBSS for short. Or maybe just fish hands. His handshake is one that would exasperate my dad. He hates weak handshakes. If Pete Kraft shook this man´s hand, he would not be pleased.

In Salsa, the man ¨drives¨ the woman, pushing and pulling with his hands to direct the lady dancer where to go next. It´s important to be strong in order to move effortlessly across the floor. This guy was so passive, his limp hands holding mine. It was a disaster. Also, he was taking life a little too seriously, because when he would ¨direct¨ and I wouldn´t follow, he would stop, roll his eyes, and say, in his best condescending-non-good-dancer-voice, "you´re doing everything wrong". I just laughed because at the time I had just finished spinning myself into a wall. He didn´t pick up on the humor of the situation. But every time the teacher stepped in to show me how to do it right, I nailed it. Who´s the weakest link?

Wednesday Hayley and I went back for another class. I´m actually kind of good at Salsa dancing. I just need to learn how to be a little more graceful with my hip movement. As the teacher, Aela, says, I´m putting a little too much shoulder action into it. Wednesday night we tried our moves at Salsa night at the Disco, and in my opinion, brought the house down.

Everything came together this week. My teacher, Ana, was the best I´ve had. We have so much fun every day, finding a balance between giggling and productivity. She invited me to help her set up the Nativity Scene at the school on Wednesday. Weput brick wrapping paper on the wall and table, to make it chimney-like, then covered the table in greenery, setting up the houses and the church. All of the buildings and pieces of the scene are made by the poor people in the community, and they sell them at the market. The whole setup is really beautiful and simple. I was happy she let me be a part of it.

It has been record-breakingly freezing here this week, and I have quite the cold. When I could hardly breathe in class, Ana took me into the kitchen to fix it. We heated up some water, adding copious amounts of salt. Then she took me outside where I got down on my knees, tilted my head back, and she spooned hot salt water down/up my nose, a home-made netti pot of sorts. I have been breathing perfectly ever since.

Ana and I have had some fascinating conversations. We have talked a lot about the role of women here and how it´s starting to change, ever so slowly. In talking about relationships and marriage, I said I would like to live with someone before we get married. She said she understood that logic, but laughed comparatively. She dated her husband for 8 years, and in that time never once visited him in his home. Forget about the lack of physical relationship. She couldn´t even go there to watch TV or have dinner with him for fear of bringing shame upon her family. It´s just one of the many differences in our realities, and I´m so thankful to have the forum for these conversations.

I have bonded with my family this week in ways I didn´t know were possible. We´ve had long dinners everynight, always ending in hysterical laughter. The girls come by my room on a daily basis to chat and check in. We have all become so comfortable living together, and now that we´ve finally figured it out, it´s time for me to go.

Lilian and Brenda came to my room Thursday evening after dinner and both gave me a gift. I was so speechless and emotional I could hardly muster up a thank you. I have promised both of them multiple times that I will keep in touch after I have gone. I know Lilian has hosted many students in the past, and I will not be the last, but I am so thankful for this experience. Their kindness, patience, and hospitality far exceeded any expectation I had. Thank heavens I got that late bus here from Antigua and I was paired with them. Things do happen for a reason.

I can´t think of a better way to have started my trip. Full Spanish immersion here has been beyond amazing, beyond humbling, beyond anything I could have wanted it to be. I will leave Xela on Sunday, looking forward to my next adventures, but with a bit of a heavy heart leaving the Ramos family.

Ruth, the other teacher, and I by the Nativity Scene

Helping set up the Christmas tree with the kids

Christmas decorations

my gifts from Lilian and Brenda

Doris - teacher week 1

Ruth - teacher week 2

Rosario - teacher week 3 (this picture with her eyes closed is so perfect, because that´s how she was every class, just paying no attention, clearly bored)

Ana - teacher week 4

Mariah, God, and Enrique Iglesias

Last night God was in the house. And so, was Enrique Iglesias.

For my graduation from PLQ, I have to perform some creative piece to showcase my Spanish language skills. I have decided to incorporate the song Cuando Me Enamoro somehow, as it’s a song that has been a big part of my experience at the Ramos house. It’s the theme song for the telenovela I watch every night with my family. The girls of the house are constantly singing it, and it will forever remind me of this experience. Perfect.

I started with an exercise Senor Slain would be proud of, an exercise we spent countless hours perfecting in the Language Lab at NHS. I listened to the song over and over, rewinding each part, writing down what I heard. I got a lot of it, but no matter how many times I listened to each verse, I couldn’t understand it all.

Last night while watching a movie with the whole clan, Lilian asked me how my dictation was going. I told her it was slow moving, and that it would be great if the girls could take a look at my notes and help me with the rest. Denia came into my room, and we started working through it. Yes. I could look it up on the internet, but that would take the fun and mystery out of it. After about an hour, we were stuck, and decided to pick it up after dinner. When I finished eating Denia and Wendy were standing outside my door with their own notebook and pen, ready to get back to it. The three of us sat at my desk, singing the words over and over again, giggling at the sound of our not-so-professional singing voices. Finally at 9:30, Brenda and Lilian came in reminding us it was late and we should get to bed. They suggested I look up the words on the internet, and we admitted defeat. I promised Denia I would share the correct lyrics with her when I returned from class today.

The church around the way, that serenades me to sleep every night with God songs I can’t understand (which I mistakenly thought was a karaoke bar) was celebrating it’s 7^th anniversary last night, and they were jamming. As we finished our dictation, I heard a tune coming from the church, and believe it or not, it was Mariah Carey’s Hero in Spanish. I believe they sang in solidarity with us in my bedroom. Why you ask? Because Enrique also has a song called Hero, and his last name is similar to the Spanish word for church, which is iglesia. It makes perfect sense. God brought Mariah, Enrique, Denia, Wendy, and I together in the name of music.

Dancing on Pine Needles

My family is painting the house this week. The heavy-duty kind of paint that smells like a chemical plant. I think it's slowly rotting my brain. Remember those commercials about drugs back in the late 80s/early 90s? The ones with the frying pan and it said "this is your brain, this is your brain on drugs." I think my brain is the one on drugs right now from the masses of paint that I've been huffing in my sleep. Everything I own smells like I dipped it in paint thinner, which is just how I like it.

Thursday was the worst then best day ever. I got into some small arguments this week with my small 65-year-old Guatemalan teacher, and it came to a head Thursday afternoon. How is that even possible you might ask? Maybe I'm an evil giant (by Guat standards), but it's frustrating when you don't understand something despite really trying, and your teacher won't explain anything further except for saying "Es incorrecto". I almost walked out of class but then thought better of it. 

All I wanted was to go home and take a nap, but I couldn't because they were painting my room, and my bed was folded up in the middle of the living room. I decided to get a new attitude, and spend the afternoon sitting in the sun reading. Lilian's good friend Loki was back in town, and they excitedly told me I was invited to a party in the living room that afternoon, ladies only. I didn't ask any questions, but agreed that I would definitely be there. 

I noticed that all the ladies in the house were dressed up and wearing makeup. I hadn't even showered since I woke up late, and started wondering if I should freshen up. I didn't have to wonder much because Brenda asked me if I had some lipstick, and I took that as my cue to paint my face and put on my best tank top. I so appreciate Brenda and her ability to constantly communicate what's on her mind, appropriate or not.

I spread pine needles all over the floor, for reasons I didn't understand at first. It turns out that the smell of the pine soaks up some of the paint smell so it's bearable. At 4:30, some more of Lilian's friends came over, and we sat in circular formation in the living room, snacking on Mexican tostadas, fruit and drinks. And then, the most wonderful thing happened. Lilian cranked up the stereo, and we broke into one of the most spectacular 3-hour dance parties in the history of my life. I'm talking 12 women just dancing about, fast dances, slow dances, you name it. Marco was infatuated with my camera and documented the occasion with over 200 photos. I look like a giant in every photo because I am taller than everyone.  It turned out to be the best day I've had in Xela. 

Me, Julia, and Brenda getting the party started

Brenda and I 

slowing it down, breaking it down

Me, Heydi, Wendy 

This is my favorite moment of the night. Loki was teaching me how to go low, and I took it too far. I'm not sure they realized it was a joke.

Friday we had a salsa lession at school, and my confidence in my dance moves has returned. We learned some basic moves, and though my hips may not move like those of a Latina, I've got the steps down. Now if I could only learn to look up and not at my feet the whole time. Last night was graduation for a bunch of our Volcano crew from last weekend. It's so weird to watch people come and go every week at school. Each week we rotate responsibilities. This week the students made the food and the teachers brought the beverages. It was an amazing international potluck, and I added salad. A lot of people were nervous about eating the lettuce, so I had to wash it in bleach (which seems worse, but was fine). It was so delicious and luxurious to eat salad and greens!

Preparing food for the graduation fiesta

The teachers leading us in rounds of song and dance before diner

Volcano Crew: only this time with feeling in our fingers and toes

We went to a bar afterwards full of drunken Americans, acting a fool, and I hated it. More power to them, but it's just not quite the experience I'm looking for. Hayley, Stephanie, Tanya and I traded that experience for some live music at El Cuartito, which has become sort of our spot. A Spanish guitarist was playing, and it reminded me of Spain, and how much I love Spain, and how much I want to go there after South America. But one place at a time. The show was great, and he played an hour longer than the bar was open. It was like we were part of a secret club but we couldn't understand all of the words being spoken.

El Cuartito show

I had a dream last night that I came home (at the end of a year on the road) and just sat at my mom's house and cried because I didn't know what to do next. I know that will be a reality one day, and I'm really glad I don't have to think about it for a while.

I am the entertainer

I imagine myself to be a great entertainer. I mean this sincerely. I like to imagine how many laughs I provide the kids in my family. Here I am a grown adult of 29, and I can never fully communicate what I want to say to them. I think it’s hard as a kid to understand why someone of my age and maturity (wink wink) cannot speak their language. I literally can’t understand anything they say. And they try so hard to help me and to listen to me, but I get flustered when I talk to the kids because I am weird. I imagine their slumber parties, right before they go to bed, like when I was a kid whispering with my cousins. Only they share stories of the moment of the day when they were stuck at the dinner table with me and no one else, and I said this funny thing, only I didn’t know that it was funny because I think I’m speaking perfect Spanish. I giggle about this every time one of them gets stuck in a room with only me and I am feeling chatty.

The kids are on their winter break from November to January 15. I wish my cousins and I had that much time to hang out when we were little. It’s so awesome, and under the same roof for two months! (probably way more awesome for kids than parents) Lilian’s sister Brenda, brother-in-law Oscar, and mother arrived Monday. They too will stay until the break is up, 10 people (11 with me) for the holidays. What a precious thing to have so much time to spend with family. They eat every meal together and spend most of their time in each other’s company. It is a part of Guatemalan culture I thoroughly enjoy, and makes me appreciate my own family. Though I think we would bruise each other if we stayed together that long. That or it would end in me pinned to the ground with Jess and Michael’s bare feet on the bare skin of my face. Gross.

Yesterday was an interesting day. Brenda told me that I could get my eyebrows waxed at the salon. I was slightly confused for three reasons. 1. I’m not sure I heard her right, but am deducing by the context clues of her taking her finger along her eyebrow arch, that she was telling me I need to get them done. 2. I don’t think my eyebrows are visibly bushy from the 5 feet away she was standing. (see picture above for proof) 3. I just met her 16 hours ago, it’s a little early in our relationship for such suggestions. I thanked her anyway and continued on with my day.

Last night was our first dinner all together – 10 of us around the table. I was feeling Spanish-speaking and witty, and was cracking jokes. Get this – they actually understood the jokes and laughed at them (and yes, I fully realize the difference between laughing with and laughing at). Not only is my Spanish improving, but I’m still funny! The conversation continued to me being 29 and single, and Brenda offered up Mainor (her 18-year-old son) to marry me, move to the US, and learn English. This pretty much rounds out my non-planning for the next year, and now I know. When I am done traveling I will marry a then 19-year-old, and move back to the US. Fear not. 

Today I was right back to understanding nothing that was said during lunch. You win some, you lose some.

Peanut butter prostitution

Don’t judge me. Occasionally I like to partake in the art of smoking a cigarette. In the absence of drugs and alcohol in my life, it’s my one vice. I was enjoying such a treat on Thursday evening outside my house before dinner when an old frail woman, I’d say about 70, came walking by with a “woman”. More like my first experience with international prostitution. I immediately realized that the scantily clad “woman” on her arm was not a woman indeed, but a man dressed to the nines (well the prostitution nines) in chunky heels, a mini skirt, and a very thin white long-sleeved blouse, unbuttoned halfway, giving me a peek at the bra holding nothing but large pectoral muscles, a long black wig, and a small purse slung across his/her broad shoulders. The old woman had maybe 7 teeth, and asked me for a cigarette. She then offered me a few hours with her friend. Umm…no…thank…you? I gave up the cig and ran inside. 

This week has been adventure filled. Wednesday, we went on a school trip to the Steam Baths outside of town. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it was not at all what I experienced. The facility is two small wooden buildings, one changing room, and another smaller building housing the baths. We changed our clothes and headed into the hotter of the two steam rooms. Basically, you open the door, step into the staggering heat and steam, and stand in a circle/square and stare at each other, talking about how freaking hot you are and how it feels like your ears are burning off. The second room is cooler with a side of Eucalyptus. When it’s all over, you shower off under a freezing drip shower, then change back into your clothes. It was quite a relaxing experience, and then we slowly hiked back to town.

Wednesday evening I taught my first yoga class in a long time. I showed up at 6:30 to warm up, and was told that I was teaching the Spanish class. Gulp. What? One thing I struggle with in Spanish is directions. Despite my best efforts, I taught most of the class in English, doing more demonstrations. I wasn’t sure how it was going, but after class all 3 students kissed my cheek (which is a standard greeting here), and profusely thanked me. I taught again on Friday night, feeling more confident, and again was told by the return students they like my style. It’s so good to get back at it.

This weekend, 15 of us from school took a trip to Volcano Tajumulco, the highest point in Central America. We met at 5:30am, took a 2.5-hour bus ride, and were ready to rock. We hiked for 3 hours to camp for the night. As the sun went down, we understood the cold weather warnings we got from everyone that week. We weren’t that well prepared by the school, so we had to find a lot of creative warming strategies.

I made the mistake of bringing a limited food supply. I have a serious love of peanut butter and bananas. I overdid it a little by packing 6 pre-made sandwiches. Two things I learned for future camping/backpacking trips: A. Don’t bring pre-made PB&B sandwiches, they’re gross after a day. B. Change it up a bit. It is pretty hard to breathe when you’re hiking a quick pace at 14,000 ft of elevation. We were pretty relieved to be done hiking by 1:30.

The volcano played a big part in the Guatemalan civil war. The guerillas used it as their hiding place, home, and often times as a battleground. Amaro, our guide and an ex-guerilla, talked to us about what it was like, and about what the volcano means for him. It’s pretty interesting how well they learned to live there. They would trek with 100lb packs on their backs every day as well as their weapons, ready to fight at a moment’s notice. They got their food and other necessities via secret food/gear drops from the community. They knew every step of the terrain, and their lives depended on it. The military eventually put a base there in an attempt to defeat the soldiers on their soil, but closed it 3 years later when they realized they it was futile. Eventually the Peace Accords were signed in 1996 ending the standoff.

Our tent went to bed at 6pm, as that’s about what time the sun went down. Despite wearing a combination of 6 shirts/jackets/tops, 2 pairs of pants, 3 pairs of socks, a hat, scarf, and gloves, and being wrapped in my sleeping bag and blanket, I was freezing. I basically slept for an hour, woke up, readjusted, slept for 30 minutes, repeat. We woke up at 4am to climb to the summit for sunrise. It was an adrenaline rush to climb the steep rocky volcano in the dark, only being able to see what was directly in front of me with my headlamp.

The sunrise was beautiful, albeit windy. We spent most of the time admiring the view and finding rocks to hide behind to block the wind. Of course with the sun came warmth, and by the time we packed up camp and hiked back down the mountain, it was nice again. It was an eye-rolling bus ride home because there was a girl on the trip who never shuts up. She is super self-righteous and always running her mouth. I want to kick her shins.

steam showers - steam rooms on left, cold shower on right...too steamy for more photos

the pink-ish building is the changing room, and the baths are in the cement building

view hiking back to Xela

Xela from above

I couldn't get this hard-boiled egg to crack...machete did the trick

fire

waiting for the sun to come up 

trying to capture the moment

our crew bundled and waiting

those are volcanoes in the distance...we could also see the Mexico/Guatemala border

and...warmth

Simple Drama

I LOVE telenovelas. Just ask the girls from 1923, especially Kaitlin, who came home most nights to me passed out in bed, blaring the Spanish channel. I love the dramatics, even though I can't always understand what they're being dramatic about.

I've settled into a routine here in Xela, and look forward to ending my days with Cuando Me Enamoro with my family. No matter what the day brings, I know that when I arrive home at 7pm, they will be planted in front of the TV hanging on every word. I drop my things, grab a cup of coffee, and join right in. So what if I have no idea what's going on? It's a chance for me to hang out with my family, and not have to think too hard about how to communicate with them. It's zoning out, except not zoning out because I'm trying so hard to understand why Roberta is yelling at everyone. The acting is less than good, but it's so entertaining.

I found a yoga studio, and get this...classes are only Q15, which is $2US. Two dollars for challenging legitimate yoga classes. I was very pleased with this discovery, and went promptly to my first class on Friday evening. Well wouldn't you know it? Guatemalan men apparently think I am doing yoga to find a husband. Obviously. Where else would I find one? After a great first class, I started to head home, and the guy who practiced next to me asked me on a date. I declined, not so politely this time, and he insisted on walking me home from class, telling me it's too dangerous for me to walk home at 7pm. I let him walk me halfway, chatting in Spanish, before excusing myself and walking to my fake house. It's bad enough that I'm going to see him in class (because I am not giving up these yoga classes), but I definitely don't need him to know where I live. He told me he was going to go to the late class on Monday night, so I went to the early one. Imagine my surprise when he showed up to the same one! I passive aggressively avoided him, and hopefully have solved this problem. It's funny how these guys don't give up even when I tell them about my pretend boyfriend. The better news is that Kevin, the guy who runs the studio has asked me to guest teach a few classes starting early next week. 

I am enjoying a simple life in Xela. I learned to wash my clothes using the pilla at the house. Next time I must remember not to wash it all at once, leaving myself something to wear while my clothes dry for a day. It only took me about 30 minutes to wash everything, and I had a serious sense of accomplishment when it was done. You don't get that with a washer and dryer. It's nice to go back to basics without a cell phone, and with limited email/internet access. I make plans by saying, "I'll be at such and such a place at such and such a time, or I won't. If I'm not, it means I've changed my mind and won't be joining you guys".  We have a 10-minute grace period for these plans in case something is keeping you. Thought let's be honest, most nights I'm in bed by 10 because I'm so exhausted from classes and verb tenses, and last weekend despite efforts to do awesome things, I came down with a cold and spent most of my time sleeping it off and drinking Emergen-C. I did go to a salsa lesson last week, and my confidence in my dance moves is gone. How do these people move their bodies this way? I felt like a 5-year-old, which is something that happens often in a place where you struggle with the language. 

There are a lot of moments when I am at a loss for words, or feel awkward, like when people are speaking so rapidly that I can't even understand one word. But that's what this trip is about, getting out of my comfort zone. As many challenging moments as I have, I can also see an improvement in my abilities in just a week. I have to struggle through the weirdness to master the language and to learn. I will be able to speak Spanish when this is all said and done, and come hell or high water, I will learn to Salsa. 

Learning another language is funny sometimes, especially when you totally miscommunicate something. Last night while talking with Lilian about their Christmas traditions, she told me that on Christmas Eve the children throw lunch meat. How peculiar, right? So I asked my teacher, Ruth, about it and she explained that they throw or set off fireworks. I just heard the wrong word. Then today, my classmate Sarah asked her teacher to fuck her when she is wrong. Again, a misrepresentation because what she actually wanted was for her teacher to correct her. 

I can't get over the views, but will keep taking pictures because one day I will miss them.

Sunset

my skivvies drying in my room

the pilla - lay the clothing in the right side, dump water on it, scrub with soap on rough surface, rinse, ring out

This is one side of my house. It goes until the red-barred window (which is my room).

This is the other side, which goes past the orange.