Half-assed update

It has gotten a little late to tell the rest of the Manuel Antonio story. I’ll just say that we stayed at the most questionable hostel I have yet to encounter. But yeah, we arrived hungry and thirsty and hung-over. The next day was better. Jungle, beach, monkeys, sun, sloths…etc. You know, got chased by an iguana. It went well I think. We made it back to Heredia in time to finish our homework for the next day. Really, the whole thing probably would have been less stressful if we had only bought our return tickets that first day.

But that’s all past now. In fact, a lot has passed. I am now a TEFL certified English teacher…without a job. But then I’m getting used to the idea that I will likely be broke for the rest of my life. At least I get to go home for Christmas.

I’d like to be able to tell all my stories (not that I have that many) but let’s be honest…would you really want to read a post that long? I wouldn’t. I don’t really want to write one that long either, so at least we agree.

Highlights it is then.

1: Sloths are funny.

2: I’m surprised I wasn’t ever mugged. (knock on wood…I haven’t left the country yet.)

3: A 4 week TEFL certification class does not leave much room for travel. When the weekend comes, you drink and sleep and do homework. (Sound familiar to anyone?)

4: Rice and Beans will never be the same.

5: I’m still a beer snob….but I’ll drink whatever you have.

6: I’m not attracted to Latin American men (except for Javier of course)…They, on the other hand, seem to find me quite fascinating. I, though, apparently prefer skinny, awkward, white dudes who can’t dance and don’t like me back. Go figure.

7: When I do get to go to the beach I get bored after about 24 hours. (If I had more money maybe I’d be less bored, but I think we already established the fact that I will be perma-broke for most of my life) Don’t get me wrong, I love the sun and lying in it and standing in the water. It’s just that I only like it for so long; then I feel the need to do something else (like make money so I can do it again sometime).

8: I still like dancing.

9: I like speaking Spanish and wish I were way better at it. Actually, I just can’t wait until I am better at it.

10: I almost have a job. I’m going to need about 2 more to survive but that’s life I guess. (again…sound familiar to anyone?)

11: It is very green.

12: It’s not that much cheaper.

13: There always seem to be nice people in hostels...(I just have to get better at talking to them)

…

So yeah.  Costa Rica. Headed back January 3. But for now…Home for Christmas. 

Manuel Antonio Part 1

It felt just like a scene out of a movie. The sun was shining but not quite warming the chilled breeze that blew through the tents and over the fresh fruits and vegetables being sold all along both sides of the street. Everyone had come to stock up on ingredients for soups and salads and fresh snacks for the week. The people meandered in and out and around the tents. They visited with their favorite vendors, shared the weekly gossip, maybe they even haggled over a fair price for the onions. It was a normal Saturday morning… until the 3 gringas came running by like an episode of the amazing race with their backpacks in tow and their shorts riding up…

That’s right. My Saturday started off with a taxi ride to the wrong bus station so that we had to secure our belongings on our persons as best we could, tuck our prides away in our back pockets and hit the sidewalk running toward a vaguely explained destination. We asked for directions along the way from the meandering pedestrians who only slightly quickened their steps to point out the turn. The turn. We crossed the street without incident and immediately found ourselves headed up hill, not through a crowd of shoppers (which might have been somehow less surreal) but rather behind the veggie stands so that the vendors set off behind us as we went, yelling and cheering and laughing us along. What a sight. The three foreign girls (one in neon yellow shorts I might add) running (in a country where no one does anything in a hurry) and laughing hysterically to the point of tears as tico after tico turned and pointed and ran and yelled any and everything that came to his mind.

We missed the bus. Well we made it on time but there were no seats left so we had to buy a ticket for an hour and a half later. So we wandered around a little while, grabbed a snack, and by 10:30 we were finally headed to Manuel Antonio for our relaxing weekend away.

The bus ride was uneventful. We met a nice Italian woman who lives and works in New York. I slept. Kiera and Ashley listened to music and watched the breathtaking green pass by the windows. We arrived at about 2 in the afternoon next to a beach that could have been clipped out of a magazine, under a sun that could fry an egg. The vibe coming off the beach and tiny village reverberated with waves of what can only be described as “pura vida.” Relax. You have arrived in the land of leisure, so grab a beer or a piña colada and do whatever the hell you want. Sounds great right?

I guess I forgot to mention that none of us had gone to bed until 3 that morning and we had gotten up at 7 to get packed and catch our taxi by 8. Sure 4 hours of sleep isn’t so bad...unless maybe you were out until 3 the previous night as well, and unless maybe you forgot to grab coffee at any point in the day. I guess I also forgot to mention that when we bought our ticket to Manuel Antonio we didn’t buy a ticket home. Whatever, we thought, we’ll just get them at the station when we get there…except that there isn’t a bus station in Manuel Antonio.

So there we stood…three tired gringas in paradise, and all we wanted was food, a ticket back home and a good night’s sleep.

To Be Continued

Observing

We showed up not knowing quite what to expect. I have been to classes before. I would actually consider myself a world-class student (by the definition of: One who excels at attending class in the role of student). I have been to all your normal classes that everyone has to take. I have been to foreign language classes and tried to cram an entirely new vocabulary and grammar set into my already relatively full brain. I have even been to classes about teaching classes. Would observing a class really be that different?

We went in and did the whole hey we’re here, but just pretend we aren’t thing (even though this room is smaller than most one-person bedrooms, and the table almost fills the whole room, and there are only 8  people, and two of them clearly don’t belong. But yeah…pretend we aren’t here). So class started. The students were 5 Costa Rican teenagers, 3 girls and 2 boys. The teacher was a tall, gangly white guy with one of those personalities you just can’t help but like. The topic: “to make” versus “to do”, which is just “hacer” in Spanish. IT WAS SO INTERESTING! Granted they had already learned all the rules but it was fun to hear them trying to apply it, and fun realizing there really is just no really good set rule for why we use “make” sometimes and “do” others. Spanish-speakers seem to get by just fine with just the one word.

Clearly though, despite the fact that I don’t know a rule for it, I do know how to use these two words and didn’t need a class on them. I was there to learn everything else. How did the teacher present the information? How did the students receive it and respond. How did the teacher respond back to the students? How did he correct them? How did they correct themselves, or how did they just not ever really get it. Woah. I mean  I just get to go sit in this class and watch this guy teach, and, possibly even more interestingly, I get to watch these kids learn. It’s so neat.

I think the best moment of all would have to be when this little (I have no idea how old she was, but I’m guessing around 15 to 17) Costa Rican girl who speaks pretty intermediate English, just spouts off to her teacher, “hey, are you pickin’ up what I’m puttin’ down?” Oh my god! The other observing student and I just about lost it. I know it doesn’t sound that impressive…but you just have to think about how hard it is and how much work it is to learn proper, logical things in a new language. Then think about how much more work it is to store away and recall for practical use a completely idiomatic phrase like that one. It’s just amazing to watch language take action in that way.

By the end of the class I couldn’t say that I had learned a ton of new things about teaching. I don’t know anything new about “to do” and “to make.” I still wouldn’t be comfortable helping new speakers navigate this huge maze of new language. I can say though that I got to see the inspiring side of the classroom. I got to see for the first time the thing I have always heard the good teachers in my life refer to. I got to see other people getting excited about learning and it was just reaffirming. I only hope that in the future I can have that moment again when I am the one leading the class. 

Awkward

I’m not saying it’s necessarily a bad thing, but sometimes…many times, I just feel awkward. I mean how do you tell someone that you are meeting for the first time, after having stayed in their house for a night, that your bed doesn’t have sheets on it…in Spanish?

“Hola. Buenos Dias.”

We got through the initial good mornings and introductions and all that jazz. Do you drink coffee? Do you eat fruit? Yes. Yes. Oh and by the way my bed doesn’t have sheets. (I even looked up the word for sheets in Spanish before I went downstairs and I miraculously remembered it!)

I tried to slip it in as politely as possible. I told him it was fine now but maybe later I’d need some. Of course as soon as I got back upstairs with my cup of coffee his son arrived with an armload of blanket and sheet. I accepted graciously and proceeded to make my bed.

*****

Awkward. Shannon and I went exploring yesterday. We found our way to the bus stop (we thought) without a hitch and stood waiting for our ride to arrive. We waited. We chatted. We got a lot of stares and other such nonsense. And we waited. Finally this kid across the street asked if we were waiting for the bus. Yes. It doesn’t stop there. It’s over here. Oh.

We crossed the street and followed him up around the corner and another half bock to the actual bus stop and were headed on our way within 5 minutes.

*****

Of course this brings me to yet another sorta awkward thing. Personal space. I have a pretty good sense of it, and when it is being invaded. Buses don’t help. They are a space invasion waiting to happen. You have X number of people trying to get from point A to point B and only so much space to fit them in. Your bubble is bound to be completely annihilated. Prepare to be uncomfortable. Two white girls standing right in the middle of this bus. No empty seats. Nobody cares. But if you’re me, you just want to get your butt out of one person’s face without having to put it in someone else’s.  Awkward. And I’ll be doing that every day for the next 4 weeks.

*****

Really, if any situation exists in which I am in the same room or area as even just one other person, I can make it awkward. I try not to. Really I do. But I will find a way to suddenly have gas or to trip, or to have spinach in my teeth. It’s a talent really. So here’s to taking it global. 

Arriving in Costa Rica

I am finally where I have been going since August 4^th when I left my heart in Colorado and headed South. As the plane descended over the tropical verde of the Costa Rican landscape I couldn’t help but smile to myself just knowing that I was not going to have to move my things again for four whole weeks! (Never mind that I will also hopefully be certified to teach English all over the world). It wasn’t quite like coming home, but it was as close as I’ll hope for for now. For a time I can say, I am not in limbo anymore.

The airport experience was easier than I could have possibly hoped for. I’m not sure if it actually was less painful than in the United States or if I just thought it was because I had been dreading the whole thing for the past few days. As departure day grew closer and closer I became more and more convinced that something was going to go terribly wrong. I was going to lose my bag or miss my flight or forget something really important or be mugged or…or…I don’t know…die? The human brain is an infinitely creative and curiously powerful machine that can get you into a hell of a worry.

I stepped off the plane though, in the intended country, and after about 30 minutes, my monster of a duffle bag plopped out onto the conveyor belt to meet me. Looking like a lost orphan I followed the general trickle of people toward what I could only assume was the exit. It was. I only had one more fear to disprove. I looked around at the mass of eager family members, friends and taxi drivers waiting on the other side of the fence for arriving passengers and I did not see my name. Shit…

It’s ok. It’s ok. I scanned again and there it was. “KNIGHT.” My name. I felt my whole body sigh with pure joy. I was not lost and alone. I had a taxi driver all lined up to take me to my house (which is good because I had no idea where it was or who I would be living with until then.) He helped me with my bags and within the hour I was lugging them up the stairs to my new room.

I met one of the other girls who will be living here (Shannon) and 3 of the 4 family members who have so kindly opened their house for us. I think I understood (the accent is different here so I my ear is having to adjust) that there will be 6 of the 9 students in my TEFL class sharing this house (don’t worry. There’s room. This house is awesome).  I guess I can only hope there aren’t any crazy bitches like on those reality TV shows I don’t watch and can’t remember the names of at the moment. So far so good though.

Shannon and I went exploring in the afternoon. I would describe all that for you but I’m losing my concentration at the moment. We’ll save it for next time. For now, just know that I am happily at “home” here in a house in Costa Rica for the next 4 weeks!

Earthquake

You know those days when you just know that you are the center of the universe and everything must surely revolve around you? If you don’t…kudos. For the rest of you, it was kind of one of those days for me. Oh I don’t have any clean clothes (except for the 5 dresses in my bag); oh I don’t get to go for a walk this morning because I slept in; oh I have to leave Antigua in less than a week and go to Costa Rica. Poor me. Right? Yeah…I probably deserved to be slapped.

Actually, I kind of was.

I was sitting at a table on the second floor of the school trying my damndest to imagine the world in 20 years so I could right conditional sentences in Spanish over what it might be like:

-Toda la gente del mundo hablará un idioma, posiblemente inglés.

-Habrán cosas tecnológicas que no podemos imaginar ahora.

-El clima aún será loco…(The climate will still be crazy)

That’s when it happened, right after that last sentence. It started as a slight tremor, the kind that might be mistaken for a big truck passing. I stopped my pencil and looked up at my teacher. There was still a faint tremble getting ever so stronger by the moment. Then a jolt and everyone on the second floor leapt to their feet. This wasn’t a big truck passing. It was an earthquake. The building continued to tremble, the windows shuddered and vibrated, the pictures wobbled off kilter, and everyone in the building shared the thought: Is this going to get stronger?

After about 30 seconds (and believe me, when the earth is moving beneath your feet, 30 seconds is no blink of the eye) it stopped. It took my body a minute to realize that now it wasn’t the floor that was shaking, it was me. Everyone returned to their seats and resumed their studies. Teachers tried calling their loved ones, a few students tried to check the internet on their phones to see how strong it had been in other places. I took a breath. I wasn’t afraid at any point, my sense of self-preservation isn’t that strong, but I was (for lack of a better word) shaken.

I have always known that the earth is powerful and that nature has her whims, but somehow I had never internalized that knowledge into a deep understanding of the connectedness of things. I am tiny. Not only does the universe not revolve around me, it doesn’t even revolve around the planet I live on. Humans are small. We are fragile. We are self-destructive. But we live on a planet that is resilient and that will not hesitate to put us in our place.

*I'd like to add that I was more than 100 miles from the epicenter and Antigua was hardly affected. I feel like this blog makes light of a very serious situation and I wanted to clarify that when I wrote this I wasn't aware of just how much damage was done in San Marcos and the surrounding area. There were a number of deaths and disappearances in that part of the country and I sincerely hope that those who did survive are well and able to continue their lives in spite of the damage done to their homes. I am also deeply thankful to have only felt a tiny taste of the power of the earth and not her full rage and fury. 

A moderately funny story about why I'll probably always be single

I was wondering when this would happen.

There is always one of those guys who is way too attractive for his own good, and he always finds his way into my line of vision (multiple times), and I always fail miserably.

The first time I saw him it was fine. He works at this really great restaurant here in Antigua called Luna De Miel—“Honey Moon.” Yeah I know: great! A really beautiful man works at a place called Honey Moon. What next? A Nicholas Sparks novel? Don’t worry. I promise, there is nothing about my life that could possibly be turned into a romantic novel of any kind. Ok, maybe I’d be a grade B Romantic Comedy at best. But enough of that…The first time or two I saw him I was with friends at this restaurant and he wasn’t even our server, or maybe he brought our food. I don’t know. But I didn’t have to talk to him, so no harm done.

Yet.

Let’s fast forward. Now I am going to the gym because I haven’t been in almost 2 months, and I a miss it. Correction: I don’t actually like gyms that much, but I miss being active at all, and running within the city of Antigua is…interesting (more especially if all you brought to run in was yoga pants).

So here I am. I’m rockin’ it out on the Elliptical, sweating up a storm and probably mouthing the words to whatever Flo-Rida or LMFAO song I have  pounding in my ears (I grant you full freedom to judge my taste in music) when who should walk by but this beautiful Guatemalan man.

*Brief interjection: I don’t know if you have traveled in this part of the world at all but I’ll just go ahead and say that the men are short. Now I don’t mean this in a bad way at all. It’s fine because the women are short too. There also isn’t a lot of facial hair to go around for the Latin American population. Also, not a bad thing, just not my personal preference. I guess I like my guys to look like they just walked down off the mountain (tall and scruffy that is). And so we come to this guy (Who I shall henceforth call “Javier” for lack of an actual name). Javier is tall. And Dark. And scruffy. And nicely toned. And he has pretty, bouncy afro curls that he pulls back in a pretty, bouncy pony-tail. (Not exactly mountain-man…but as close as I’ve seen so far).

…When who should walk by, but Javier. He proceeds to warm up on the treadmill in front of me, which is fine, I still don’t have to talk and I get to watch the bouncy curls. Anyway I finish my time on the elliptical, dripping like I just got out of a shower and as red a cooked lobster. I see a room to the side that I figure I can hide in and stretch a little while. It has a few weight-machine things, but it’s carpeted and there aren’t any other people so I go for it. I get a mat and proceed to stretch it out. You know the usual, arms across the body, or around behind the back, down to touch your toes. Throw in a few crunches. It’s all going fine until I start the plank (You know, the thing where you support yourself on just your toes and elbows, keeping your body as level as possible.)

 If he had come in at any other time it might have been fine because I might have actually been able to get a sentence out when he accidentally knocked my water bottle over. He came in during the last 30 seconds of my plank and I had probably turned from red to purple and was doing everything in my power to breathe, let alone say “Sí, es mi agua, pero está bien.” I think I might have croaked out something like “yes… My water... Sorry… Bien.”  Gracias a Dios he only did a few reps at that particular machine before leaving for something else. I finished my plank and collapsed to the floor. I figured since he had left that he wouldn’t be returning, so what better time to do a headstand?! I don’t know. They feel really nice sometimes when the body is tired. So yeah that’s what I did. So I’m upside-down getting ready to raise my legs up when he comes back in again and plops back down at that same machine for another round. Well I’m committed now. I slowly lift my legs until I’m perfectly vertical then proceed to pray that this isn’t the one time my center of gravity decides to take leave. It’s not. But I’m still upside-down, I’m still probably purple, and I still can’t redeem my previous attempt at human speech.

So not much else happens at the gym. He leaves again and I decided it’s time to call it a day. I right myself and touch my toes one more time for good measure, then bolt for the door before he can come back in.

Fast forward again: It’s dinner time. I’m hanging out with Augusta for possibly the last time before I leave. We decide to go to “Luna De Miel” because, as I mentioned before, it’s really good (All they serve is crepes and they are amazing), and it had kind of become tradition for us. Of course he was working, why wouldn’t he be? Gracias a Dios otra vez that he wasn’t our server. I almost made it through the whole night actually without having to open my mouth. I smiled and nodded once in that hey I recognize you and I guess you probably recognize me but we haven’t met so I’m going to be awkward and just nod kind of way. It was great. I’ve got that dialed.

Then it was time to pay and leave. We walked down to the cash register and I gave Augusta money for my half the ticket, then she gave me her card and ran to the bathroom. Ok, I thought. Then I looked up. Well shit. I have to talk to him now. Here’s how it went:

Javier: “¿Estuviste al gimnasio hoy?” [You were at the gym earlier?]

Me: “Sí”

Javier: “Mucho ejercicio.” [a lot of excercise]

Me: “Sí…mucho…mucho…much needed?”

Javier: “¿Por qué?” [why?]

Me: (Really…you’re going to make me keep going?) porque…um…porque (AAAHHHGGG! I know this!)

um…sentir…mejor?

Javier: ¡Ah Sí! Me siento mejor. [I feel better]

Me: (UGH. I knew that…now I sound like that stupid American girl who can’t speak the language.) Me siento mejor. Sí. Gracias…um. ¿Buenas Noches? Um. Muchas Gracias.

And that’s it. I’m not actually sure I looked him in the face during that whole conversation. Of course my good bye was made exponentially better by the fact that I turned to leave and realized that I had to wait for Augusta so instead of walking out the door and waiting outside like any other slightly humiliated person trying to preserve an ounce of dignity, I stood awkwardly by the checkout counter looking at anything and everything except Javier.

I guess in the end it’s better this way. I’m not looking for a Latin Lover by any means. I can hardly function in a relationship with someone who speaks English, and I’m leaving Guatemala in a week anyway. I do need to work on my confidence though. I can speak Spanish. I can hold a simple conversation, even about working out at the gym. Maybe I’ll redeem myself this weekend if Mom by chance wants to eat crepes when she visits.

General Update on changing plans

Well it seems to be with me that changing plans is like changing underwear, if you don’t do it often enough things can get messy.

Don’t worry, I’ve changed. Again.

When I started the summer I was going to hike the Colorado Trail and going to visit China and then I was going to be in Durango again, working and living and trying to figure things out. Then I wasn’t going to China anymore, I was driving across Texas with my life in my car, headed home. Then I was on a plane with my life in 3 bags flying south for Central America for…years? Now I’m in Antigua, Guatemala, about to be flying to Costa Rica in two weeks and where before I was going to start looking for a job straight away after TEFL school, now I’m going home again. That’s right. I’ll be home for Christmas.

And then…?

Well I think I’ll go to Asia. South Korea maybe? It always happens suddenly for me. For a week or two I know things are wrong and I don’t know how to fix them, then suddenly one day I wake up, or someone says something or I see something and in an instant I know…Oh, this is what I’m supposed to do. All is right with the world once again, until that plan runs its course and it’s time to change once again.

Asia. I thought I wanted to teach English in South/Central America…but you have to try things out to know if they are right or not sometimes. I think this plan has been great so far and I have learned a great deal from the path I’ve come down so far. I wouldn’t trade this time here for anything, but now I know I am supposed to be going somewhere else.

How do you know it’s right?

I don’t know. It’s like they say with love: you just know. I also imagine it’s like those people who think they are fine but they visit the chiropractor anyway because they think it might be cool, but when they leave they realize that so many things are fixed that they never knew were wrong. It’s like you suddenly feel reset, repaired, like all those things that you didn’t realize were bothering you are solved.

Isn’t it scary? What about planning for the future?

Yeah, it’s scary changing plans so much, but it’s a pretty consistent plan. I am trying to move in a general forward direction toward a general goal. I just never know what all the near future holds so I keep having to adjust to keep going in that forward direction. We have very little control over our overall lives, so I just keep making the small decisions that take me from one phase of life to the next and hope the rest falls into place as well. When it doesn’t, I adjust. It’s scary, but it’s no more scary than I imagine getting married is, or buying a house for the first time must be. They are all decisions that propel us forward into who we are and who we will eventually be.

Isn’t it lonely?

Yes, right now moving so much is lonely. But that’s what the internet is for: ) It’s also what social skills are for. I don’t have great ones, but I am learning to use them more and more each day to talk to people that I probably wouldn’t have talked to before. One day, after all this whirlwind is over, I will have a job and live in one place for a year, maybe more and I will make friends and make my friends come visit me and I will visit them too. One of my dearest friends said to me today that home isn’t so much a matter of where you are, but who you are with. Thank you. It’s true. And I think I have known it all along. I may not be with my friends now for a long time, but I can look forward to it and work toward a time in my life when I can see them again. In the meantime, I can also work on developing new friendships and enriching the life I am living now.

So that’s it. I’m still changing and taking each step as it comes my way. 

Barriletes Gigantes (Really really really big kites)

Ok, here’s the scoop, I’m a bad tourist. I’m just lazy. All I ever want to do is sit in the coffee shops in the most central part of wherever I am. I want to read, maybe write, people watch and sleep. I want to think about all the things I could do…and then I probably won’t do them.

I did it though! I did something! (I know, I climbed a volcano before and I have done a few other things but just go with it) I did it! I signed up for a trip with the school to see the annual festival of giant kites (barriletes gigantes) in Sumpango, a nearby village.

They aren’t kidding. The kites are GIANT. Some of them can measure up to 20 meters in diameter…that’s like 65.6 feet…that’s like 11.5 of me. ELEVEN Saras! (Don't worry, the biggest one's don't actually fly) The people spend months constructing these monstrous creations of ‘papel de China’ and cane and string. They are every color imaginable and more, and each barrilete has a message. Many this year followed the theme of the Mayan calendar and the approaching end of era. (Speaking of which, this little country is going to be a crazy place around the middle of December.)

Anyway, I got myself up on Thursday morning. I ate breakfast with the family and other guests in the house and I ventured out to wait for the bus to come. I always hate that part, the part where you are sitting there thinking about how lazy you could be, but instead you are committed to this plan you have made. I had already paid though, so I stuck it out. I bought a coffee and before I knew it I was stepping off the bus into the overflowing municipalidad de Sumpango, Sacatepéquez. People, fried food, people, colors, people, artisan crafts for sale in every direction, and above all, more people. Well, actually, I guess the ‘above all’ part should be reserved for the barriletes that stood towering impressively, watching over it all.

The guide explained that this was a day of celebration for the dead. We visited the cemetery painted, like the kites, in any and every color. The people leave flowers and food and drinks for their lost ones and they spend the day flying kites (much much more reasonably sized kites) over their graves. There is a belief that the kites connect the heavens to the earth and for this day the spirits can touch the earth through the kites. It’s actually pretty beautiful when you think about it.

Eventually some of the bigger kites did fly. But those were only about 1.5 of me as opposed to 11. That’s way more reasonable. If a giant flying creation is going to come crashing down on you, it’s really better if it’s closer to your own size. Don’t worry, I ran and successfully evaded harm, but not without tripping on a kind older gentleman on crutches. I don’t think that kite won. (The competition judges design and time the creation is able to stay in the air.)

All in all the day wasn’t a terribly spiritual day for me, but it did make me appreciate the variety and creativity of cultural celebration. I jokingly said at one point (in Spanish might I add) that the dead here are certainly lucky. We seem to try as hard as we can to forget them in the states (not always, I know, but we don’t dedicate a whole day or two to them either.) 

Home

For the first 20 years of my life “home” was our house in East Texas. Then I moved to Colorado and slowly but surely the transition happened and “home” became Durango. What about now though?

I have been in Guatemala for about a month and a half now and my definition of home has been turned on its poor little head. Over the past 3 weeks I have come to realize and accept three relatively different definitions for the word.

A definition that just kinda misses the mark

1: A space of one’s own: This is what I longed for when I left Antigua for the apartment in San Raymundo. I remember walking in the door and seeing the living room, and the corner that we will call a kitchen, and the dining room and the bedrooms and bathroom, and the whole thing was going to be mine! Of course over the course of the next two weeks I realized that having a space of one’s own might be a little overrated if one is always there, always alone and never experiences the outside world. I want to clarify that I’m not whining about it, I’m just being a little critical of my own definition of home.

A slightly more accurate definition

2: A familiar and friendly place to lie one’s head: This is what I longed for as I checked out of the hotel yesterday with all of my bags and the warning signs of a cold. Augusta helped me lug my luggage the 6 blocks to my host family’s house. I cannot even begin to express how thankful I am that this is the same host family I had before. If you have ever tried to function in a foreign country with a cold, you might be able to comprehend how out of sorts I was. My nose was running, I was starting to get a fever, I was homesick (for nothing in particular, just had that feeling of missing something) and until Elizabeth opened the door I was bedless and had a very bleak outlook on the world. No worries though, it all turned golden when that door opened and I got a big ole’ mom hug and was led straight to my room where I promptly dropped my things on the floor and myself on the bed and called it quits for the next 18 hours. (Ok, so I went to get lunch with Augusta and David…but after that I called it quits). As I lay in bed wrapped in jackets and blankets listening to you-tube videos on my phone (because I couldn’t keep my eyes open) I couldn’t help but smile a little to know that however many thousands of miles away from my previous homes I was, I could still find a place to be welcome.

The definition that I think hits the mark

3: A place one dreams about every other night one is gone: I think my second definition is useful and accurate most of the time. We can be happy in a lot of places if we just have a welcoming spot (welcoming implying that one actually leaves said spot unlike in the first definition) to lay our heads and call “home base” for a time (however short). This third definition though gets to the heart of the issue. Home is that place you have left your heart. I dream about Durango almost every night. If the dream isn’t centered around it, it takes place there. Every now and then I dream about my Parents’ house in East Texas too, because in a lot of ways every version of myself between birth and 20 still lives there.

In conclusion (because everybody likes conclusions)

 I still can’t believe I am on this adventure. I know myself, and sometimes I am confused as to how exactly I got myself into this. This is something my hero would be doing, not me. I would be back in Durango, working and envying this person…but here I am. Every day I just have to remind myself, yes Sara, you are doing this, and this is just the beginning. Imagine what the rest of your life has to hold.  Every morning when I wake up though, I remember that one day (who knows when) I will go back. And maybe my love will have changed, and undoubtedly I will have changed, but no matter what, Durango will be home to every version of me that happened between 20 and 24…and that version is the one that is on this crazy adventure.

So here’s to places of one’s own and places to lay one’s head and places to dream about all the while one’s gone. 

My Week as a Make-Shift Pharmacist

A lot has happened in the past week. I have been trying to think of the best way to get the whole week down into one post and I just don’t think I can do it. I’ll keep it simple then.

My mom and I volunteer (mostly my mom) for a nonprofit called Refuge International who has clinics set up in three different villages in Guatemala. There are three week-long trips to each location every year, and during that time the volunteer group sees patients of all kinds from surrounding areas, they perform surgeries, and provide medication (hopefully enough to last the patient until our next visit). That is the simple version. Refuge also heads projects to drill clean water wells in various villages across the country, to deworm the entire population of the country over the course of a few years, and to get children like Misael (whose feet were turned almost completely backwards from birth) to Scottish Rite in the United States for corrective surgery so they can return home to live their lives more normally and to help their families.

So you probably guessed this is mostly a medical thing. If you know me at all, you know my medical experience doesn’t reach much past my ability to put on a Band-Aid and take allergy medicine twice a day. They found a place for me though. The pharmacy is set up in such a way that really anyone can do it. So I did. For a whole week I was a make-shift pharmacist. I counted thousands upon thousands of white pills, pink pills, orange pills, bright blue pills, pills for diabetes or high blood pressure, pills for pills that smell like they could kill everything in your body that isn’t supposed to be there and maybe even a few things that are. I counted them all. I counted them, bottled them, bagged them, labeled them and then I explained (IN SPANISH) how to take them, when to take them, what to take them with and why you are taking them in the first place. Did I mention I have no medical experience whatsoever? I learned a LOT this week.

So that’s it. For the sake of simplicity and brevity and preserving everyone’s sanity, I’m not going to write anything else about that. I probably passed out drugs to between 400 and 500 people this week. It doesn’t sound like a whole lot when you think about it terms of the quantities of customers passing through an American pharmacy on any given day, but this was a little different.

I’ll get my act together and tell a few medical stories from the week here in the next few days. 

Facing the Facts...It's time to move on

Alone: described in the dictionary as:

1: having no one else present; on one’s own

2: indicating that something is confined to the specified subject or recipient (it was meant for her alone)

So clearly this blog post will be about things being confined to a specified subject, being as I’m here, and confined to…ok who are we kidding? My closest friends the past four days have been Alec Baldwin and Tina Fey. It’s not as glamorous as it sounds. I haven’t shaved my legs in three and a half weeks and I can’t stop eating toast and pancakes because that is actually all there is to eat in the house (that’s a lie but just go with it…it’s not far off) and I’m too lazy to leave. But being alone isn’t bad. There is g-mail chat. I have spoken on the computer to 5 different friends the past 4 days. How cool is that? Yeah. Woah.

Anyway, my binge eating and deteriorating social skills aside, being alone has taught me a few things:

1: When I watch too much of something, I actually start acting like the characters. I don’t know if you have ever seen 30 Rock, but if you have: I have become an awkward combination of Liz and Jenna. I’m actually a little disappointed I didn’t pick up any Jack. If you haven’t seen 30 Rock: I have become an awkward combination of the girl who was princess Leia for Halloween too many years in a row and the girl who was forced into too many beauty pageants as a child. I’m actually a little disappointed I didn’t pick up some of the self-important businessman. I have no footage. You’re welcome.

2: One simply shouldn’t look in the mirror during these phases in life. When your activity level is almost negative, your calorie (specifically carb) consumption is excessively…positive?, and your general concern for appearance and/or hygiene is blatantly non-existent, what could you possibly hope to accomplish by looking in a mirror in a room with blue curtains and florescent lighting?

 3: The internet is not a replacement for real human interaction. I know it kind of feels like you are hanging out with whoever you are video chatting with, but you aren’t. Real people don’t suddenly disappear when the internet connection gets bad…usually. They also don’t make your eyes hurt a little bit if you stare at them too long…usually. And real people don’t sound like robots programmed by alien life forms trying to immolate human speech patterns with only every third word…usually. What I’m getting at is, I did see my friends on the screen this week, but it actually made me a little more homesick when the conversation was over.  I love technology, but it’s time to stop being alone.  

I guess the point of this post was to give myself an opportunity to think positively about my situation the past week. I definitely hit a few low spots, but it’s better if you can laugh about them. It’s time now for me to reach out and start trying again. A medical mission group from the States will be arriving tomorrow to work for a week in a clinic here. The time alone has been…enlightening, but I’m ready to meet new people, have new conversations, and re-start this adventure of mine. 

Ode to Instagram

I set up an instagram account yesterday (no this picture isn't from it but it's the same basic concept) and suddenly everywhere I look I see not just a candle holder, but a potential picture. I don’t see my earrings lying on the table, I see a potential picture. My world isn’t a 3D space in which I exist, it’s an infinite stack of 2D pictures waiting to be taken, to be captured and frozen and shared forever, or for an instant.

I consider myself a writer before a photographer or visual artist. I prefer words. They are my comfort zone. I know how to challenge myself with words and to challenge my readers if I so choose. I enjoy seeking out the perfect synonym or setting up a clever ambiguity. I enjoy the task of presenting in black and white horizontal lines the depth and color of the world around me and within me. Why then am I obsessed with this very visual sharing technique? I could make my facebook status say that I’m having homemade corn tortillas with my lunch, or I could just take a picture and put it up.

I think the answer lies in a few things:

1. Loneliness. The longer I am away from home and my friends, the more I wish I had someone, anyone, everyone to share this experience with. I could describe it, but an image feels so much closer to a shared experience. This is what I see. You can see it too and describe it for yourself if you see fit. I picture is worth 1000 words, or so they say. I’d say a picture is worth 1000 miles, or the distance it closes between me and you.  

2: Ease. Granted, while I do find writing relatively easy, it’s still somewhat of a chore.  When I want to share something, I want it to be effortless (again, as if my friend were here). A picture is so comparatively simple. A few seconds, a few pushes of a few buttons and there you have it. My moment is captured and I can go on enjoying it or wallowing in it as I see fit.

3: Novelty. It’s just fun. It’s fun to look around and to find something interesting in your surroundings that you might not have otherwise noticed. It’s fun to take that something and to lock it into a little box, and to manipulate it into a little visual taste of where you are or what you’re doing. It’s fun to know that somewhere out there someone will see what you’ve done, and you can see what they have done. It’s fun that our imaginations can all be connected like that.

Travelling long term is hard. But I set up an instagram account yesterday, and I’m glad. It brings me that much closer to my friends, wherever they may be. And, if nothing else in a day, I can look for ways to share little pieces of my world. It may be just another silly AP, but it’s a silly AP that makes the world that much more beautiful, that much more friendly, and that much more fun.  

Random Notes from a Temporary Recluse

I know I’m supposed to be writing about my adventures but right now I’m not having a lot of them and the ones I am having are shrouded in a cloud of the dust particles rising off my shattered Spanish. Ok, that might have been an overstatement. I’m not completely terrible at communicating. I’m just not fluent which, coming from a girl who prides herself on an above average mastery of the English language, is like saying I can’t speak at all, nor think, nor even breath properly. How am I supposed to enjoy the beauty of the natural world when I can’t breathe for choking on all these words that aren’t mine yet?...

Anyway, my point is, my adventures in the physical and linguistic worlds are slightly sore topics at the moment and I don’t really feel like conjuring up the energy to make them anything else. I’ll cover instead a random array of…stuff (for lack of a better word) that I’ve learned, or observed, or just pulled out of my ass out of a complete inability to think of anything else.

1: I CAN’T HIDE! I have always prided myself on an ability to blend and melt into my surroundings. I try to look as little like a tourist as possible every chance I get. Not so much because I don’t want to be thought a tourist, as because I just don’t want to be noticed. Of course there are certain times where I want to go out like a peacock and I do, in full color, but this is not one of those times. I want to blend in so badly. If you blend in you can walk down the street and soak up the sights without feeling like a sight yourself. If you blend in you can walk past the stalls of men and women selling things and they won’t literally follow you trying to convince you to buy something. Edy, who has been showing me around and being my occasional friend laughed yesterday and said, “Tus palabras favoritas son no gracias. Siempre es No gracias. No gracias.” They are NOT my favorite words. I don’t want to go to any of the beautiful tourist destinations here because I am so tired of hearing over and over again the same words and seeing all the same beautiful things shoved in my face. Actually that might be a sore topic too. I’ll move on.

2: I’m not a coffee snob anymore. I am living in a country known for coffee production and I have been drinking nothing but instant and Folgers. So sue me. I’ll put some sugar in it and, yes I’ll take cream, and I’ll drink it and I’ll like it because I want it and I don’t care.

3: I have always loved traveling alone. Ok, I wouldn’t say I am a seasoned traveler by any standards so to use always might be a bit of an overshot. What I mean to say is that I am perfectly comfortable alone. The problem with that is that I am completely comfortable. I want to leave my comfort zone. I want to learn new things and experience new things and be forced to do something I don’t want to do, but in the long run I really should do.Unfortunately, I will only take myself so far toward that goal. I’m here. I’m in another country, in a little village where tourism isn’t a thing and there is no one who really speaks English. I am here and I refuse to leave the house. That’s a lie. I have left the house, but not much and I was never out longer than I absolutely needed to be to buy whatever it was I left to buy. I can’t help but think that just having another person with me would make walking down the street so much easier. So I love the freedom of traveling alone, but I think I need the challenge of travelling together.

4: Platanos fritos  (fried plantains) are where it’s at.

5: The Guatemalan people are obsessed with love. I don’t know that definitively, but I do know that they sure ask about it a lot. “¿Tienes un novio? ¿Porqúe no?” I only barely have the linguistic ability to explain in Spanish that I don’t have a boyfriend because no one has asked recently and the last thing didn’t work out, and it’s hard to have a boyfriend when you are however many 1000s of miles away. I’m afraid if I tell anyone here though that I’m not dating anyone because no one has asked, that that excuse may quickly become invalid. I’ll stick for the moment to “no, yo no sé.” I guess I really don’t know why anyway.

I would like to know why they always seem so taken aback by the fact that I am single. One man told me it was good for your soul to care for someone and to be cared for back. One man explained to me the importance of fidelity and how one man and one woman is the only way it should be. Yet another man explained to me that it was very rare for a beautiful woman to be single and asked me again why I didn’t have a novio. I want to know why they think it’s so easy. Maybe they know something I don’t know, or maybe the men are just more straightforward here. Whatever the case, I guess I can add “No, yo no sé” to my list of palabras favoritas in Guatemala.

I think that’s enough for now. If I make this any longer you won’t want to keep reading. I know this hasn’t revealed much about my adventures or lack thereof, but this is it for now. These are some of the things on my mind. My ability to think in English has been slightly impaired by my constant attempts to think and speak in Spanish.  I’ll keep working on it though, so keep an eye out. I’m sure I’ll have a story for you soon enough. 

Fiesta! Or little white girl out of her element

Well, I’ve done it again. I have moved…again. I’m still in Guatemala, just in yet another different town. San Raymundo. This one is a little more “permanent” for lack of a better word. I’ll be here a month instead of one or two weeks. That’s exciting. In other news, I know of only one other person in this entire town who is fluent in English…neato.  I have some adjusting and exploring to do, but that’s part of the fun. Of course I say fun. What I mean is I am going to want to cry so badly at times that it will physically hurt…but after that it will be fun. Like Yesterday:

I went to a fiesta. Woo! Fun right? Allow me to elaborate. Little white girl (who tends to be taller than most of the population of this country) enters scene. Two picnic tables on a back patio and a TV with the big game on. Fútbol. (Madrid and Barcelona were playing. This experience was so disconcerting that I actually don’t know who won…I think it was the white team but I don’t even know which team was which color.) There were probably 5 people sitting around one of the tables plus Edy who drove me here to San Ray and who invited me to the shindig, plus Joy whom I met once 2 years ago. Good start.

This isn’t so bad. There aren’t that many people. I can start up a conversation at some point. Enter: 3 more people. [I should stop and explain here that this is a fiesta for Edy’s fútbol team who won the finals match on Wednesday.] I’m not going to go into explaining the enterings and exitings of every person at the party. All I’ll say is we filled 4 picnic tables…and all but four of us were dudes…and Joy was the only other woman who would talk to me. About half way through eating whatever foreign part of the chicken I ended up with and the chunks of deep-fried fat, I wanted to cry. I couldn’t seem to think of anything to say to anyone in Spanish, English or otherwise. Everyone was laughing and joking and carrying on around me, and all I could do was stare at the TV screen and wonder when it would be polite to bow out.

*****

Two hours later: About half the party had split and I had moved over to the other two picnic tables in the yard under the big awning. Me (Joy occasionally) and two picnic tables full of Guatemalan men. It took a few more minutes but I think I started to feel a tiny bit more comfortable when they started making fun of the youngest, skinniest one for having a crush on me and for having the most outrageous sunglasses (I actually used to have a pair just like them but I’ll keep that to myself.) By the end I had carried on something of a bumpy conversation with a few of the older men, and had been lectured on the value of the quintessential Guatemalan man. I had also been asked, by the entire table, if I preferred facial hair or not; skinny, fat or muscular; white or brown skin; and if I could guess the ages of about half the guys. IN SPANISH! AH!

By the time I got home my poor brain was so tired from listening so hard that all I could do was lie on the couch and watch TV (in English).

I think I’ll be hanging out with that group again sometime (hopefully a smaller version). I’ll be sure to get a good night’s sleep…and read the Spanish dictionary before then. 

How to Climb a Volcano

How to Climb a Volcano in Guatemala

1: Just go with a travel agency. I know. Lame, but when your teacher says that her brother is a guide and she will talk to him for you, don’t do it! She will only talk to him a little bit, but then she will get the bright idea that this will be a perfect opportunity for you to practice Spanish. She will give you his number (over the phone…boom! More practice) and now it’s all you. Sure I guess you could just not call, but then what kind of student would you be to put your teacher out like that then not follow through? Yeah, you don’t want to be that person…and actually, you are going to end up going with an agency anyway because her brother works for one. You just took the longer more complicated way.

2: But really, just go with a travel agency. I for one totally understand the allure of climbing a mountain (or better yet, a volcano) alone or with a couple of friends. In fact, that’s really how I prefer it. Never before though was there a very high chance of being robbed at gun point on the trail. (Don’t worry, I climbed the safest one and we had a guide with a gun and all, but the one I really really really wanted to do…oh! ¡Tienes cuidado!  Hay muchos ladrones y es muy peligroso. Or at least that’s what everyone I talked to said).  So yeah, just put your pride back in your pocket and go with the agency…or carry a gun…or go climb a volcano somewhere else.

3: Don’t go during the rainy season…it rains. I mean unless you dig that whole soggy hiking experience. The rainy season ends in late October/ early November…

4: If you must go during the rainy season, go in the morning. The rain tends to blow in in the afternoon and evening. My class isn’t over until 1 PM. I might have thought to go on a Saturday if I had gone with rule number 1. Granted our group got all kinds of lucky because the rain stopped pretty much as soon as we arrived at the base of the mountain, but just because the rain stopped does not mean the clouds will take their leave. Certainly it’s pretty cool to say you climbed a volcano in a cloud…but the cool factor depends a whole lot on what kind of view you were hoping to get. (Also a good reason to have a guide: You can get turned around when everything is the same shade of gray)

5: Bring a flashlight. It gets dark in the clouds after dark…That sounded redundant but I meant that the moonlight isn’t really there to help you out so it’s not quite catacomb dark (which I know by the way) but it’s sure no full moon adventure either.

6: Definitely talk to the other people in your group. They are after all climbing a volcano so they must be at least kind of cool. They are probably not from your home country either. It’s cool. Just do it.

7: Keep your expectations at bay. This goes for most experiences really. Or rather, keep them very very low so that it can only get better in real life. I had such an awkward and unfortunate day leading up to the hike that by the time I realized we wouldn’t be able to see anything, I didn’t care anymore. I was so happy it wasn’t raining and that I was doing something active. Not saying you can’t enjoy things if you have high expectations, but it’s a hell of a lot easier to find the good in something when it hasn’t first disappointed you terribly.

8: And finally, in conjunction with rule number 7, just have fun. Your experience will be what it will be, whether sweeping, breathtaking views, or cloud-incased apocalypse dream. If the later, the experience can be improved greatly by talking about dinosaurs, any book or movie involving a decimated earth, or the fact that God smokes a big ole hookah (the clouds…the hookah thing was a joke about how cloudy/smoky/ misty it was).

The end. Now go do something awesome.  

The many colors of Antigua

Preface: Travelling comes with a slew of emotions, especially for an extended amount of time. Antigua is a truly beautiful city, full of life and soooo many wonderful colors and languages and tastes and lives. It is an amazing place to be and my overall experience really is a positive one. My brain has been pounded for hours on end every single day for the past week though, and at times I really have been tired but reassured by the colors and things around me. This post is not really about anything. It was me forcing myself to be a little more creative, and to give the language-learning part of my brain a break. It’s not necessarily a finished, polished work but it’s a practice in association and observation and just putting general feeling on paper without regard for a lot of rules. So here it is. Enjoy.

*****

Grey, a sad color to start with, maybe, but a good one. It means rain. It reminds me of home. Not in a sad way, but in a way that tastes like love. The clouds and thunder roll in in the afternoons, building around and in front of the volcanoes. Grey cobble stone streets in every direction, could trip you up, but can take you back to a time you can’t remember. Slow down! It’s easier on the eyes and the spirit. Grey, an easy color, and tired—or maybe a different word, pleasantly cansada. Yes. Not quite seeing in the colors of the rising sun but not tired or weary of the world.

Red!  Sudden salsa, a beat you want to swing your hips to, or maybe just tap your toe today. Maybe it’s a little much, like too much picante in your rice. But then, a little bite never hurt anybody too badly. We live in a red house at the end of the street and we stand on the roof to see the rest of the world while the laundry billows or something like that on the breeze that rolls down of the backs of those volcanoes. Fuego. I guess you could erupt…and I carry my books in a bright red bag but that doesn’t mean anything. I haven’t felt much like dancing anyway.

But don’t get me wrong. I’m not azul—I’m not the blue that you might think of lonely. I’d like to say I’m the blue of the Café Sky, or the sky above as we walk to class each day. Oh, or maybe the color of that one house just down the block a bit. There is no blue like the one I left behind, no blue like mountain lakes but that’s ok. I’ll lift my proverbial glass of “Agua Pura” and may it ever be half full, overflowing with a hope the color a song I heard in a coffee shop one time.

Augusta sings in the streets and the trees, green, lean in to listen. This is life. It’s Guacamole, or the avocado picked right off the tree. Green like the parks and the pictures on postcards. Here’s what you’re missing out, not going yourself. Gringo in a foreign land. I want to learn this language so, but I’m still green you might say. Verde. Verdad. Pais de la eterna primavera. My green eyes shining in the rain.

Amarillo, not a town in Texas. I’ve never loved the color yellow before, and no, I don’t love it now. It belongs here though. The arch, La Merced, so many beautiful buildings in shades of marigold and golden rod. See, now I’m smiling, lighter at just the thought. Sonreír. Such a word for smile, you have to smile to say it. I’ll make it here, just fine, between gold-plated decorations and a hint of yellow thread woven through the tapestries.

Purple. A funny color. I feel like the color purple sometimes, or like the word “purple”. A little awkward, like nothing quite rhymes with me but I’m not completely cast out of the color wheel. Woven purple earrings, purple bags in the crowded market. It’s a rich color, and full of flavor like the food we are fed each day. It can stutter though, and trip up like my Spanish. It’s endearing right? It’s meeting new people from around the world, a mix of red and blue. What’s a rainbow without it?

White. A blank slate. Starting over again in a whole new place. All the colors are here to fill my soul and make me whole. Welcome to Antigua, Guatemala.

Kind of, but not quite, my first day in Antigua

(beyond chronology, this has little semblance to anything constituting order…sorry)

This was not my first day in Antigua…but it was pretty much my first day in Antigua. I woke up at 5 (I don’t know why…don’t worry about it). I showered. No. I didn’t. The water in the hotel shower wouldn’t ever heat up. I stuck my head under the sink and washed my hair and called it good.

I can’t really say that I know exactly what I did to kill the time between then and about 8:30 when I left to look for…well anything really. There was some breakfast in there somewhere. But then I went to look for anything. I just started walking. I walked past the Plaza Mayor and took a right. Why not? When you are looking for anything how can you make a wrong turn? I found an organic grocery story, an organic café, a book store and a market. All on one street in a matter of a few blocks. Neat. I bought dental floss and cue tips. Cool huh?

It was still a little early to check out of the hotel and go to my new home so I pulled the whole sitting in a park, people-watching stunt. Cliché, I know, but give me a break. It was almost, kind of not my first day in Antigua. It’s a pretty park. People are watchable. I actually didn’t get much silent contemplation in before a nice man came up and started trying to convince me his Spanish school was the best. It might be. I got 30 minutes of solid practice right there, for free, without even asking for it. I also got the inside scoop on the futbol game at 11. Cool. Something to do!

….passage of time here where a nice man lugs my nearly 50 pound duffle bag about four blocks to my new home and then up 3 flights of stairs to my rooftop room (and I was just going to call a taxi)…

Futbol! I bought my ticket, and found a seat all by myself! I felt a little left out of the general camaraderie but it was fun to watch. Then I heard it! English! And right behind me nonetheless. Great success! I then asked the question any lone English speaker asks when they hear their native tongue in a foreign land: “You speak English?” Sometimes it’s the obvious things that make the best ice breakers really. Why yes, that is a purple elephant in the corner. How nice of you to notice…anyway…I know very little about futbol except to clap and yell when everyone else does, and that the team with the most numbers at the end won. WE WON! Woo! (No I’m not really that clueless but I have no details for you)

My new friends were Swedish and Norwegian (Mark, Mike and Mateo)! Neato! I called Augusta (who also lives on the third floor with me) and we all wandered aimlessly in search of food. We found, we ate, we struggled over the ticked but successfully paid and we left.

The next two or three hours involved walking, taking pictures, walking, pointing, walking, oohing and aahing, walking, and saying good-bye, good night, maybe we’ll run into you guys again sometime.

So now I’m ‘home’. My bags are unpacked nicely into a dresser. The sounds of the city are floating in through my window on a cool evening breeze. I am happily in my pajamas, sitting on a real mattress that won’t deflate in the night, in a room with four walls and decent internet. I am ‘home’ for at least two weeks here in a city of unpaved, stone streets and buildings the colors of the rainbow; nestled beneath a few protective volcanoes (we’ll call them protective for my own personal comfort). I have a home and I have friends. What more could you ask for? (Well, having my old friends here in my new surroundings would be the ideal world but you can’t win them all). So here’s to talking to strangers, playing with volcanoes and singing in the catacombs.

So you want to change the world?

So you want to change the world? Well sometimes it doesn’t want to be changed. That doesn’t mean you should stop trying. It just means that your efforts won’t always be fruitful. Some children still grow up be murderers, some people still starve in the streets, and sometimes you just don’t strike water.

It’s easy to take clean water for granted in the United States. You can turn on almost any home faucet and voila! What if you live in a village on water though? That doesn’t sound so bad. But what if the water is salt water mixed with some fresh water, mixed with water that runs off the land where you and all of your animals use the bathroom? Hopefully you have a cistern or a filter or (best for larger quantities of people) a well.

We went, hoping to change a few lives. The village of Rosario has a 5 gallon sawyer filter (good to give 10 families clean water for one year…or at least that’s what I heard), but that’s hardly efficient for a village. There may have even been more than one filter. But still, this isn't a filter on your tap in your house. This is 5 gallons at a time for however many families assigned to it. No just turning on the faucet whenever you want. You may have to fill a bucket and trek it a mile or two back home.

A year or two ago another group tried to drill there. They drilled down 100 feet and never hit water. We were hoping to do better. We pulled onto shore and unloaded the boat and started hauling the rest of the drilling supplies 30-45 minutes up the muddy trail through the forest to Rosario. The drill itself was already there, carried up by the locals a day or two earlier. Unfortunately we arrived on Guatemala’s Independence Day. Who wants to work when there are celebrations to be had? So, we turned around and made the slippery hike back out. Good day for hammock-sitting.

Sunday morning: round two. We pulled on our mud-caked shoes and headed for the boat ramp. Ten minutes later we pulled up to shore and hiked back in. Now, what on earth is a white girl with no experience in drilling supposed to do to help all the wiry Guatemalan men set up a drill? Nothing. She is supposed to do nothing. But I digress. The point is. Only so many people can dig the two pools, and set up the tower, and make sure the water pump is good to go, and that there is water to run through the drill, and gas and diesel and oil in all their respective places. It sounds like a lot, but when the whole village is invested heart and soul into this thing improving their quality of life (if only a little) there is no shortage of helping hands.

Everything was set to go and the drilling began! Oh! Being the compulsive scribbler that I am, I did have pen and paper on hand. This turned out to be my contribution. I kept track of how deep we had gone and what we had drilled through on the way. Five feet. Clay. Ten feet. Clay. Fifty feet. Clay. One Hundred Feet. Clay. We ran out of pipe on Monday at 125 feet. Still Clay. The people of Rosario want clean water. We wanted to give it to them. That isn’t always enough though. The earth simply wasn’t willing to comply. We backed the pipe out, took the drill down and began hauling everything back out to the shore. *I’d like to comment here that by haul, I do literally mean carry. A tiny man (barely 5 feet tall) will strap a 100-pound tower, 7 feet tall) to his forehead and haul off through the forest at a pace I can almost comfortably keep without carrying anything. Yeah. My white girl problems felt pretty silly after seeing that.

The people of Rosario may find another spot to try to drill. They may be supplied with a few more filters. They have survived for this long and will undoubtedly persevere on. The earth has her own plans. We can’t be discouraged though. We can only keep trying and hope that one day our plans coincide with what the earth is willing to give. 

Amoebas, Mosquitos and Worms! ¡Dios mío!

Welcome to the rainforest, practically. Welcome to Sarstún, 1 hour by boat up the Atlantic coast between Guatemala and Belize. 1 hour that is, after having flown about 5 hours and ridden in a taxi van for 6 or 7. Actually, the boat ride is a breeze after all of that (unless it’s raining, then it’s a little more of a stinging gale. I recommend sunglasses and rain gear). But you have arrived at last at the Refuge International Clinic of Sartstún…Now what?

First, a few rules and notes:

1: Don’t drink the water! Actually, at the clinic it’s ok because they have a clean-water well supplying it, but generally, stick to the bottled stuff. If, though, you hate yourself and those you are traveling with and feel the need to expel from your body every last ounce of fluid life you have then go ahead. The giardia and amoebas are great!  Oh, and you are at a clinic so Soilya, the live-in nurse/doctor, can hook you up with an IV and some meds so you can at least live to remember the experience.

2:  Don’t forget your mosquito repellant! Or your mosquito netting to sleep under. They will find you. They will find you and they will feast. If you remembered to take your Malaria medicine you don’t have so much to worry about, except of course the itching. That can be ignored though if you get bit by the other bugs whose bites itch worse and swell more. My only recommendation for avoiding those is to stay out of the trees (sounds easy enough but I’ll get to that)

3: Stay out of the mud! I don’t know if you know anything about having worms (I actually don’t either) but I do know that you can get them through the soles of your feet. I also know that they tend to live in the mud, especially in the perpetual mud of this part of the world where it is constantly wet, and where cows and chickens and all sorts of other critters are dropping their digested lunches off all over the place. The whole ground surface is just crawling with tiny little fertilized life forms just waiting to jump on board the human digestive tract express! Mostly just wearing shoes is fine. If you do have to sit down though, because the well being drilled is taking forever and you are tired, opt for tearing off some large leaves for a cleaner seat. Trees might be a fun way to get off the ground, but the bug bites are not worth the view.

4: Don’t flush the toilet paper…if there is any. Actually, you might want to bring a little along with you to avoid any awkward catastrophes. But once you have taken care of your business put the paper in the trash. The plumbing isn’t ready for anything that didn’t come directly out of you. It’s way harder to remember than you might think. It’ll be ok if you forget once or twice (I hope), but try not to make a habit of it.

5: If you are girl with short hair and men’s clothes you will be stared at…a lot. There will probably be pointing and whispering, and little girls will definitely make fun of you. It’s ok. You know you’re a girl.

6: It will rain.

7: Your clothes might or might not ever dry…because it will rain.

8: The tortillas are to die for. Eat them! Flour. Corn. Fried to a puffy crisp. Any way you have them they are magical! The black soupy, runny stuff is just frijoles negros (black beans…pureed it seems), and it’s pretty tasty. Be aware though that you will eat them at every meal. That’s not an exaggeration. Fact. Every meal comes with black beans. (I lied. We had pasta once.) The fish still has a face. Just don’t look it in the eye and it tastes amazing! The chili isn’t to be trifled with. And I know, you are in Guatemala, but in Sarstún you drink instant coffee. It’s fine. Just do it. Sprinkle a little powdered milk in and a dash of sugar and you got it!

9: Don’t worry about using all the hot water…there isn’t any.

Well those are the basics. Everything else falls into place pretty well. You get used to slogging through mud if you want to walk anywhere, not that you can actually walk much of anywhere anyway. The hour boat ride was not just the short cut. There actually are no roads. There are boats and then there are foot paths…or there aren’t foot paths and you can walk wherever you dare.

So what to do? Well, if you want to go for a run, go for it! Be ready to shower as soon as you are done. You will be covered in mud. You could go out and play some soccer with the locals on the field. It’s muddy, and don’t be surprised if there are a few hills in your game.  Internet? Do you remember the dial-up days? It might be that fast. TV? Actually, there is one in the kitchen of the clinic. I never did check that out though. When I wasn’t sitting, watching, reading and writing at the drilling sight, I was sitting, watching, writing and reading in a hammock in the open-air sleeping area.

Ah, sleeping. You’ll do a little of that. You will probably get misted by rain in the night. It’s ok. You’re never really dry anyway. The mist is nice too because it cools things down. The rooster starts crowing at 4. No, the sun hasn’t even started thinking about rising yet, but the rooster doesn’t care. And neither should you. You probably went to bed at 8 because you woke up at 4 the previous morning. You get used to it. Or you don’t. The rooster doesn’t care. There is a 1 in 3 chance (in my experience) that your air mattress will stay inflated in the night. Congratulations if it does.

So that’s about it. The people are nice. The food is great. Oh! One more thing. When you get home, ease yourself back into the rich food. The black bean and tortilla diet leaves your stomach a little less tolerant to your usual burger and fries thing. Just a thought. Do you what you want. But whatever you do, don’t forget your worm pill, and the rest of your malaria medicine.

Enjoy your stay!

Ode to motel rooms

Motel rooms are oddly calming. You run around all day, packing your bags, checking and re-checking your checklist (that you almost definitely left at least 2 things off) navigating roads and emotions and hallways until it finally happens. You walk into a room that you have probably never seen before, and you may never see again, but it's familiar. It is clean. Still. Everything is exactly where it belongs, lined up in neat, even lines. It invites you to come in for a night or two, but never to stay. It will leave you alone, in silence while you unpack your bags and thoughts and realize just what it is you have gotten yourself into.

It has a bathroom where you can take a deep breath and tell yourself that everything will work out, as you splash your weary face with cleansing water. It has a TV to take you away from the world for a while and let you think you are back home on your couch just doing your usual thing. It has a bed or two that are too tightly made to be welcoming. Go ahead, lie down a while. Stare at the ceiling and pray for sleep. Motel rooms aren't magic though. They can't bring quiet to a moving mind but they can give it a quiet place to move.

The walls could be anywhere. If it helps, you can tell yourself you are still in the town you left. You can tell yourself you are headed back instead of away. Motel rooms, like blank pages, lend themselves to any story you want to give them. It's not until you leave in the morning that you have to face the fact that change is inevitable and you are being swept away.

So here's to quiet rooms. To time to think. To time to forget you have a 3:00AM wake-up call. To change. Here's to the future, and to all the motel rooms I will probably stay in, collect my thoughts in, and reassess my life in. Here's to life.

Living the dream...wait, I have a dream?

I fly away on Friday. It’s still too early to start in on the crazy packing process and a little late to be lamenting my losses in Durango. I’m in limbo. Really I’ve been in limbo for a while, dancing back and forth between the TV, whatever book I’m reading, and my phone. Of course the past few days I have had to be a little more responsible I guess. Fill prescriptions, go to the dentist, get my hair cut, and think really, really hard about packing all of my stuff into a duffle bag. Still not ready for that though.

I have also been thinking a lot (aside from my empty bags) about what I’m about to be doing. I have never been one inclined toward passion. I have had so many friends and acquaintances along the way who have loved what they were doing or what they were striving toward, and they would attack their goals with the fervor and intensity of a hound on the chase and never let up or be distracted until success was achieved. I have always been a bit more passive. Ok, that’s an understatement. I would follow the path of least resistance to my grave if that’s where it wanted me to go. I hold fast that I am a cloud, and there is little I care to steer myself toward that doesn’t follow my same wind stream.

I have wanted to be everything from an archeologist to an interior decorator but never once have I taken my dreams seriously. I became a “writer” instead. At least I could make up stories about people who did the things I was too lazy for, or wasn’t drawn to beyond day-dreams. Until now.

I get to travel. I have always wanted to travel. All of the stories I made up as a child involved adventure. All of the jobs I wanted either required that I travel or at least gave me enough money and vacation time to travel on my own. It never occurred to me that travel could be the goal. I always thought it would just be a perk on the side of whatever I chose to do, not the thing I actually chose.

Now I can justify doing whatever as long as it takes me somewhere. I will teach English so I can live in Central America or Europe or Asia. I will learn Spanish (and hell, maybe more if I have the opportunity) so that I can become a marketable resource in more countries than just this one. I learned to write because I liked it and was relatively decent at it. Now though, I have a purpose for education beyond the degree. I have a goal. Dare I say I have a passion?

I have only ever traveled in small doses. I may be horribly allergic to travel and just not know it yet. I have to try it out though, because it’s about damn time I found something to get fired up about. 

Part 3 (My affair with the recliner)

So part 3 was going to be a big pity party about how I don’t get to dress like I don’t own a mirror anymore because people here will judge me. Then I remembered who is writing this thing, and who is reading it for that matter. I won’t be whining like a vain little princess today. You’re welcome.

Now that that’s cleared up let’s get to the other third thing I realized I miss. It happened while I was sitting there melting into the recliner. I vaguely remembered this world where I could go weeks on end without even seeing a recliner. Did I dream that? I wondered. No. In fact, in that world I could also go days at a time without driving my car. I walked everywhere. Whatever happened to those days?

I moved home. Don’t get me wrong, East Texas has its charm. It is lush and green (so many shades of green) with rolling hills that you can’t see for all the towering pines and oaks. You can’t walk anywhere though. You really wouldn’t want to for fear of dying of heat stroke between the front door and the mail box.  But even if it wasn’t so stiflingly hot, I still wouldn’t be able to walk to the grocery store or a coffee shop. It’s a 15 minute drive to the nearest town (and 30 to the nearest town that has anything in it worth driving to). I have tried doing laps around our porch but that gets monotonous after about 5 minutes, even if you walk backwards for parts. I joined a gym for the air conditioning where I can burn off at least a little energy while reading or listening to NPR (no, I’m not your grandmother, it’s fine). Mostly though, I have just entered into this really needy relationship with the recliner. I use him for comfort and to forget the world I left behind, and he just lets it happen because let’s face it, what is a recliner without someone to sit in it?

I really miss those days of thinking: What a slow day, I think I want a cup of coffee. I’ll just throw on some shoes and grab my purse and walk into town. It was perfect. I could kill some time, get my legs moving, read a few good pages, and soak up some fresh air and vitamin D. Once I got to town who knows what could happen. I might run into someone I know and we could head off on an adventure or just grab a beer or a cup of coffee (neither of which I would appreciate as much as I do now). I might stop in Maria’s and find a good book. I might get to town, realize I don’t have my wallet and turn around and walk home. Whatever. It didn’t matter. Home wasn’t that far and I could read on the way.

I guess there isn’t much more to say. I miss how close everything was, how close everyone was. But now that I'm done dwelling on the things that are gone, I think I’ll go climb back into the recliner and dream about this new life I’m about to be entering. It’s exciting and scary, and this time at home really is important.