Yikes, it's been awhile.
I just got back into Guatemala City after a lovely weekend with one of my oldest friends. My first memory of Krista is washing our hands after an art project in our homeschool group. I'm guessing the fact that we were finger painting means we were pretty young, but who knows. I'm still known to go a little crazy when you put paint in front of me.
Anyway, Krista told me that washing my hands with cold water was stupid, which served both as a public health service and the beginning of a friendship that's lasted... a long time now.
She came down to Guate last week and we explored the nearby attractions: Antigua, Pacaya (the volcano) and Lake Atitlan. While I don't think she taught me anything new about cleanliness, we did have a lot of experiences.
Highlights:
The offer of a suspicious "free trip" to the beach... and lots of other offers, including a trip to Argentina in camper and a life of modeling original jewelry for the crazy-haired hippie who ownded it.
LAVA. Faithful readers of this blog already know that volcanoes kind of freak me out. Well, Krista and I didn't have the brutal climb of last time, but our guide did lead us over two-day old rock and park us about 100 feet from one of the two giant rivers of lava flowing down the mountain. I doubt there are many places in the world where you can get so close to moving molten rock, which all in all probably isn't a bad thing.
A gorgous hotel on Lake Atitlan. We got in too late to go to my standby hostel, but we stumbled across a gorgeous hotel with unique rooms decorated with all sorts of original stained glass and mosaics and other decorations made out of recycled materials. We stayed in an amazing room that was built into the side of the hill - seriously. The bathroom was filled with boulders and one spilled into our room. And the price was phenomonal. (The website is so worth checking out, although there aren't pictures of our particular room.)
Playing cards in the park in Antigua, while happy children tottered by with ice cream cones. Oh how I love leaving the city and being in the fresh air. And swimming in the lake the next day. And laying on a stone and getting tan, until someone came and edged us out of the rock we had rightfully claimed.
And finally, the boy in Panajachel (on the lake) who was selling greeting cards for 15Q each. First of all, all the children selling things there break my heart (and my resolve not to buy things). I chatted with him a little bit and then he offered me the "buen precio" of 100Q for five of the cards. The sneaky grin on his face as I added up five fifteens and proved him wrong is clear as day in my mind. (I ended up buying three.)
9.07.2009
8.21.2009
Yellow
Four pieces of my wardrobe are the same shade of goldenrod yellow. It's a ridiculous 70s color, I know, but I love it. I enjoy having so many ways to wear it (don't worry, so far I've resisted the temptation to wear all of the pieces at once, although I will admit to having worn three).
Today I dressed myself in the sunny sweater, which happens to be a favorite. Jess and I bought it on a long-ago Christmas shopping trip, which turned into us buying clothes for "each other" (i.e. ourselves) and saving ourselves the trouble of wrapping. I really like wearing this sweater; it stands out and puts me in a good mood when I catch a reflection of myself in the sliding entrance door to the office that's next to my desk. (Thank goodness it's just shiny and not reflective like the other side. I catch people doing their hair in it and/ or making faces all the time.)
I only mention the sweater because it factored into my pleasant afternoon, which started when I went to the little restaurant down the street for my new go-to lunch. The sandwich of black beans and cheese probably isn't the healthiest thing I could eat every day, but at 50 cents it's completely worth the calories. I'll just add a song or two to my morning jogging mix to work them off. Anyway, I'm starting to make friends with the people who work there, and today I got in a discussion with one of them about the colors I dress in and how much she likes them. Score one for the sweater.
I walked a little further to one of my favorite places in Guatemala City to study for the LSAT during the remainder of my lunch break. I love the newly-opened coffee shop it because it's original; in a city filled with McDonalds, Pollo Camperos and Pops ice cream stores, it's great to find a place that's all its own. It's located in a building downtown with high ceilings, green walls, interesting seating and the occasional art exhibit. Today there were an array of paintings by a feminist artist whose work was all, as the staff and I noted with glee, in the shades of brown and yellow I was wearing. Score two for the sweater.
After finishing up my work for the day, I decided to stop by Blockbuster for a movie so that I could pretend like I actually prefer to spend Friday night alone in my room. I got there and picked out a movie (I'm not proud of my choice, so I won't share) and went to the desk, planning on using a friend's name to check it out. Unfortunately, the smiley guy at the counter couldn't find Victor this time, so I started racking my brain to see if I knew both last names of any of my other friends. About this time the clerk suggested that I sign up for my own account. Makes sense, right?
He handed me the form and I began to fill it out, but quickly realized I didn't have most of the information it was requesting. For starters I don't really know my address. I definitely don't have a home phone number. I did know my birth date, but license number? Well, since it was stolen, not so much - that's not something I've memorized. I looked at Bridget Jones (ok, ok, yes that's the movie I rented) and looked back at the form, and back at Bridget, and made the decision to bluff my way through.
So I bring the nearly- completed form, filled with a nice array of fabricated numbers that may have included the telephone number of my childhood neighbors, up to the desk. I think at this point the clerk was a little suspicious (I took a ridiculously long time to provide a very small amount of information) but he grinned and started typing it all into the computer. When my rustling around in my purse for five minutes failed to reveal my nonexistent form of identification, he smiled at me and told me Lerae is a beautiful name. When one of the phone numbers I had put down for a reference was one digit too long, he laughed and told me he liked my sweater.
And that is why I'm giving my yellow friend the credit for my movie, butter lovers microwave popcorn (one more lap tomorrow) and for my new Guatemala-style Blockbuster card: an old gift card with a printed-out barcode scotch-taped on.
Three points for the sweater.
Today I dressed myself in the sunny sweater, which happens to be a favorite. Jess and I bought it on a long-ago Christmas shopping trip, which turned into us buying clothes for "each other" (i.e. ourselves) and saving ourselves the trouble of wrapping. I really like wearing this sweater; it stands out and puts me in a good mood when I catch a reflection of myself in the sliding entrance door to the office that's next to my desk. (Thank goodness it's just shiny and not reflective like the other side. I catch people doing their hair in it and/ or making faces all the time.)
I only mention the sweater because it factored into my pleasant afternoon, which started when I went to the little restaurant down the street for my new go-to lunch. The sandwich of black beans and cheese probably isn't the healthiest thing I could eat every day, but at 50 cents it's completely worth the calories. I'll just add a song or two to my morning jogging mix to work them off. Anyway, I'm starting to make friends with the people who work there, and today I got in a discussion with one of them about the colors I dress in and how much she likes them. Score one for the sweater.
I walked a little further to one of my favorite places in Guatemala City to study for the LSAT during the remainder of my lunch break. I love the newly-opened coffee shop it because it's original; in a city filled with McDonalds, Pollo Camperos and Pops ice cream stores, it's great to find a place that's all its own. It's located in a building downtown with high ceilings, green walls, interesting seating and the occasional art exhibit. Today there were an array of paintings by a feminist artist whose work was all, as the staff and I noted with glee, in the shades of brown and yellow I was wearing. Score two for the sweater.
After finishing up my work for the day, I decided to stop by Blockbuster for a movie so that I could pretend like I actually prefer to spend Friday night alone in my room. I got there and picked out a movie (I'm not proud of my choice, so I won't share) and went to the desk, planning on using a friend's name to check it out. Unfortunately, the smiley guy at the counter couldn't find Victor this time, so I started racking my brain to see if I knew both last names of any of my other friends. About this time the clerk suggested that I sign up for my own account. Makes sense, right?
He handed me the form and I began to fill it out, but quickly realized I didn't have most of the information it was requesting. For starters I don't really know my address. I definitely don't have a home phone number. I did know my birth date, but license number? Well, since it was stolen, not so much - that's not something I've memorized. I looked at Bridget Jones (ok, ok, yes that's the movie I rented) and looked back at the form, and back at Bridget, and made the decision to bluff my way through.
So I bring the nearly- completed form, filled with a nice array of fabricated numbers that may have included the telephone number of my childhood neighbors, up to the desk. I think at this point the clerk was a little suspicious (I took a ridiculously long time to provide a very small amount of information) but he grinned and started typing it all into the computer. When my rustling around in my purse for five minutes failed to reveal my nonexistent form of identification, he smiled at me and told me Lerae is a beautiful name. When one of the phone numbers I had put down for a reference was one digit too long, he laughed and told me he liked my sweater.
And that is why I'm giving my yellow friend the credit for my movie, butter lovers microwave popcorn (one more lap tomorrow) and for my new Guatemala-style Blockbuster card: an old gift card with a printed-out barcode scotch-taped on.
Three points for the sweater.
8.19.2009
Yup, still here.
Three more months to go. I think I'm getting the hang of living here, but things continue to change...
Karri, my summer roommate, headed back to the states to return to her job and law school classes and (note the jealous tone here) DC. She was wonderful to live with and I'm already finding I'm less competent and confident without her copiloting skills. She had me all figured out - she'd offer me her sunglasses, I'd turn her down, but since she knew that five minutes later I would change my mind (this happened repeatedly) she never put them back in her purse. Now, there's no one around to offer me gum, listen to me decline and still take the piece out of the package because she knows it will only be a grand total of 30 seconds until I decide I really DO want it.
Plus, since she left on Sunday the total number hours of driving around Guatemala city completely lost is creeping up on five. Roscoe forgets to tell me where to turn.
I miss her, not just for these reasons but also because she became a great friend. We got through so much together: burst pipes, crazy trips, so much more... I'm looking forward to seeing her again, back on the streets of Washington where pigs will NEVER cross in front of our car.
I moved for the third time with one possible move left to go. The good thing is that I get rid of some things every time I pack up. The bad thing is that I've accumulated an entired bag of books that don't fit into my suitcases and make me quite worried about the trip home in November. I now occupy a room in the back of a cute house in one of the more central zones of Guatemala City, which is great because it means that I can sleep an extra hour, go for a run, and still get to work on time.
The weird thing about the house is that I'm no longer allowed to do anything for myself. Between the housekeeper, this really sweet girl who lives with us and always remakes my bed no matter how long I spend on smoothing out the wrinkles, and Tia Abuela, the tiny (would we say three and a half feet? maybe four if we're generous?) old lady who oversees the household activies, I'm basically banned from the kitchen.
Tia Abuela's control of the household primarily manifests itself in stressing a lot over whether or not the other occupants of the house are eating enough food. I never pass her test. I would like to point out, however, that I have never seen the woman eat anything other than tortilla, beans and cheese, so I think she should back off my dietary shortcomings and worry a bit more about herself. I would also like to point out that I'm pretty sure I've put on close to 10 pounds over the past few months, so no one needs to worry about anything. Except me, who might need to buy some new jeans.
Karri, my summer roommate, headed back to the states to return to her job and law school classes and (note the jealous tone here) DC. She was wonderful to live with and I'm already finding I'm less competent and confident without her copiloting skills. She had me all figured out - she'd offer me her sunglasses, I'd turn her down, but since she knew that five minutes later I would change my mind (this happened repeatedly) she never put them back in her purse. Now, there's no one around to offer me gum, listen to me decline and still take the piece out of the package because she knows it will only be a grand total of 30 seconds until I decide I really DO want it.
Plus, since she left on Sunday the total number hours of driving around Guatemala city completely lost is creeping up on five. Roscoe forgets to tell me where to turn.
I miss her, not just for these reasons but also because she became a great friend. We got through so much together: burst pipes, crazy trips, so much more... I'm looking forward to seeing her again, back on the streets of Washington where pigs will NEVER cross in front of our car.
I moved for the third time with one possible move left to go. The good thing is that I get rid of some things every time I pack up. The bad thing is that I've accumulated an entired bag of books that don't fit into my suitcases and make me quite worried about the trip home in November. I now occupy a room in the back of a cute house in one of the more central zones of Guatemala City, which is great because it means that I can sleep an extra hour, go for a run, and still get to work on time.
The weird thing about the house is that I'm no longer allowed to do anything for myself. Between the housekeeper, this really sweet girl who lives with us and always remakes my bed no matter how long I spend on smoothing out the wrinkles, and Tia Abuela, the tiny (would we say three and a half feet? maybe four if we're generous?) old lady who oversees the household activies, I'm basically banned from the kitchen.
Tia Abuela's control of the household primarily manifests itself in stressing a lot over whether or not the other occupants of the house are eating enough food. I never pass her test. I would like to point out, however, that I have never seen the woman eat anything other than tortilla, beans and cheese, so I think she should back off my dietary shortcomings and worry a bit more about herself. I would also like to point out that I'm pretty sure I've put on close to 10 pounds over the past few months, so no one needs to worry about anything. Except me, who might need to buy some new jeans.
8.10.2009
Santa Rosa
I started anticipating the weekend a little early last week. On Monday, to be precise. I was really intent on not being alone, partially because I was jealous that my roommate's boyfriend was coming to visit and wanted a distraction from missing mine, and partially because I really didn't want to study all weekend long.
So when Saturday finally rolled around and I got a text message from Jo asking if I wanted to go to the family farm, I was so ready to go. Plus, I've been excited about visiting the farm for a long time. Jo's husband and his parents grow pineapples on land south of the city that they inherited. Aunts and uncles own adjoining plots. I've heard a lot about visiting the farm and how wonderful it is, and from experience I knew the pineapples were extra tasty.
I guess it's just my Midwestern upbringing, but my mental picture of the farm was flat land, corn and a barn. I was pretty wrong, thankfully: as we drove up the rolling hills, rivers and spiky pineapple plants greeted me with all their Guatemalan beauty.
The yard of the farmhouse was full of chickens and ducks, there was a large front porch to sit on and, most importantly, the air was clean. After chasing a rooster around for a little while, we went to see the pineapple fields (the next harvest will be in November, but we managed to find one ripe out of season to eat for breakfast the next morning) and came back to eat the corn tamalitos the neighbors brough over, make dinner and play Rummikub. It rained and got REALLY dark (I braved the trek to the bathroom by singing "It's ok, there's nothing here, it's ok, there's nothing here" over and over again) and a rooster woke us up at 4 a.m. and oh my it was so wonderful.
And then it just got better! After a delicious and fun breakfast of crepes, we went to swim in a river which turned out not just to be a river but this giant lovely waterfall behind a cave with a smaller waterfall. I've seen some really beautiful water here in Guatemala, but so far it's all been touristy. This won best water award from me because there was no one there but us, and we never would have found the spot if Victor hadn't played in the water there when he was growing up.
Oh, and the walk there... literally hundreds of butterflies everywere, bright orange and yellow and green and white.
I think I've gushed enough now, but the trip was so good for me. I've been down lately but by the end I was so happy and refreshed. It was exactly what I needed: good friends, good food, nature and the opportunity to chase after birds to scare them and make them squawk.
So when Saturday finally rolled around and I got a text message from Jo asking if I wanted to go to the family farm, I was so ready to go. Plus, I've been excited about visiting the farm for a long time. Jo's husband and his parents grow pineapples on land south of the city that they inherited. Aunts and uncles own adjoining plots. I've heard a lot about visiting the farm and how wonderful it is, and from experience I knew the pineapples were extra tasty.
I guess it's just my Midwestern upbringing, but my mental picture of the farm was flat land, corn and a barn. I was pretty wrong, thankfully: as we drove up the rolling hills, rivers and spiky pineapple plants greeted me with all their Guatemalan beauty.
The yard of the farmhouse was full of chickens and ducks, there was a large front porch to sit on and, most importantly, the air was clean. After chasing a rooster around for a little while, we went to see the pineapple fields (the next harvest will be in November, but we managed to find one ripe out of season to eat for breakfast the next morning) and came back to eat the corn tamalitos the neighbors brough over, make dinner and play Rummikub. It rained and got REALLY dark (I braved the trek to the bathroom by singing "It's ok, there's nothing here, it's ok, there's nothing here" over and over again) and a rooster woke us up at 4 a.m. and oh my it was so wonderful.
And then it just got better! After a delicious and fun breakfast of crepes, we went to swim in a river which turned out not just to be a river but this giant lovely waterfall behind a cave with a smaller waterfall. I've seen some really beautiful water here in Guatemala, but so far it's all been touristy. This won best water award from me because there was no one there but us, and we never would have found the spot if Victor hadn't played in the water there when he was growing up.
Oh, and the walk there... literally hundreds of butterflies everywere, bright orange and yellow and green and white.
I think I've gushed enough now, but the trip was so good for me. I've been down lately but by the end I was so happy and refreshed. It was exactly what I needed: good friends, good food, nature and the opportunity to chase after birds to scare them and make them squawk.
8.01.2009
Luna de Xelaju
Two cities have been woven through my past week, one settled below Guatemala's beautiful hills and one in the pages of a book.
Last weekend several friends and I visited Quetzaltenango, more commonly known as Xela. I had heard over and over again how wonderful Xela is from the Guatemalans know before going. It holds a special sort of reverence, I think. Arguably the most popular marimba song in Guatemala (oh, yes, the marimba is the national intstrument) is called "Luna de Xelaju," an ode to the moon which is reportedly bigger and more beautiful than usual when it shines over Xela.
It's as if Guate is Detroit, Antigua is Mackinac Island, and Xela is... well, for me it's like Petoskey, breathtakingly beautiful, peaceful and authentic. (Sorry for non-Michiganders who can't really understand the comparison. Come visit.)
All that to say that I was eager to meet the city that is so well-liked by my friends and this country, and easily and quickly fell in love with it as well. It's a beautiful city of winding streets and cool temperatures, much calmer than Guate. And oh, its central park. Glorious. Trees and benches, cathedrals and museums, and a circle of stone columns where I relished the ending of one of the most beautiful books I've ever read.
I've been reading "Gilead" by Marilynne Robinson. I know it's a popular book and you've probably read or at least heard of it, but allow me to express my love for it for a moment. It is a beautiful story but even more, a beautiful tribute to life. I sank into the words as they lifted me up towards a better apprecation for the gift of existence. Nothing I can say will convey the book's message they way it does itself, so please read it.
As I mentioned, I had saved the last 10 pages to the book to read in the park. I sat up against of of the columns, the beautiful park and families and flowers in front of me and finished it. Aahh.
I think that it will be hard for me to separate Xela and Gilead, the setting of the book, from here on out. In my mind, their beauties have intertwined, as have the feelins of peace and contentment I felt while getting lost in each of them. One of my favorite passages of the book could have been written about Xela, I think, especially because it talks about its famous moon. In the words of Reverend Ames, the book's narrator:
"The moon looks wonderful in this warm evening light, just as a candle flame looks beautiful in the light of morning. Light within light. It seems like a metaphor for something. So much does. Ralph Waldo Emerson is excellent on this point.
It seems to me to be a metaphor for the human soul, the singular light within the great general light of existence. Or it seems like poetry within langauge. Perhaps wisdom within experience. Or marriage within friendship and love."
I actually visited Xela again for work this week. It was a tough visit for my heart - the work we do, although so good, is not easy. I was weighed down by the massive hurt of so many people in the world and my smallness in comparison. However, as we drove away, the most lovely scene I have ever witness stretched out in front of me. The mountains surrounding Xela were topped with billowing clouds, all in different shades of gray and purple. In the valleys beneath them, white clouds raised up from the earth, ringing the hills with their vapory beauty. Words won't capture it... it took my breath away. Everything was so beautiful. The goodness of the world hit me, the goodness of life, the goodness of searching for truth and justice and the goodness of God to pour so much beauty into our surroundings.
"I feel sometimes as I were a child who opens its eyes to the world once and sees amazing things it will never know any names for and then has to close its eyes again. I know this is all mere apparition compared to what awaits us, but it is only lovelier for that. There is a human beauty in it. And I can't believe that, when we have all been changed and put on incorruptibility, we will forget our fantastic condition of mortality and impermanence, the great bright dream of procreating and perishing that meant the world to us. In eternity this world will be Troy, I believe, and all that has passed her will be the epic of the universe, the ballad they sing in the streets. Because I don't imagine any reality putting this one in the shard entirely, and I think piety forbids me to try."
Last weekend several friends and I visited Quetzaltenango, more commonly known as Xela. I had heard over and over again how wonderful Xela is from the Guatemalans know before going. It holds a special sort of reverence, I think. Arguably the most popular marimba song in Guatemala (oh, yes, the marimba is the national intstrument) is called "Luna de Xelaju," an ode to the moon which is reportedly bigger and more beautiful than usual when it shines over Xela.
It's as if Guate is Detroit, Antigua is Mackinac Island, and Xela is... well, for me it's like Petoskey, breathtakingly beautiful, peaceful and authentic. (Sorry for non-Michiganders who can't really understand the comparison. Come visit.)
All that to say that I was eager to meet the city that is so well-liked by my friends and this country, and easily and quickly fell in love with it as well. It's a beautiful city of winding streets and cool temperatures, much calmer than Guate. And oh, its central park. Glorious. Trees and benches, cathedrals and museums, and a circle of stone columns where I relished the ending of one of the most beautiful books I've ever read.
I've been reading "Gilead" by Marilynne Robinson. I know it's a popular book and you've probably read or at least heard of it, but allow me to express my love for it for a moment. It is a beautiful story but even more, a beautiful tribute to life. I sank into the words as they lifted me up towards a better apprecation for the gift of existence. Nothing I can say will convey the book's message they way it does itself, so please read it.
As I mentioned, I had saved the last 10 pages to the book to read in the park. I sat up against of of the columns, the beautiful park and families and flowers in front of me and finished it. Aahh.
I think that it will be hard for me to separate Xela and Gilead, the setting of the book, from here on out. In my mind, their beauties have intertwined, as have the feelins of peace and contentment I felt while getting lost in each of them. One of my favorite passages of the book could have been written about Xela, I think, especially because it talks about its famous moon. In the words of Reverend Ames, the book's narrator:
"The moon looks wonderful in this warm evening light, just as a candle flame looks beautiful in the light of morning. Light within light. It seems like a metaphor for something. So much does. Ralph Waldo Emerson is excellent on this point.
It seems to me to be a metaphor for the human soul, the singular light within the great general light of existence. Or it seems like poetry within langauge. Perhaps wisdom within experience. Or marriage within friendship and love."
I actually visited Xela again for work this week. It was a tough visit for my heart - the work we do, although so good, is not easy. I was weighed down by the massive hurt of so many people in the world and my smallness in comparison. However, as we drove away, the most lovely scene I have ever witness stretched out in front of me. The mountains surrounding Xela were topped with billowing clouds, all in different shades of gray and purple. In the valleys beneath them, white clouds raised up from the earth, ringing the hills with their vapory beauty. Words won't capture it... it took my breath away. Everything was so beautiful. The goodness of the world hit me, the goodness of life, the goodness of searching for truth and justice and the goodness of God to pour so much beauty into our surroundings.
"I feel sometimes as I were a child who opens its eyes to the world once and sees amazing things it will never know any names for and then has to close its eyes again. I know this is all mere apparition compared to what awaits us, but it is only lovelier for that. There is a human beauty in it. And I can't believe that, when we have all been changed and put on incorruptibility, we will forget our fantastic condition of mortality and impermanence, the great bright dream of procreating and perishing that meant the world to us. In eternity this world will be Troy, I believe, and all that has passed her will be the epic of the universe, the ballad they sing in the streets. Because I don't imagine any reality putting this one in the shard entirely, and I think piety forbids me to try."
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