Home.

I was talking with a friend yesterday about an experience on a flight last weekend in which I realized I was sitting in front of someone I [sort of] knew. As I'm pretty bad at telling stories in a way that people can understand (I think it's a reflection of how jumbled the thoughts in my head are) she asked me to clarify if I was flying home. I had to think for a second. "Home" means a lot of things these days.

At its most basic, "home" means the house I'm living in here in Guatemala. I've been through a lot within its walls, and I love it very much. I'm moving out in a couple of weeks, though, so it won't hold the title much longer.

I suppose Guatemala feels like home, too. I've become pretty accustomed to living here, although I still miss things like customer service and stable traffic patterns (although it is fun guessing what direction cars will be going down a street at any given time). I crave tortillas at least once a day. I read the Guatemala newspaper before checking the Washington Post (but still after the New York Times). I miss my friends here when I'm gone. For this year, my life is here, and it fits.

However, last weekend cleared up any confusion I might feel about where I truly belong. I headed back to Michigan for a quick visit and from the moment I saw my curly-haired fiance walking quickly toward me in baggage claim, I felt at home. I felt like myself. I fit into my surroundings in a way I don't ever think will be possible here.

It was a fantastic three days. I was able to spend time with my family (who I now miss even more than before), future family and friends. Although it was unseasonably chilly, I enjoyed being back in the land of cherries and gardens and green open space. I loved being with my crazy loud brothers and sisters, playing Apples to Apples and I loved talking to my parents about wedding plans (a new experience for all of us).

Better than everything else was the glimpse of what everyday life will be like soon. It didn't matter if we were hanging out with friends or with family or just running to Walgreens and obsessing over what chapstick I should buy (Burt's Bees, and he did more watching than obsessing) -- I enjoyed being with Colin so much. I'm so much more relaxed and happy when we're together. Sharing experiences instead of trying to explain to each other what our lives are like on Skype felt like a gift.

So I'm back in this temporary home that I love very much and will be sad to leave in November, but with a sense of excitement for what's next: life with the ones I love. With Colin. Home.

"Don't dance on a volcano." - French proverb

I blame it all on Tisa.

It was her birthday party, probably almost 10 years ago, where we watched "Dante's Peak." After watching the grandma's skin melt off in the acid volcanic lake and Pierce Brosnan running from the lava I didn't sleep much that night or for the many nights that followed, which were filled with nightmares of giant mountains growing up next to the swingset in my backyard and molten lava seeping in through my bedroom window.

Thus my irrational fear of volcanoes was born. However, seeing as I lived in the Midwest and therefore out of any immediate danger from pahoehoe or a'a, the fear lay more or less dormant.

Until I moved to Guatemala, sprinkled with not one, not two, but 33 volcanoes. Thirty-three.

The fear started bubbling again.

All that to say that as I navigated the crumbly, sharp, precarious volcanic rock on the path up Pacaya, I felt like a conqueror. A conqueror of fear, exhaustion, heat and pain (the rocks were cutting up my hands and legs left and right; my poor running shoes now have a big reddish-brown blood stain next to their lime green logo). I turned around and surveyed the three other volcanoes you could see in the distance-- the breathtaking view made me gasp. As did the plume of dark smoke coming out of Acatenango, an active volcano, in the distance.

About this time I started to notice the ground getting a little hotter. Oh, yeah, did I mention that I decided to conquer my fear of volcanoes by climbing one that is perpetually active? My heart started pounding and my mouth started spewing "I don't want to be here. Why did I climb a volcano? This is going to erupt. I'm going to die on a volcano. I don't want to be here."

At that point our 12-year-old guide reached out his hand to help me continue and my thought process went something like : "I'm an adult, I'm getting married. This is nothing. This kid lives near the volcano and he's not afraid. What were you doing on the weekends when YOU were twelve? Probably hiding in the closet so the volcanoes couldn't get you. Pull it together, Lerae."

So I took his hand and onward we marched until reaching the top where the lava was flowing and I rewarded my bravery by making a smore over the lava. Sweet, sticky victory. Take that, Dante's Peak.

Land of the Muertos

What's a girl (or in this case, two girls) to do on a Saturday afternoon? Why, go to the cemetery, of course!

I think that was more or less our logic last weekend. We pass this beautiful orange gated arch into a cemetery on our way in to work every day and have been intending to check it out for several weeks. After a lovely morning of reading, relaxing, sunning and studying we decided Saturday was the day.

The guards looked a little amused as we pulled in in beat-up Roscoe, but collected our 3Q entrance fee and waved us in. We parked and started walking around, amazed at the quantity of elaborate and/or tacky mausoleums styled after everything from gothic churches to my favorite:

Egyptian tombs!

This thing is intense. It had everything down to copper hieroglyphic plates on the side. And, of course, a cross on the top. The Egyptians were big Jesus fans, I hear.

Behind it you can see the other thing I found most interesting about the cemetery. If I were a really good blogger, I'd look up the history of these walls of coffins and tell you why they're constructed this way, where the idea came from or some other interesting tidbit. But for now all I can tell you is that I was filled with a strange, unsettling sense of beauty when I walked up to this wall stacked eight high with people and tributes to them.

Space available.

What we didn't realize when we planned this day trip is that the cemetery is one of the more dangerous places to go in Guatemala City. We found this out afterward, but were given some hints as we were there (the two boys sharing a bicycle, one holding a club, for starters). Don't worry, Mom: as soon as a couple guys started trying to talk to us in English (and when that didn't elicit any response, Chines) we got in the car and left.

And we'll just pretend we didn't try to turn around in neighboring El Gallito (worth a listen).

the end, I hope.

So now that I’m starting to get this Spanish thing down, it’s time to learn another skill here in Guatemala: problem solving.

If you’ve talked to me over the past few weeks I’ve probably annoyed you by listing off all the things that have gone wrong recently. Between a flooded kitchen, ghosts locking me out of my bedroom, a stolen wallet (and therefore three weeks without money aside from that which my WONDERFUL roommate is lending me) and a dead rat-blocked pipe, my stories haven’t exactly been filled with sunshine and gumdrops.

So when we left our house Monday morning to head to work and Roscoe the car wouldn’t start, you can imagine how excited I was to add one more fun circumstance to the list.

After some investigation, we fed Roscoe all the liquids he was so thirsty for (the poor, neglected thing was almost completely out of oil, coolant and windshield wiper fluid). We borrowed jumper cables, which helped him start and gave false hope, since as soon as we turned him off he wouldn’t start again. We drove around for 40 minutes hoping the charge would stick, but nothing.

So at this point we know it’s the battery. Since I’m renting the car and the lease has directions for where to take it if something goes wrong, I call the number for the mechanic and tell him exactly what’s happening. “Good evening, I’m renting this car from ____ and I think it needs a new battery. I can start it with cables, but the next time it won’t start” (but in increasingly impressive Spanish). “Yeah, yeah, bring it in,” they say to me.

So after a very complicated morning including Don Roberto the taxi driver, borrowed jumper cables and a guard at the mechanic’s cutting grass with a machete, we drop the car off at the shop and go to work.

I get a call around 5 p.m. “Good afternoon, that car you’re renting from ____? I think it needs a new battery. We can start it with cables, but the next time it won’t start.”

Ok. Yeah, I knew that.

“You’re going to need to go buy a new battery.”

Argh. I may be wrong, since I’m limited in my experience with mechanics in the US, but I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to work. I mean, thanks for validating my knowledge of what a car needs to start, but you really can’t give me any more help than that? Isn’t your job to fix problems after you diagnose them? I asked where in the world I could go buy a battery. It’s not like there are Wal Marts or Auto Zones around. They didn’t know.

So we walk down to the mechanic this morning, point at the car and say “that one’s mine” (I could have been anyone, but I guess it’s good that they didn’t ask for ID because I don’t have any), got someone to jump it and drive to work where my new favorite coworker tracked down a battery and someone to install it. The sound of the car starting without cables could not have been more welcome.

We went through the AutoMac and bought McFlurries on the way home to celebrate The End, both to the car saga and hopefully to the series of unfortunate events.

My life looks like:

First of all, I'd like to dedicate this post to my Australian readership (aka Jane) who are apparently waiting eagerly for another exciting post about my life. If I had a picture with Jane, I'd start off with it. I like her. She, being Jo's mom and wedding preparation expert, has been an important part of the biggest and most exciting event of the past month: the wedding!

More on that later, but first a few other photos that are hanging around to give you a glimpse of what my life looks like these days, or at least what it looks like when there's a camera around. Shout out to Karri for providing most of them. (FYI, you can click on any of the pictures to enlarge them.)

These first couple pictures are from trips to Antigua. I know I've said this before, but Antigua contrasts sharply withe dinginess and grunge so abundant in the city. It's a whole different world 30 minutes away, and as much as I'd love to say I'm tough sometimes escaping is exactly what I need.


Jenny and Karri got roped into dancing a traditional Guatemalan dance at a dinner (well, they had maracas shaken at them which apparently indicated they should get up and hop around). I refused but judging by the joy on Jenny's face in this picture, I missed out.


The wedding! There are tons of pictures out there displaying the beautiful location and people involved in this wedding, but here you get an exclusive behind-the-scenes look at what went into making the day. The morning of the wedding, a bunch of us were put in charge of transporting the beautiful cake Jo's grandpa's wife made from the house, and then I was put on guard dog duty, keeping all admirers away while the cake's creator put it all together. I put the mean face that comes so naturally to good use. It was worth it: with very little stress and no falling layers, the beautiful cake featuring traditional flowers from both Guatemala and Australia was a big hit.


Jo looked amazing. Victor too. I am so happy for them, and loved the wedding so much. So many people came together to make it wonderful - it definitely had a community feeling and that's probably what I loved most about it.


The morning of the wedding it rained. It rarely rains in the morning here, so it was kind of a bummer. However the ceremony looked gorgeous with the sprinkles in the background, and as the reception went on the clouds cleared up showcasing the volcanoes that surround Antigua, which lay below the hill where the wedding was held.


Here's a snapshot of our new house! It is so posh, I feel guilty living here, but the price was SO right and it was available for exactly the amount of time we needed it.


Although I love the house, it's already caused its fair share of problems. See the previous post for an explanation of this picture (which Alex so kindly took before going back to bed).


After I locked our keys in the house and had to be rescued by the landlords, Karri and I decided that the only logical thing to do was to stop at the beat up yellow Datsun that we often pass on the way home from work to get another set made. I mean, why not? Why go to a store when you can pull to the side of the road put your hazard lights on?


It's kind of a sweet set up, when you think about it. A pegboard of blank keys in the back, cutting machine in the passenger seat, bag of Cheetos on the drivers seat, the ability to work from anywhere...


Birthday party for a coworker's niece. This was so much fun, especially because I got there before Alex did and made friends with the kids before he had a chance to steal them away. Kids always like him the best so the victory was sweet. That is, until this girl started dragging me around the house, racing me everywhere, forcing me to sit on (and therefore pop) balloons and completely wearing me out. She was awful cute, though.


The birthday girl. I believe this is when we were singing "Happy Birthday to You," which is always sung in English here. Unfortunately I've started singing it in the Spanish accent with everyone else. Yikes.


We had Army Day off, so Alex, Karri and I headed to the beach. As fun as it was, I think I liked cruising down the highway in Roscoe best. Guatemala is so beautiful. Check out this volcano that we drove past: we're going to climb it on Sunday!


The drive to the town was beautiful, but hazardous. Aside from a million cruel, giant speedbumps, there was an abundance of livestock crossing the road without looking both ways including this pig and her family, which I almost hit.


All worth it for the ocean. The waves were MASSIVE, however, and immediately took me out, filling my face and bathing suit with the black volcanic sand. It was still beautiful, if painful.


I recovered by laying in the sand for hours.


Nope, not Oreo on my face, although that wouldn't really be out of the ordinary. (It's sand.)


And finally, the cutest things to come into my life lately: the baby sea turtles. Apparently Monterrico, where we went, is famous for its nature preserve. Since it was Army Day the center was closed, but we sneaked in for a peek at these little cuties. If they hadn't been in the preserve to protect them from people who wanted to steal them, I would have stolen one.