¿Que busca?

Well another two weeks have flown by, and we’ve somehow been in Guatemala for just over two months now according to authorities and the stamp on my passport. Last week was a bit hectic.. Ola, the volunteer coordinator at Trama was away traveling with visiting friends, so I was sort of pretending to be her. It would have been fine, but around 4-5 different girls came in asking me what they could do to help out with volunteering, and I didn’t really know what to say, but I think it ended up fine. Maybe I’ll actually be able to finish weaving my scarf this week—we’ll see.

Last week was also a slow week for English students. Both Alicia and Karin told me they wouldn’t be able to come to due to other responsibilitie, and Vinicio, the slow 8-yearold only showed up one day the whole week. (Not that I’m complaining about that.) Seriously though, how am I supposed to make this kid learn anything whatsoever? Ugh.

Also, one day we went to this coffeehouse called El Cuartito (which has good coffee but is a kind of a place for pretentious foreigners to hang out and feel like they’re in New York City instead of you know, Central America,) to see this movie they were showing called Estrellas de la Linea. It’s about these prostitues in Guatemala City who formed a soccer team and were trying to gain respect for themselves with all the violence that had been shown to them throughout the years. It was really pretty good and interesting, and some of the people involved with the film were in attendance, including this elderyly woman named Marina who was by far my favorite. She sang a few songs for us, and I was glad to see that she had a new prosthetic eye.

So this weekend, we cancelled our Friday duties and reluctantly escaped to the tourist haven known as Antigua. We still hadn’t been and we figured it was something we had to see, no matter our reservations. Parts of the trip were really fun, and parts of it honestly were just.. obnoxious. The bus rides were so-so. The ride to Chimaltenango was filled with construction, but despite that was not so rough. From Chimal to Antigua we were in a packed little bus, and as the bus neared Antigua, I could immediately detect the change in the air.

To put things into perspective, Antigua is like the Disneyland of Guatemala. There are tourists everywhere.. nearly everyone there is a tourist who isn’t working. Lots of old fat tourists with their camcorders and sweaters tied around their necks speaking in loud English about the jade store on the corner. And then there are “language students.” And I would think it’s hard to learn Spanish in Xela with the amount of foreigners around them, but in Antigua it would be even worse. I’m not sure you’d learn anything. So, the good things I can say about Antigua: amazing restaurants and beautiful buildings. Also, garbage cans! I think there are maybe two garbage cans outside in all of Xela, but hot damn, Antigua had garbage cans everywhere.. and maybe just one street dog. It also resembled the French quarter in New Orleans or a small city in Spain—both for good reasons I suppose. But it did remind me a lot of the French Quarter (except safer), with the small streets and tourists and horses and buggies. Yes.



So speaking of the restaurants, this is what we dined on in Antigua!: Schnitzel sandwich at a supposed Austrian restaurant, Greek food at … a Greek restaurant, Peruvian food (yeah Cindy, have you heard of causa?) and Korean food (yeah, Sarah.) which was really authentic actually since there were only Korean people in there! Yeah.
We got kimbab which is kind of like sushi and oh so tasty after months of not having sushi.



Man. Anyway.. Most of these restaurants looked fairly fancy as well. And in the Peruvian restaurant the waiter even brought us our bottled water and unscrewed the caps for us!! Like it was a fancy bottle of wine or something! Ha, it was funny. I tried not to laugh.

We also explored some of the old church and monestery ruins sites which were really gorgeous and interesting and we got some fantastic pictures. At times I felt like I was back in the Alhambra in Granada or in Segovia.







The room we stayed at in Antigua was really cheap though. It cost us a combined $5/night, and we actually ran into Ola from Trama, her husband, their traveling companions, and their 2-month old puppy there. Random.

We went into a store or two. One was really cool even though it was over-priced, because it was like a Mayan weaving warehouse, and had tons of huipiles from various towns throughout the country, which was awesome for me. Ryan was also able to dress up as a todosantero, since he really wants one of these hats:



We also decided to see what the Artesanías market was like. And wow, was it ever awful. Essentially every stall consisted of the same items, and everytime you passed, a woman would say “Hola…que busca?” occasionally followed by someone saying in English, “What are you looking for?” Nothing, seriously. It left a really bad taste in my mouth and we didn’t stick around long. Needless to say, we didn’t buy anything in Antigua besides food and accommodation. Hmph. We were pretty much ready to leave early Sunday morning. Our impression of Antigua was soured even further when we wandered into the “real” market to buy some fruit, and I was looking through the little oranges to pick 5, since we were told they were 5 for 3 quetzales, and the woman eventually made some noise and said we weren’t allowed to choose! Uh, so we just left. She was really rude.

With that, we hopped on the bus for Chimaltenango, ready to leave Antigua in the dust. We decided that instead of going straight back to Xela, we would make a detour in the town of Tecpán and see the Kaqchikel ruins of Iximché. I was actually kind of curious to see Tecpán, as I’d just recently read a book about Mayan weaving, and the woman who wrote it, had done all her research in the town. It was cool to see the people walking around in what I recognized as Tecpán traje. It also happened to be their market day, so we checked that out for a bit, buying some bananas from a much friendlier man. There was a band playing, and it had a good vibe. We eventually found a microbus to hop in that would take us to the ruinas. We were supposed to be 25 quetzales each to enter since we were foreigners, but since he couldn’t break 100 quetzal bill, he let us in for the price of only one.. which was pretty awesome.

The ruins site of Iximché was very peaceful. It had beautiful scenery in the mountains and was fairly large. A gentle breeze was in the air, and it was so nice to see lots of trees again. I realize that is one thing I really miss her in Xela—a park with lots of trees. So we climbed a few small structures, saw a Mayan ritual site, and walked down part of a trail in a forest. It was all quite gorgeous. You will also be happy to learn that while our enlightened leader George W. was visiting this fine country for a whole 23 hours, he visited these same ruins. I guess because of its proximity to the capital, and that he couldn’t stay an extra day to see Tikal. Interesting.




After leaving Iximché, we ate an amazingly filling lunch of sausages which included rice, soup, half an avocado!, and some tomatoes and onions. It was tasty. We were ready to hop on another bus that would take us back to Xelaland. We had to wait by the side of the road for 25 minutes for a bus that was Xela-bound. One finally came, and we had no idea as we stepped aboard that it would be the bus ride from hell! Well, we should have had some idea when we got on and there were no seats and we were forced to stand at the very front of the bus, where Ryan’s shirt actually got caught in the door for a second. We were able to move back a little further soon. The driver asked for our fare and said things to us in English which infuriated us to no end.. ! First of all, we hadn’t said anything in English the whole time, secondly, we only spoke in Spanish and never indicated that we didn’t understand and that he should please deliver us some broken English that is about on par with my 8 year old student’s. Thanks. Third, how does he even know we’re English-speaking. We could be Spaniards of French or German or hell even really light skinned Guatemalans. Have you SEEN a picture of their president Berger? (Go take a look). We only responded to him in Spanish and at one point after I finally found a seat to squish into, he said to Ryan in English, “please, sir, could you move back”? To which Ryan responded really angrily in fast Spanish. The guy thought he was mad at being asked to move back, but really it was the English. Later he apologized to him, but again, in English. Ha. Ridiculous.

My situation wasn’t much better, with my back smushed against a really overweight man, and sitting next to a father and his small child who threw up not once, but twice next to me. Awesome. Thank goodness the ride only lasted a quick two hours. We arrived home exhausted but happy to be back in Xela.

I apologize for the overwhelmingly bitter tone of this entry, but it’s good to get out. Even though it may not seem like it, I’m still glad we went on the trip so that we could have the experience and perspective. We might just stay in Xela next weekend, though. To be continued…

Todo lo que hago, lo hago por ti

So things have been going all right here in jolly ole Xela. The weater has been rather cool and cloudy lately, though. It’s truly hard to believe that I have almost been here for two months already, but that’s the way time works. In just a little over a month, Ryan and I will probably begin our slow ascent back to the country we call home. Meanwhile, Bush is making his “Latinamerican tour.” Splendid. It’s like no matter where you go, you can’t escape the guy. At least I didn’t see him. But I digress.. we’re just starting to form ideas about our trip back home—most likely seeing the Río Dulce/Lívingston area of Guatemala before heading up to Tikal and the Péten (of course), and then swinging into Belize for just a few days before we get to Mexico where we’ll be for several weeks. I’m really excited about this trip, even though I think at times it will be exhausting. It’ll be great to be able to connect the dots, so to speak, between here and home. And I’ll get to return to San Luis Potosí where I lived for seven weeks, and Guanajuato that I enjoy so immensely as well. We’ll most likely be crossing the border at Piedras Negras which is purportedly the “birthplace of the nacho”!!! which excites me way more than it should. Then it’ll be onto Texas where I’ve actually never been, and should be interesting in its own right, if only for comparison’s sake.

But things have been going fine here. I began weaving my scarf last week, which is really fun, but difficult at times. A great experience though. After watching this woman trying to learn how to weave for several days last week, I kind of picked up some of the steps already. I’ve been putting more time in at Trama as well. I like it there lots.

So after the long week of teaching and sometimes not teaching when students don’t show up, and volunteering, Ryan and I decided to wake up early, armed with an immune system full of malaria pills, insect repellant, and sunscreen tocatch buses to the Pacific coast. The first bus was okay, except that we unknowingly got on one that took the long road instead of the shorter one. We had to change buses in a dismal, hot, humid, wasteland known as Coatepeque to mapmakers and locals alike. There we hopped on a bus with a sign that said “Tilapa”—which is good, cause that’s where we wanted to go.

Oh and the bus rides were eventful as always. Of course. I don’t think I’m going to miss second-class buses in Guatemala when I’m done here.. or maybe I will. I don’t know. But anyway, as usual, people get on trying to sell “aguas” (which are just soft drinks), “chuchitos” (tamales), “piña, sandía, papaya!” (pineapple, watermeon, papaya) and other lovely things. Then people get on making sales pitches. We heard a guy trying to sell foot cream, and then later a man selling little pens with dangling things on them—3 for 5 quetzales! On the way back an annoying kid started out with this huge pitch about how he and his friend were from some other town and poor and trying to raise money and then he said, so what do we have behind door number 1? Da da da da… japanese peanuts, in a little bag. Just what we need. When he got up to Ryan, he looked at him and said, in a terrible accent, “Do you want to speak English?” to which Ryan just replied, “No.” and then the guy said, “hablas español?” to which Ryan just said, “Claro.” And the guy walked away uttering, “Yo hablo tres idiomas!” (I speak three languages).. like anyone cares or asked. Freak. I love the subtle racism we’re constantly on the receiving end of. Wait, no I don’t. But it surely puts things in perspective. Also, on every bus ride we take there are at least several indigenous people who throw trash out the window of the bus, which truly leads me to believe that old commercial we had at home where people litter out of their car, and the Native American on the side of the road sheds a single tear, is a complete and utter lie!

So we finally got to Tilapa. It was kind of a sad little place, with several rows of comedores, and visitors walking around. Although we were the only foreigners I saw there. After paying 2 quetzales each to use these dirty bathrooms, we decided to try and catch a bus to this other town called Tilapita we’d read about. We found a man to take us out in a lancha (little boat). Tilapa wasn’t even right on the beach, as it was at first surrounded by a little swampy nature reserve, you’d have to take a boat to cross anyway. We floated past pelicans dipping into the water, palm trees, and other people in their brightly colored boats.



It only took a few minutes to arrive in Tilapita, and I already felt transported into another world. This, I realized, is what I imagined Central America to be like. I’d been in Guatemala for nearly two months, but this was honestly the first time I really had a notion of my place on the globe. I could finally picture where I was in relation to everything else.

There were no roads or paths resembling anything I knew as one in Tilapita. It was just all sand. Everywhere you walked was sand. These were the paths. Little open air houses filled the town, the likes of I’d only seen in books or movies before. This was unlike anything I’ve ever seen. I can’t stress that enough. Pigs and chickens roamed freely, strutting down the little sand streets.



By this time we were hot and exhausted, and the dark sand kept burning my feet—so we found a place to stay for the night, perhaps the only such place in the whole town. After putting our bags down and changing into swimsuits, we trudged down to the beach which was just around the corner. Gorgeous. It was simply gorgeous. The only other time I’d been to the Pacific was during my stay near Los Angeles, so this was simply breathtaking. When we arrived, we pretty much had the whole pristine stretch of beach to ourselves. The water was amazingly warm, the undertow stronger than I’m used to, and with crashing waves upon the shore. This made for some wonderful water to play in, and we basically spent the rest of the day at the beach until sunset.




Eventually some more people showed up, but not many. A few stray dogs ran around, some looking sicker than others. The sunset was really beautiful and I have the pictures to prove it:



Feeling spent, we headed back to the hotel, changed, and got some dinner, right at the hotel. I had the fish and Ryan had the shrimp. It wasn’t bad. Just a bit overpriced, but what were we going to do? And I guess in the real world it wouldn’t be an expensive meal, just in the Guatemalan world. Oh, my mind is so warped. After dinner we called it a night and fell asleep quite easily.

The next day we headed to the beach again to play a little bit more before heading back to Xela. There’s not too much to say about the return trip except that the buses were equally if not more excruciating than the way to the beach. I slept during the bus ride to Coatepeque, but from Coatepeque to Xela we had to take a Xelaju company bus, who I hate! They are the worst company we’ve come across. Basically they don’t leave town until people are already sitting three to a seat and some people are standing in the aisle. Which means they pick up even more people on the sides of the roads, so that the entire bus is full, people down the aisles from the door to the back, so that the slimy jerks can make as much money as possible. At least this time we paid the proper amount, since I asked the lady next to me how much the trip costs, so they couldn’t swindle me. Ha! And Ryan had to sit next to this rude couple that would hardly give him any room.. ugh, all the while having to listen to music like, “Todo lo que hago, lo hago por ti” (Everything I do, I do it for you, that awful sappy ballad song by god only knows who) Those buses really make me hate humanity for a few hours.. but when we got back we treated ourselves to some ice cream. So all was well.

Then when we got back to our room Ryan saw a tiny scorpion but killed it before even telling me about it, so I didn’t even see it. But yeah, scary. And thus concludes the story of my weekend. I hope yours was equally enjoyable. Now, it’s back to the grindstone.

¡Pase adelante!

I’ve been slacking in the writing a bit, but only because before I felt there wasn’t enough information to fill a whole entry (an interesting entry at least), but now I think I have collected enough juicy tidbits to keep you reading.

So the weekend before this last one, not much was really done as we were tired and Ryan was kind of sick. We stuck around Xela for the most part. I went to two poetry readings with a girl named Sofie from Quebec who lives in the house as well. (Maybe I’ll get to practice my French too.) It was pretty fun. The poets weren’t half-bad either, and really rather friendly. I hope similar events are on the horizon.

Last week was another fairly typical week: volunteering for Trama, teaching the three students English who sometimes show up and sometimes don’t, and translating here and there. My last student of each day, Alicia, makes me laugh. She thinks her English is really bad, but in reality, hers is the best of all three of my students. She let me borrow a CD of music she likes in a style she calls “bachata.” Anyway, it’s pretty lousy, and maybe I can make her see the error of her ways? Doubtful, but worth a shot. Maybe I’ll make her a CD under the guise of “this will help you learn English”, when really it will help her music tastes… ha.

The last week also contained Carnaval on Tuesday, what in New Orleans would be called “Mardi Gras”. It’s kind of sad that I lived in New Orleans for a while but never even got to experience a Mardi Gras, but oh well. This fair has been set up next to el Parque Calvario in my neighborhood for the past two weeks or so, for Catholic-fueled party purposes, I think. So we went down last Tuesday to see what all the fuss was about. It was full of people and seemed like it would really be quite fun. Music in the air, street food, homemade traditional candies, even a ferris wheel! But of course, it couldn’t be that fun that easily. No. Soon we started seeing groups of adolescent boys going around throwing handfuls of flour at nervous passerbys. And of course I was lucky enough to be on the receiving end of said flour attacks at least three times. My sweater and head were splattered with white (yes, even moreso than my hair usually is), and needless to say, I didn’t want to stay long. I just have this hang-up where I don’t enjoy things being thrown in my face.. call me crazy. It felt like escaping from a war, as we hurried through the crowds to get back onto the street towards the house. On a happier note, some of the homemade candies are quite tasty. In fact, I think I’ll eat one now. Mmm.

With the week behind us, Ryan and I decided it was high time to take off again, our destination this time being Lake Atitlán. I had wanted to visit the Lake for quite some time, so I was pretty excited. It’s supposed to be one of the most beautiful lakes in the world, and it definitely lived up to its reputation. We took off Friday morning, having to take several buses to get close to the lake, as I’m guessing a direct one wasn’t available at the time we left (there is not bus schedule posted anywhere…). Since the bus stopped off in the traditional town of Sololá, and as it was their market day, we decided to check it out a little. It was huge and quite a sight. If we had been feeling more up to it, we would have spent more time there, but as we were anxious to get to the Lake, we hopped on another bus,--this time for Panajachel. This is where I caught my first glimpse of the lake, on our descent down the hills into town. I had seen plenty of pictures of it before, but still its beauty took me by surprise. Pictures don’t do it justice.

We soon arrived in Pana, a city we had been warned to avoid spending much time in by at least several people due to its strong touristy vibe, but still came to anyway. For one thing, buses from Xela get to the lake either through Panajachel or San Pedro La Laguna, and we figured the western side of the lake would be for our next visit. So while Pana was much more touristy than most parts of Guatemala we’ve seen so far and even rather obnoxious at times, it was still something to be seen, occasionally amusing, and overlooking the most beautiful body of water I have ever seen, so for now it’s forgiven.




We ambled through the streets of Panajachel, eventually finding a place to eat lunch. One of the nice things about Pana, was that there was a fair amount of good places to eat. We happily took advantage of this, eating at a Uruguayan restaurant, a little crepe place, and a place that had good pita sandwiches (not all at the same time of course). We joked that going to the lake was our vacation away from Guatemala. Many tourists walked around wearing their big khaki floppy hats and cameras around their necks. This was the first time I saw a fair amount of families on vacation in this country, wearing their Mayan-woven scarves and Tikal Petén t-shirts they picked up from street vendors.

The next day we woke up fairly early to catch a lancha (little boat) across the lake to the town of Santiago Atitlán. I’d read a fair amount about Santiago, so I was all geared up. While Santiago is a much more traditional town than Panajachel, there were also many tourists, and lamentably a fair amount of the villagers play to this. We got into town around 8 AM, and we did not go unnoticed, as a man wearing the traditional Santiago shorts sauntered up to us and badgered us about staying at some hotel, and proceeded to follow us for several minutes after we’d said, “No, Gracias” and other discouraging things at least 10 times. Some of these people would make fantastic telemarketers, I’m telling you. I think he was particularly persistent because we must have been the first gringos of the day. Hah.

We wandered around the town, eventually finding the old church. Inside were statues of saints wearing various gowns and really gaudy scarves. We had read in my guidebook that if you go down to dock you could rent a canoe and go out to this nature reserve close by. We decided to investigate this. The second you get even close to the dock various workers approach you and say, “Pana? San Pedro?” thinking you want to catch a lancha to one of those towns. But, no. This other really eager man in a cowboy hat, purple shirt, and traditional Santiago shorts kept asking us things in broken Spanish, saying he would take us in his canoe to some place we couldn’t understand. He was more persistent than the first guy, if that’s believable. We finally told him we wanted to rent a canoe, and that we wanted to go alone. He agreed on my lowered price and we lightly stepped into the reed-strewn wooden boat. With one paddle in each of our hands, we set out, away from the dock, or at least we tried. I think I’d only been in a canoe once before, when I was maybe 11 on a school field trip in 5th grade, so I was a bit out of sorts. We finally got the hang of it, and awkwardly maneuvered further from the shore. Many strange looks were shot our way from villagers in other canoes, and one man looked at me and laughed, “lanchera!” meaning it was funny to see a woman rowing. The old woman in the canoe then pointed and laughed and said something in what I’m guessing was Tz’utujil.



Then as we curved around the bend, our friendly Santiago Atitlán helper appeared amongst some reeds. He shouted something intelligible that sounded like “Ixca!” I have no idea. We paddled closer to figure out what he was talking about. We had wanted to see this weaving museum earlier, and it had been closed, so I think he was talking about there being a museum and it was open now, but I don’t think it was the same one. Basically, I think he was trying to get his canoe back early.. not so fast, buddy. So we just thanked him for telling us and said we wanted to stay in the canoe more, though. He skipped away towards the dock again, hunting for more gringos.

We eventually got a handle on the rowing, but still the canoe would occasionally turn in circles. Tourists passing in lanchas took our pictures as we struggled towards what we thought was the little nature reserve. By the time we got close to it, nearly two hours had already passed, and there didn’t really seem to be much to see, so we began our trip back to the dock. The scenery was absolutely stunning: crystal blue water, volcanoes looming immediately ahead of us, surrounded by mountains on all sides.




The trip back was also difficult because by now our muscles were starting to get quite sore. My butt hurt from sitting on a coke crate, my arms from constantly shoving a paddle into the water. In between moans I would shout, “left!” “right!” “no, left!” And we felt like shipwrecked sailors disbelievingly rowing with frantic energy when the dock appeared in sight again. The wind and constant presence of the lanchas skimming across the water made it more of a fight, but doggonit if we didn’t make it back alive. Quite shaky and sore—but alive.

The crazy guide popped out of nowhere again and helped us steady the canoe onto land as we hobbled out. He then got in the canoe immediately with a little boy and they began rowing away to who knows where.

Feeling like conquering heroes, Ryan and I followed the road back into town where we stopped in the tiny weaving museum that was now open. It was pretty tiny but interesting nonetheless. Further up the road, all the stalls were set up with the folks from Santiago Atitlán getting ready to sell things to hordes of tourists, who had finally arrived. Every little stall you pass by you are tempted with the phrase, “Pase adelante!” (Come in!) as if it’s some sort of spell they cast to will people into their stores. Meanwhile young men stroll past you playing the same few notes on a wooden flute before saying, “flauuuuta.” (flute)

We decided that we finally needed to start buying gifts for people, and maybe some wall hangings for ourselves?—knowing that we can’t buy anything too bulky since we have to think about bag space. I’ll probably be getting rid of lots of unecessary possessions to make room for my new purchases. So after a while of climbing up and down a hill, being tourists, and figuring out what we were interested in, I bartered with a woman for a pretty woven wall hanging. (Ryan later put on a great show and bought one from San Catarina for a good price in Panajachel.) Satisfied, we caught the next lancha back to Pana, as there was more assortment of lodging over there. (our room for the night ended up costing us only 25 quetzales each—that’s about $3.00!)



We watched the sun set over the lake and ate some pie in the street. At 5 AM we were woken up by what sounded like 34 roosters practicing for their choir ensemble recital later that day. God bless them. Every one.

So-the next day, we got up pretty early (remember, the roosters), and headed down to lake one last time. We finally found the public beach of sorts. I was surprised to not really see any foreign tourists around, but instead many Guatemalans, and even a class practicing swimming. Close to the shore was a group of people singing songs about Jesus while a band played. The water was too icy cold for my liking, so I just sat and watched Ryan shiver in the water for a bit. There were really only two other boys swimming. Maybe it got warmer later.



We then soaked up our remaining few hours in Panajachel with a desayuno típico and more window shopping. The bus back to Xela was rather painless and fast considering others we’ve taken… And that about wraps it up. Next time we go to the lake (and there will be a next time) I think we’ll hit up the western side more around San Pedro, San Juan, and San Marcos. Yes.

Until next time.

Diversiones con volcanes y otros cuentos

This past weekend Ryan and I decided that we would just stay in Xela and take a day trip or two. So on Saturday we set out for destination Laguna Chicabal, which is a lake inside of a crater of an old volcano. Interesting, eh? It’s also a very spiritual place for the Maya people, and there are often altars and ceremonies taking place on the shores of the laguna. It wasn’t until we would attempt the hike itself that I would realize how painfully out of shape I am. The hike also reminded that me that I do in fact have asthma.

First things first, we made our way to the ole Minerva bus terminal and were ushered to a bus that would supposedly take us to San Martín Sacetepéquez. This bus didn’t seem right from the beginning. It was already practically full by the time we got on it, and people were saving seats for other people, which I’ve never seen happen before. Then the bus sat for at least half an hour, when these buses claim to leave every 15 minutes.. hmm.. We finally got on the road, already sitting three to a seat with people standing in the aisles. This didn’t bode well. On account of our hardly being able to see out of the windows and the simple fact that the driver never announced stops or where we were, we missed our stop in San Martín. I began to get suspicious when I had seen some sign saying “Laguna Chicabal” and the vegetation greeting my gazes through the windows was becoming increasingly more tropical in appearance. If we hadn’t gotten off we would have probably ended up at the Pacific coast in several hours. And I didn’t have my bug spray.

We asked our seat neighbors and they verified that we had in fact missed our stop and told us to get off the bus and catch one going the other way. They helped us shout to the driver to stop. So with everyone on the bus staring at us, we squeezed past them all (and I mean squeezed) and waited by the side of the road bordering a family’s small house and farm (where roosters were crowing and chickens were clucking) to wait for the next bus.

When the next bus picked us up, the money collector told us it was 10Q each to the laguna which didn’t make much sense cause we’d only paid 5Q from Xela and it was probably the same distance. I was too annoyed and confused to argue though, so the scoundrel wrangled an extra 10Q from us. I hope he feels proud.

This time we didn’t miss our stop and got off at the sign I had originally seen. We started our trek through a village within San Martín. A little child holding a ball looked at me and said very deliberately “Tu tienes gafas!” (You have glasses) I just said “Sí.” There wasn’t much else to say.

We continued on past women doing their weekly wash, more chickens, and watermelons. The views of the mountainous countryside were quite breathtaking at times, but unfortunately the clouds later obscured them. We had to stop and sit down several times so I could catch my breath. The hike was much steeper than I thought it would be for some reason… you would think that the word “volcano” would have triggered some kind of clue, but I guess not. I’m thinking I won’t be lining up to climb Volcán Santa María anytime soon.

After an hour and a half or so, (I couldn’t keep track of the time), we reached the actual entrance to the park where we had to pay our entrance fee. There were bathrooms, some little cabins, a soccer field, and what we thought was a comedor. It turns out it was just some little kitchen that a bunch of Australians were using, though. Go figure. There are many Australians in Guatemala. I find this interesting.

Anyway, now we began the actual hike towards the laguna—cause it was only make-believe before. We later realized that a microbus would take you from San Martín up to this entrance, but oh well. As we began the second leg of our hike, a little puppy started to follow us, which of course gave me great joy. I fed it two of my little tortino limón chips so he would be my friend forever, but alas, he eventually dashed off the trail into the woods. I guess he had better things to do.



We struggled up the path, (well I was doing most of the struggling), the steep, steep dirth path, past hikers on their way back down and little boys herding sheep and carrying wood on their backs. In spite of the beautiful lush plant life surrounding us, I was beginning to make my own pacts with the Mayan gods, if they would only find it in their hearts to make the path level off, just a little. Somehow, eventually, it did just that—before I even had to do any sacrifical bloodletting.



The rest of the hike was actually steeply downhill, which I knew would not be too fun on the return trip. As we finally saw the lake in the distance, and then landed upon the shores, it felt like some bad scene in a movie when the wanderer in the desert finally finds an oasis. I’m glad it wasn’t a mirage. We basked in the beauty and tranquility of the lake, finding ourselves a little picnic table near its shores where we could finally enjoy our little lunch. Since it was already about 3:00 pm at this point, there weren’t many people at the lake anymore. It was eerily quiet except for the sound of birds.

Here you can see a few pictures of the laguna, the mist settling over it from time to time, Mayan religious offerings in the form of flowers:








Unfortunately, we couldn’t linger at the lake long, because the park would be closing soon, and we had to catch us a bus back to Xela. As expected, the return hike began painfully as well, since what was downhill the first way, was now uphill. That soon passed, though, and the remainder of the trip was overwhelmingly downhill. We got back to the road in nearly half the time, but not before a little boy turned to us and said “Hola”, an then looked at Ryan and said, “Jari Póter.” Yes, even small isolated Guatemalan indigenous children think Ryan looks like Harry Potter. Ugh.

We waited by the side of the road for the damn bus again. When we saw it coming down the road towards us, we hailed it, but the driver just waved and kept driving! It was that same company as the other two buses we’d had problems with earlier in the day. We didn’t have too long to be annoyed or frustrated, however, because immediately after the bus left us in the dust, quite literally, a toyoto pick-up truck, (or picop as the Guatemalans would say), pulled over and asked us if we needed a ride to Xela. !!! The woman looked pretty trustworthy, so without allowing ourselves too much time to think it over, we hopped in the back of the picop, next to a strange plant and two other men trying to get somewhere—and that’s how I hitchhiked for the first time in my life. I felt just like Jack Kerouac, except in Guatemala and without the drinking problem… or maybe like Sissie Hankshaw but without the oversized thumbs and a love of cowgirls. Right, you get the idea.

It was amazing how much more visibility of our surroundings we had, sitting in the open air of the truck, flying down the road. It wasn’t too uncomfortable, and it was even better when the first two men left and we were able to take their spots.



We were back to Xela in no time. We hopped out of the truck, and asked the woman how much we owed her, to which she replied, nothing. Dumbstruck, we relayed our thanks, and they zoomed back down the road. It was reaffirming to encounter such kind folks after the rudeness we were met with from the likes of the Xelaju bus company.

After the long, strenuous day, we decided to indulge in a pizza. Ryan had found some coupon that claimed to give you one free medium pizza at pizza hut. We tried it out, but the employee informed us that all it was good for was one specialty pizza, and instead of the regular 104Q price it would be 94Q… We didn’t see how that made any sense, so we just left, and got a cheaper pizza at the Dominoes in the mall. Take that. It even came with free brownies.

And that concludes the story of how for the first time in my life I climbed a volcano, hitchhiked, and ate lime flavored tortino corn chips in the same day. (Okay that last thing isn’t that important, but I needed a third thing.)

Everything else has been going fine, for the most part. We have been meeting a few other people who live in this house, one who is a girl from Quebec who is pretty nice and has her own juicer, and the other is a guy from Toronto who has been for a year, making enough to live on by playing online poker for a few hours a day. Incredible.

On Sunday we were going to take another day trip but we too worn out from the hike to do much. We instead saw El ultimo rey de Escocia (The last king of Scotland) It was good but sad.

For Trama, I’m doing more research and I might start interviewing women in some of the villages that make up the cooperative, which I’m excited about.

I teach three English classes a day now from 4-7, and I’m hoping to pick up another one at 3. We’ll see. My level one student didn’t show up yesterday, and I wouldn’t be too sad if he didn’t come back, as teaching him is quite a struggle. He’s either not trying or just really slow. I like my other two students, though.

I’m missing everyone a lot, as is inevitable, and I hope everyone is doing well. Come visit me?

My legs still hurt from the hike.

Dos Quetzalitos no es Caro

Well, things are on a roll down here in the Guatemala. Ryan and I moved into a new room last Thursday within the same guesthouse. While this one is a little more expensive, it has a private bathroom, which is much nicer. The water in the shower was actually almost too hot last night. How things change…

When we first moved in, however, the toilet wasn’t flushing, there was no shower curtain, and I woke up with what I assume were tiny bug bites on my arms, thumb, and legs. Since then, all of these things have been remedied for the most part. We have been washing our clothes by hand here. And it’s not so bad, but the cold water is piercing to my hands in the morning. I’m not sure how thoroughly clean everything is getting... I’ll have to look up washing clothes by hand on the internet, I suppose. How funny.

Oh also, this special picture hangs on our wall:



As far as our daily tasks, teaching English has been getting a little easier, although I still feel slightly inept. The students don’t seem to notice or at least don’t demonstrate noticing thus far. Starting today we have four different classes (all consisting of one student), so we’re going to see what splitting up the classes is like. Ryan will take the ones in the morning, and I’ll take the afternoon ones for now. More classes might be on the way, as well.

I’m enjoying the volunteering with Trama Textiles. Ola, the volunteer coordinator, gave me a giant coffee table-like book to read called The Maya Textile Tradition. It’s full of gorgeous photographs and has been really interesting so far. The more I read about Mayan history, and the history of this country in general, the more disgusted I am to read how the people have been treated, exploited, etc. for centuries, basically since the arrival of the Spanish up to the CIA-backed coup, the civil war that followed, and the present-day situation where indigenous people are generally poor and the majority of the land is owned by a wealthy 2% of the country. Then again, I’m also fascinated and reassured by the fact that their traditions and ways of life have stood up against all that for so long; that they haven’t gone out the same way that most Native Americans in the US have. Their weavings are a great example of this, and I’m really eager to learn more about it all.

And as a bonus, here you can see the view from the Trama balcony:




Last weekend Ryan and I decided to take a trip up north. It looks like on most weekends we’ll be doing some kind of traveling, whether leaving altogether or just taking little daytrips. So this time we headed up to the Cuchumatanes mountains. We mainly wanted to go to Todos Santos Cuchumatán, but in order to that, you first have to take a bus from Xela to Huehuetenango, (called simple Huehue by most), which is a good 2.5 hour ride. The ride to Todos Santos is an additional 2-2.5 hours. And since we couldn’t leave til around 1 pm due to an English class at 11 am, we decided to just stay the night in Huehuetenango and then head out to Todos Santos in the morning. Mistake.

The bus ride was mostly unmemorable compared to other rides we’ve had. I fell asleep through part of it, and this little brat wearing a Barney hat, (yes), sat down next to us for a while, taking up the majority of the seat.

We found Huehue fairly unlikeable. It made me appreciate Xela that much more and thank the high heavens that we are not living in Huehue. It was unbelievably traffic-filled with the sound of car horns ever-present. The one redeeming part of the city was its semi-attractive main plaza/park/church. We ate in a restaurant that was not half-bad either. They specialized in steaks and Chinese food. I was sold by the fact that they had ceviche, which I had not yet formally tried. It was quite tasty and you can see a picture of it below.. mmm.. along with the “café con leche” that Ryan and I ordered, which was really more like milk with a slight coffee flavor added.. ?



The hotel really just topped the evening off. Granted, it was dirt cheap, (around US $4 each), but the room was the size of a tiny cubicle, with only a little more space allotted in addition to that used for the bed itself. And the bed felt like sleeping on a wooden panel with an irregular bump in the middle… Needless to say, we were ready to wake up early and catch a bus to Todos Santos.

We were unsure of the bus times, so we woke up around 6 and first tried to find a bus or microbus that would take us to the crazy Huehue bus terminal. After waiting for 10 minutes on a corner and realizing we were in fact waiting for a bus to come the other way down a one-way street, we found where the buses actually pass and hopped on. Once we got to the bus station, we were dismayed to learn that the next bus to Todos Santos didn’t leave until 10:30 AM. At this point it wasn’t even quite 7. So…we took yet another bus back to the city and wandered about, eventually getting quite the large breakfast at a little restaurant called El Jardin. Eventually, we took another bus back to the good ole bus terminal, purchased our bus ticket, and just sat on the bus. Todos Santos really isn’t that far from Huehue, but it takes several hours due to the unpaved-ness of the road that leads up into the Cuchumatanes. This time we thankfully had one seat to ourselves, and were amused/embarrassed by an older American couple sitting in a seat one row up. The man somehow didn’t even realize where they were headed. He exclaimed, “So, we headed to the border today?” To which his wife responded, “No, that’s tomorrow! Today we’re going to To-dos Saaantos. It’s in the book. It must be important.” Unbelievable. She also put her hands over her ears towards the end of trip for who knows what reason and stared back at several children on the bus, giving them big goofy over the top grins. God bless America indeed.

After several hours we found ourselves in the lovely little Mam-speaking town of Todos Santos. The scenery was gorgeous. As the day went on, the weather got rather chilly, which was most unfortunate as the day before I had accidentally left my sweater in a bus. Oops. We started to explore the city, stopping in a little weaving co-op where I bought a lovely woven purse on sale. It was a nice shop as all the money from sales went directly to the women who made the weavings. I liked how each item had a little sticker on it with the name of the women who had made it.

We then wandered around some more, catching the tail end of the market, and strolling into the plaza where the inevitable church sat, a friendly reminder of Spanish colonization. We watched the men and women in their traditional dress, while many stray dogs ran around searching for food. The men all wore jackets with stripes with differently woven collars adorning each. Their pants were striped vertically with red and white, and atop their heads sat hats with brims, with a studded band around the middle, covered with strips of blue felt. It was interesting to see men all wearing traditional dress for once, since nowadays in the majority of Guatemala, that is quite rare. It is very common for women, but I have read that men often receive harassment if they were the traditional dress in certain areas. Todos Santos is unique in some ways however, as it was more or less isolated until the 1960s, and thus the people of the village have been able to retain their traditions easier.





Deciding to take the book’s advice, we followed this one cobblestone road up, past women washing their clothes and roosters and turkeys, and kids kicking soccer balls in the street. At the end of the road, was an old site where some Mayan rituals are still performed. There were several grass mounds, crosses, and fires burning. Once we reached the top, it really started to dawn on me how much I was enjoying the town of Todos Santos. It had such a tranquil feel to it. From up at the top of this hill, we could look across and see the entire town sitting down below in the valley, surrounded by the Cuchumatanes.







We began our descent down a smaller path, passing more turkeys on the way.



We decided to get a little snack of street food, before getting dinner later, as we hadn’t eaten since our giant breakfast. We went up to a stand that said Huehueburger and ordered one “hot dog pequeño.” Little did we know what this would entail. We were in for the surprise of a lifetime! The good man proceeded to split a hot dog in two and throw it on the grill. Then! He took out some tomatoes and onions and threw them in as well. Wow. But wait, there’s more. To our befuddled amazement, he then laid a hot dog bun on the grill to toast it. And and and! Then!—he spread something that we think was like 1000 island dressing on the bun itself! Following this, hot dog, tomatoes, and onions were all scooped into said bun in a single swoop. That’s it, you ask? No, I’m not done. The good sir then squirted something resembling ketchup, a green chile sauce, and mayonnaise on this smothered piece of meat. Ok, now I’m done. The verdict? Delicious—no, life-changing. Get yourself one of these succulent little babies today.

Whoo, ok. Now that I got that out, Ryan and I wandered into this Spanish school across from the little hotel we were staying at, to see if they had any information about bus times for the following morning. Well they didn’t really. But the girl who worked at the school was quite nice and American as well, and ended up showing us a documentary made partly in the late 70s and then the 80s about Todos Santos. It was most informative and at times quite startling and depressing to watch—mostly the second part which dealt more with the situation in the town during the Civil War years when the guerillas and army would both come into the town and tear them apart. It’s really sad, and though this essentially over now, the fear still remains somewhat. To this day it seems like people do not want to talk about what or express an opinion about what happened, out of a fear that they will be killed.

After watching the documentary, we were again hungry. (Though the hot dog pequeño was in fact delicious, it did not fill us up completely.) We stopped in the comedor Martita nearby, and sat at a table with some Todosanteños. We ordered some pollo frito and were soon joined by another couple who had just watched the documentary as well. We had an enjoyable enough conversation and then went back to the hotel.

And that about sums it up for our time in Todos Santos. The hotel room was much nicer than the night before… we did spend 10 quetzales more on it, though.. (about a $1.00) so maybe that has something to do with it.

The next day we again woke up early and caught a bus right away back to the dreaded Huehuetenango. This time however, we prepared. (Actually I don’t know what I mean by that. It sounded like the thing to say, though.) Before catching a bus back to Xela, we decided we might as well see these so-called Mayan ruins nearby called Zaculeu. We first picked up some slices of pizza from a stand called Pizza Movil so that we could have a little picnic at the ruins. Well, we caught the bus that we thought went to the ruins. (You know, when you hear someone shouting “Zaculeu, ruinas” you think they’re going to the ruins… huh) We told the driver that we were going to “las ruinas” so eventually the driver just stopped the bus and shouted “ruinas” which was our clue to get off. As we were getting off the bus, various passengers just sort of stared at us and we were not sure why. Well, we soon realized that we were not at the ruins. We followed the road up and asked a woman where they were. She said we just had to follow the road. So… we walked for about 10 minutes and realized we had just gotten the lazy bus or something because other buses went right up to the ruins. Eventually we reached our destination.

We were greeted by a man in uniform who asked us what country we were from. We later realized that this was because that on Sundays, Guatemalans get in for free. This would also explain why there was a fair amount of people visiting the ruins that day. While apparently Zaculeu are not some of the most impressive of the Mayan ruins comparatively, they were the first ones I’ve ever seen, so I was an easy sell. Plus, we figure it’s best to start at the bottom and work our way up to Copan (maybe), Tikal, and Chichen Itzá (maybe). Zaculeu was partially restored by the United Fruit Company some years ago, which means they went through and basically covered the ruins with plaster. So, this isn’t so cool since you can no longer see any original engravings on the ruins, but I guess it does give you more of the exact shape the ruins would have originally have had. Anyway, below you can see a picture of the ruins:



After the Zaculeu trip, we went back to the Huehue bus terminal for the last time and caught a bus back to Xela. The same man boarded the bus twice to try and sell people the newspaper “Nuestro Diairo.” We was very insistent and said things like “Dos quetzalitos no es caro!” (2 little quetzals aren’t expensive.) It was funny. Just me? Ok. This bus ride was strange in that the bus driver began by driving very very slowly. We still don’t know why. Then after maybe 10-15 minutes, his energy drink must have kicked in, because he began zooming down the road, going faster than I’ve ever seen a bus go before. It was a bit frightening. I just tried not to look at the road and stared into the Su Doku puzzle in my lap. He would also just lean on the horn as he spun around the curves of the road—I guess warning everyone who might be coming around the bend that he was on the way, and insane. Somehow we made it back alive. And in record time! Hey.



That’s the gist for now. Time is going by fast as expected. I’ve also begun doing some translating work from English to Spanish for another volunteer organization called AMA (Asociacion de las Mujeres del Altiplano). I’m not sure if I’m going to keep up with it or not though.

Teaching English is still going okay. One of my students is very young and doesn’t know any English though, so I’m basically teaching him from scratch, which is a bit of a challenge. Maybe he’s not as young as I thought though, cause his cell phone has gone off in class.. hmm.

Also—Thai food in Guatemala: not bad.

I leave you with that.

Chichicastenango y la Lucha Interminable

There is already much too much to write. To start with, Ryan and I have started “teaching.” One day last week, we went into the school for what we were told would be our orientation. I asked a few questions and we began looking at one of the textbooks when in walked a guy named Alejandro. Marilu, our boss of sorts, then subtly asked if we could teach him right then, and she shuffled Ryan and I into a tiny room connected to an Italian restaurant where we were to attempt to teach this man “3rd level” English (which is more difficult than you think when you haven’t had time to look through the book, haven’t been trained at all, and aren’t quite sure of how much English this fella knows.) Ay. So we did our best to teach Alejandro the difference between “this”, “that”, “those” and “these” while getting him to use his new vocabulary (he had a really difficult time pronouncing the word “vegetable”). English is weird. So I guess we’re teachers.

We will probably teach our own classes soon, but for the first two, we worked together since our schedule has been so random and last-minute. Our next student was Guillermo. He is a 6th level student, so we were able to teach using mostly English. It was a little easier the second time, except that none of the dry-erase markers worked. Try explaining the present perfect tense without any kind of a diagram or board. I think he gets it, though.

It also looks like I’ll be volunteering for this organization called Trama Textiles which is an association of women backstrap-loom weavers, representing 400 women from 17 groups in Guatemala. The women send their textiles to the store and sell them at the prices they want. To supplement costs, there is also a weaving school. It’s pretty cool. The main thing I’ll be working on right now is researching the history of Mayan weaving and then writing out what I feel is relevant so that the organization will have that information to pass onto the weaving students. It should be interesting. I already find myself staring at the designs on the huipiles and cortes (blouses and skirts) of the women in traje. And! I might get to learn how to weave!

A few days ago, I went through my first bout of inevitable indigestion problems, but I think the worst is behind me now. It was probably just my stomach and body getting used to the changes in diet and such. Needless to say, the weekend was pretty laid back for the most part.

Yesterday, however, Ryan and I woke up with the rising of the sun (so much has changed), and set out for Chichicastenango, home of the huge, famous market. To get there we had to hop a ride in our old friend, the microbus. It’s unbelievable how many people they pack into these things. The same goes for the “chicken buses” or 2nd class buses, but I’ll tell that story a little later on. Anyway, I’ve never sympathized so much with canned sardines until using the transportation in Guatemala. But seriously, what happened in the microbus (or the chicken bus) could easily be the set-up for a skit on any bad sketch comedy show. Picture a van. Every seat is already taken, and the door is hanging partially open, and the driver keeps stopping to let more people in. People are sitting 3 to a seat, 4 to a seat, standing, crouching, sprawled out across your lap. I’m sure someone would laugh at this. In this reality though, no one is laughing. They just have places to go.
We arrived at the bus terminal for the first time, trying to find the bus to take us to Chichicastenango. Some men ushered us to a bus at the end of the line and we hopped on. We soon found out that we’d have to get off the bus a few hours away at Los Encuentros and catch a second bus to Chichi. Fine. This was one of the more comfortable rides we had that day. I made faces at a cute little girl in the seat in front of me and was amused at a man who hopped on the bus and started to make a sales pitch. At first it sounded like he was going to start preaching about his religion and saving ourselves from our sinful ways, (like a man on the bus to Almolonga did), but he instead started talking about how the human brain works. He was equipped with visual aids and everything. This was all a platform so he could dive into what he really wanted to talk about: selling brain vitamins. Sadly no one was interested and he wished us all a “buen viaje.”

As planned, we got off the bus at Los Encuentros and jumped on our bus headed towards Chichi. We found seats in the back of the bus, which we later regretted as the bus driver drove insanely. At every bump in the road we were airborne. Thankfully, the ride wasn’t too long and we soon arrived in Chichi. I knew this because we began to see tons of white middle-aged tourists wearing wide-brimmed hats with cameras dangling from their necks unloading out of their shuttle buses. This shocked me for some reason, since I hadn’t seen so many tourists in one place in the country thus far, and especially not these kinds of tourists. I should have expected it though, as my trusty guidebook said to expect just that. With this in mind, we got out of the bus, ready to explore the market.

This was definitely by far, the biggest market we’ve seen in the country yet, but we have only been to the ones in the city and Almolonga. Things for sale included tapestries, blankets, jewelry, ceramics, masks, etc. and then the typical vegetables, fruits, shoes, and clothing (things the locals were interested in). I was excited to see the beaded bracelets I love so much everywhere—and at low prices I hadn’t encountered since Mexico. This was a blessing as my other beaded bracelets are lost or broken. So… I bought two! And I got to bargain with children twice, getting a great deal for a little beaded quetzal keychain. Oh yeah. This little girl said it was worth “15” (quetzales of course), and I said, “mmm, 7”, and she said, “8!” So I agreed. That’s like a dollar. Just then a woman who I can only assume was her mother came back and in Spanish reprimanded the girl for selling it to me so cheaply. But it was too late, I’d won! Ha! (Ok, maybe cheating a poor family out of a few quetzales isn’t a feat to be proud of… but the girl agreed.)

We wandered past stalls, still in a slight state of shock from the amount of gringos amongst us. It was sad to realize that to the vendors and people of the town, we were just like the rest of them. “But we’re different!” I wanted to shout. Being the minority in another country where they judge you immediately and write you off as dumb tourist who buys everything really makes you realize how rough it is to be in that position. I wish every ignorant, racist American was forced to leave the country and see what this is like, but for some reason I’m not sure they would all see it the same way.

It’s a terrible paradox, you see. I love to travel, but I hate tourists. I go somewhere and see other visitors and think “oh no”, but I myself am not unlike them. I guess it’s true that an American abroad is the biggest critic of other Americans. I just try to be the best open-minded visitor I can be, which is all that you can really do. So to be an American critic again, I do not think of some of these people were trying to be anything but obnoxious. They walked around videotaping the proceedings of the market, local people walking by, without even asking permission. And vendors constantly approached us, pushing their goods on us, hardly taking no for an answer. It makes you feel kind of bad, because you realize how poor they are, and this is probably how they make a lot of their money, but we did not want little dolls that “bring you good luck” or blankets at the moment. I tell you, the traders at Chichicastenango would make great telemarketers. They always do their second (third, fourth, and fifth) attempts. The most appalling case of awful tourists at their finest came when Ryan and I were asking a woman about the price of some blankets. There were two other older American women looking at some purses. In English we heard the younger woman ask the vendor in English how much the purse was. The vendor replied, “setenta.” (70). She then asked, “best price?” several times to which the vendor did not answer. How rude. I mean, this woman’s first language isn’t even Spanish, and you’re expecting her to know what “best price” in English even means. So Ryan stepped in and started interpreting for them. The vendor said her best price would be 60 quetzales, to which the dumb American broad replied, “try 55”.. the vendor wouldn’t budge. I mean, you already asked best price, and she said 60, what more do you want? Oh, and the difference between 55 and 60 quetzales is a whole 65 cents. I bet that would really set her back. And then she didn’t even thank us for helping her. Ugh, people. At least these people are giving some of their money to this country, I guess. That’s the best I can really say.

Anyway. Expectedly, we had to dodge the crowds a few times, and turn onto a side street away from all of the clamor. It always amazes me in very touristy congested areas, how sometimes you can just turn onto a side street and it’s suddenly perfectly calm. You wouldn’t know you were just a block away. I took a few clandestine pictures of the church and the smaller church whose steps we were sitting on.





Around 2:00 or so we started to head back. Even though I had mostly negative things to say, I’m glad that we went, if nothing else, just so that we could see what it was like and have more perspective. The bus ride back to Los Encuentros was on of the most excruciating, surreal experiences. Everyone was already sitting three to a seat in this old North American school bus. Ryan, myself, and some other folks had to stand in the aisle where there was already hardly any room. Somehow, more people still kept climbing into the bus. My arms were gripping onto the metal bars above me as we soared down the mountains, my legs sandwiched between one man’s leg and a little girl’s sleeping body. I couldn’t believe it when the fare-collector walked out the door (while the bus was in motion), climbed on top of the bus, walked to the back, and opened the back door and started asking for money, pushing through all of us where no space was thought to have existed.

Somehow we survived, and the bus ride back to Xela was comparatively uneventful. We walked all the way back home from the bus terminal, which really didn’t take too long. The sun was just beginning to set and I took a few pictures of the empty Sunday streets and the lovely sky.



Back to Xela life, things at the apartment have been interesting. I have thankfully discovered how to take warm showers, which makes me happier than I would have thought possible. Apparently, all you have to do is turn the knob ever so slightly to the left until the water makes a “harder” sound when it hits the tile. That means it’s warm! Haha, of course. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that on my own. There are women here cleaning almost everyday so far, sometimes with little children, sometimes not. We aren’t sure if they live here, but we learned two of their names. Here you can see our room:




That’s about all for now. I should also mention that Ryan has been posting has pictures (which so far have all been of things I’ve been at as well) at http://www.flickr.com/photos/iamsullivant if you’d care to take a looksee.

Una semana entera

It’s hard to believe that I’ve already been in Guatemala for a week. The passage of time is always slightly difficult to grasp when thought about too hard—it’s the kind of thing where on one hand it feels like less time has passed, but then when you think about it the other way, it feels like it’s been like that forever. It’s something that for whatever reason always surprises me and will probably always surprise me.

Well to kick off the one weekversary of this Central American extravaganza, (and the fact that neither Ryan nor myself has started working yet, and thus have nowhere we have to be, we sauntered down the road to hop on another chicken bus—the same one we took to Almolonga, but this time we took it to the end of the line: the town of Zunil. While Zunil was fairly similar to Almolonga, it was much sleepier due to the fact that it was not market day. We wandered down to the main plaza which contained, what else, a big white church (and taco carts). We went inside where little Mayan women were lighting candles and praying in what I can only assume was K'iche.



There wasn’t much else to do in Zunil, and we weren’t quite bold enough to find out where San Simon, the evil saint was located (an evil saint named Maximon who supposedly is stationed in a different house in Zunil every year. People come to this idol to pray while making offerings such as cigarettes and rum, or so I read.) In a rather capricious moment, we decided to go to the Fuentes Georginas, which is a bit of a resort consisting of a hot natural spa heated by the volcano. To get to these Fuentes from Zunil, you simply say, “Si” to one of the many determined, hopeful men in pick-up trucks who look at you and inquire “Fuentes, fuentes??”

We found our soon-to-be pick-up truck chauffeur near the bridge where we first came into town. He told us it would be 80 quetzales for there and back (around $10) which isn’t really so bad, but much more than he would charge a Guatemalan, as we later saw. I felt like the trip was never going to end. We kept driving up higher and higher, up the mountains, into the clouds, as our driver Jose Maria sang along to his tape of marimba music and asking us all sorts of questions, while I prayed to all my gods that we wouldn’t fly off the mountainous road without a guardrail. Finally and thankfully, we reached the Fuentes. We paid Jose Maria. He said that he would return in two hours and we could do nothing but hope that he would keep his word.

The Fuentes were much more beautiful than I would have thought, and I’m glad we decided to go. The clouds were low so they partially obscured parts of the mountains, making everything look fairly misty. There were mostly other English tourists here, along with some Spanish-speaking tourists. It thankfully wasn’t that crowded and I was shocked at how warm the water actually was (since all of my showers have been lukewarm at best so far). It was really a rather relaxing experience, and now I can say I’ve been in waters heated by a volcano, hey.




The time had come to leave and for Jose Maria to return in his pick-up truck, and sure enough he did, this time with a little girl wearing her traditional Mayan dress. We soon learned that this was his daughter. We squeezed into the front while quiet little Rosa Maria stood smashed in between her father’s shoulder and the open window, poking her head out the window the whole way down. The ride back was the most amusing, as Jose Maria sang loudly along with his religious music, sometimes in Spanish, sometimes in Quiche, translating for us as he saw fit. As we glided down the mountain, he would stop to pick up random people on the side of the road and they would pile in the back. He got us back to Zunil safely, and we caught our same chicken bus back to Xela. I can now officially say that I have been serenaded to in a pick-up truck by a Guatemalan in the mountains. Thank goodness-- I had really been waiting to check that one off the list.


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Yesterday Ryan and I moved into the new place, Casa Concordia. Its fine so far except for the fact that the showers are a little too cold for my liking, but um maybe we're not doing something right? to be continued...

I believe this is the address at which I can receive mail--

Ilene Blumberg
Casa Concordia
6ta. Calle D11-29 zona 1
Quetzaltenango
Guatemala

Try it! It might work.

Still havent started working.. im waiting to hear back from the english school. but today is the volunteer fair so at least i should have something to do soon. We tried to go to two museums but the first was closed because it was 'on vacation' and the other seemed to be being worked on.. C'est la vie.