Greetings from Antigua! I'm here this week babysitting for the world's brightest 21-month-old (who is also bilingual... beautiful). It's a nice break from regular work on top of the calm after the LSAT-taking and house-moving storm of last week.
Antigua, as I've mentioned before, is a little oasis from the normal Guatemalan life. From the volcanos surrounding the city to the wide array of tasty restaurants and coffee shops, there's goodness wherever you turn. It helps that the house I'm staying in is gorgeous, equipped witha courtyard, skylights everywhere, fireplaces in every bedroom and best of all, a dryer.
I haven't used a dryer since I arrived in Guatemala, as evidenced by the stretched-out jeans that recently started falling off me again (which I'm attributing to a decrease in Nutella crepes and rellenitos cravings). In part to amuse the little girl and in part because my emotions overtook me, I hugged the dryer when I saw it.
So this morning I was extra excited as I measured out the detergent and envisioned the warm, SNUG jeans and sweaters I would be able to wear later in the day. The feeling almost overtook the pain from the chest-to-knees array of scrapes on my body from earlier that morning. While enjoying the volcano views and cobblestone streets on a early run, I spent too much time looking at the volcano and not enough time looking at the street and faceplanted. Hard.
After putting my clothes in the washer, I went back into the kitchen where my girl was enjoying her breakfast and was be-bopping along to the High School Musical soundtrack with her when the housekeeper came in the door and immediately began running around with mops and brooms and buckets. We casually wandered out to the entryway where the stroller and washer and dryer are and found a flood.
Yeah, somehow I managed to cause a second major flood since my arrival in Guatemala. The washer overflowed, abundantly. We mopped and wrung and fixed it all up, my girl screaming "agua!! hay mucho agua!!" helpfully thoughout the whole process in case we were unaware what we were dealing with.
Thankfully there wasn't any damage, except perhaps my crushed hopes for dry clothes by noon. My orange sweater is still stretched out and wet (and the scrapes are still stinging).
9.30.2009
9.23.2009
Coming soon:
Sorry I'm behind on the blogging thing. Between a broken computer, the impending LSAT and a weekend filled with bowling and practice tests in coffee shops, I haven't had a chance.
However, expect a massive update next week, featuring honey salted pineapple, double gokarts, special music in church and yoga. You won't want to miss it.
However, expect a massive update next week, featuring honey salted pineapple, double gokarts, special music in church and yoga. You won't want to miss it.
9.16.2009
What a lovely way of saying what you're thinking of me?
I'm in love with my hurricane radio, who lives in Roscoe's glove compartment and is capable of withstanding any storm or battery shortage that may come our way. Every morning he and I (along with my drinkable yogurt) brave the traffic of the Periferico together, a happy (and half awake on my part) pair.
Usually we tune in to "Los 40 Principales," which keeps me current on Spanish pop/reggaeton music so that I can bust out the lyrics to the choruses at appropriate times to prove my Guatemaltecaness. Hopefully my peeling purple tinted windows are enough to keep people seeing me with my coffee mug in one hand, jamming out to "Te Quiero" or "Te Amo" or whatever else happens to be on at that moment.
Lately, though, the station has just been repeating this awful song about making good girls go bad so I've been surfing through other options. Since marimba isn't really my thing and love songs aren't really what I'm craving in the morning, I usually settle on an English station that sometimes plays awesome songs, but mostly plays hilariously awful songs.
Today was no exception. I present to you my new least favorite song of all time: "Having My Baby" by Paul Anka. The worst part? Someone requested it.
Key lyrics:
Havin' my baby
What a lovely way of sayin' how much you love me
and:
You're a woman in love and I love what's goin' through ya
and finally:
The need inside you, I see it showin'
Whoa, the seed inside ya, baby, do you feel it growin'?
Good grief. Nothing like 70s ideas about gender and relationships in the morning plus bad lyrics to start the day off right.
Usually we tune in to "Los 40 Principales," which keeps me current on Spanish pop/reggaeton music so that I can bust out the lyrics to the choruses at appropriate times to prove my Guatemaltecaness. Hopefully my peeling purple tinted windows are enough to keep people seeing me with my coffee mug in one hand, jamming out to "Te Quiero" or "Te Amo" or whatever else happens to be on at that moment.
Lately, though, the station has just been repeating this awful song about making good girls go bad so I've been surfing through other options. Since marimba isn't really my thing and love songs aren't really what I'm craving in the morning, I usually settle on an English station that sometimes plays awesome songs, but mostly plays hilariously awful songs.
Today was no exception. I present to you my new least favorite song of all time: "Having My Baby" by Paul Anka. The worst part? Someone requested it.
Key lyrics:
Havin' my baby
What a lovely way of sayin' how much you love me
and:
You're a woman in love and I love what's goin' through ya
and finally:
The need inside you, I see it showin'
Whoa, the seed inside ya, baby, do you feel it growin'?
Good grief. Nothing like 70s ideas about gender and relationships in the morning plus bad lyrics to start the day off right.
9.07.2009
15 x 5 = ?
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.)
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.)
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.
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