It's not Christmas, It's Navidad

As a Jew, my Christmas memories have included eating at the only restaurants open for that night, skiing on an empty ski mountain and one long flight to Turkey last year. It is not an important holiday for me, but when two people invited me to their house to celebrate, I had a huge debate who I should say no to.  I debated between celebrating with Charlie, a good friend I have met from the beginning of my time in Guatemala, or Sarbelio, a construction worker that is part of the organization I work for.

In the end, I decided I would split the night. The last bus to Chimaltenango, where Sarbelio lives, leaves at 7 at night, so I figured I could spend the beginning with Charlie and his family and then spend the rest of the night with Sarbelio. Plans did not work out as I had hoped. Charlie was running around preparing for the night that I only had a chance to see him right before I got on the bus for Chimaltenango. I gave him a big Merry Christmas Hug and then was on my way.

Christmas dinner at Sarbelio's was the calm family-sharing time I had always pictured Christmas to be. Besides the tomales and punch that are typical here in Guatemala, the Christmas dinner was pretty standard. We sat around the table, talked and laughed.

Later, his son, daughter and I went to the center of town. In the US, the streets are empty on Christmas, but in Guatemala, the center is bustling. Surrounding a ferris wheel, vendors sell fireworks, apples and grapes, and people play at game stands, just as if it were a town fair. We went on the ferris wheel that went quicker than any ferris wheel I had been on before. Your stomach dropped as you turned over the top curve, and you just had to avoid thinking that Guatemala does not have any safety guidelines in such cases.

We went back to the house for midnight, and people were sitting on stools in front of their front doors, with a fire lit by pine cones keeping them warm. I joined Sarbelio and the rest of his family outside, and we nibbled on grapes and apples and drank glasses of champagne.

For months of working with Sarbelio, I knew very little of him and his family. The house he lives in is very big compared to what many Guatemalans have. Yet, he told me it took him 20 years to build it up to what it is today. He lived in a sugar cane house before that he rented for 18 Quetzales a month. He comes from an indigenous town, but they fled during the war, and his mother was killed by the army. I later found out they have recently found her body after many years of not knowing where it was.

Right before midnight, a storm of home-owned fireworks exploded throughout the small alleyways where only small cars could pass. Each family had a bundle of their own fireworks, and the streets lit up throughout the city. Some were simple sticks that lit up and others were elaborate lights that shot up in the sky. It was incredible, and I felt more like I was celebrating Fourth of July and not Christmas. When it turned 12:00 on the 25th we all hugged and wished each other a Merry Christmas. But midnight did not mark the end of the night by any means. They continued drinking, the fireworks still boomed and sizzled and they stayed talking until four in the morning. I, on the other hand, went to bed at 1:30.

 Although most had run through their fireworks by 1am, some kids still lit the alleyways in celebration.

It may be my only Christmas I have ever celebrated, but if I am to celebrate again, I would hope it's al estilo chapin, in the Guatemalan style.

The Discovered Paradise

Walking up a steep hill labeled "difficult," I wondered what exactly I was doing again dizzy, losing my breath, as I had been weeks before climbing up the Indian's Nose.  Yet when I reached the top view overlooking Semuc Champey, the turquoise water pools amongst a dense forest valley, I remembered all difficult climbs in Guatemala are worth the head-rush.

The five pools are really just a small dot in the forest that rolls over the mountains continues beyond sight, but they stand out with their bight color as they break up the continuous green.

Our impatient tour guide yawned as he waited for us on the way up. His accustomed legs that climbed to the top three times a day did not want to wait for those slow-pokes like me. But the hike down to the pools from the mirador went quickly compared to the quick paced hike up. We reached the bottom and our guide led the way through each of the pools, sliding down rocks or jumping if the water was deep enough.

Within the pools itself, people splashed around, creating chaos in the calm of the forest. But by swimming backstroke, with my ears under the water and head facing up, I could get a glimpse of the tranquility that once was.

After pool hopping, our guide divided us into two groups to go tubing down the river. We waited as the first group went, watching them pass from our high viewpoint in the hostel. They unloaded the tubes quicker than expected, and before we can say it was a waste to go, we saw them climbing up to the top of a bridge about 20 or 30-feet high, and one by one they jumped in the water.

I was ready and excited for our turn to tube.  However, by the time I stood at the bridge's end, one look down convinced me not to go. I turned around and watched a few more people go. I was determined and stood at the edge to once again turn around. Finally, by the third try after everyone jumped, I tried again. My friend Ron instructed me to close my eyes, hold my nose, shut my legs and jump straight. I listened to all the advice, except the most important: jump straight. I landed in a sitting position, only realizing it when the splash shocked my butt cheeks with an terribly harsh tingle that gave me rosy cheeks as I exited the water. At least I did it, I thought, as I rubbed my bright red bum.

We walked through caves in the last part of our Semuc Champey trip, guided by small candles that barely showed five feet in front of you. Our guide stayed in back, and my friend Annie and I stood at the front to lead the group in a direction where we had no idea where we were going. We started walking through  caves with downward facing points that looked like Gothic style architecture. The further we walked, the deeper the water became, and we had to swim in sections. Yet even the best swimmer could not swim with style because we had to hold the candle above water, leaving us no choice but to doggie-paddle.

Why I Need Dual Citizenship

Just one stamp could cost you $82. That was the unfortunate lesson I learned when I went to get my Brazilian visa for my four-country, three-month trip with my best friend Whitney. Our plan is to start in Colombia, move down to Ecuador, head to Brazil in plane, and finish the trip in Argentina. Out of all the countries, Brazil is the only one that requires a visa from US citizens, a requirement started out of spite of harsh US visa policies for incoming Brazilians.

The visa process was fairly easy since I am in Guatemala, and few Americans apply for Brazilian visas here. I did not make an appointment. I got to the consulate, and after a half hour I was out the door, thinking, that was way easier than I imagined. I thought too soon. While walking down the steps, the security guard called my name, "there is a problem with your passport!" Uh Oh.

My passport was full.  I had a page available for them to stamp, but the Brazilian visa takes up two pages. Two adjacent pages would have been the perfect spot, if one single United States stamp didn't ruin it all.  So rather than a quick 30-minute meeting, I next found myself running to the American Embassy to add pages to my passport. When I learned that adding pages cost $82, I was not a happy camper. I already was paying $140 in reciprocity fees to enter the country, the extra cost did not come as a happy surprise.

As a traveler who wants to go to countries that may not be huge US fans, American government, I beg you, please be kinder to incoming tourists. It would make my life that much easier, and my travels just a little cheaper!

Thanksgiving

Today is my last day in Guatemala, and I want to finish all of my posts about my last month here before I leave and head out on my three-month long trip through South America... so thank you for your patience if you actually decide to read through everything.

The week before Thanksgiving, I was super antsy to get back home. I could not wait to see my family and friends, indulge in gluttony over the thanksgiving table and see my niece Jilly that turned one this past Christmas. My excitement led me to completely forget that coming home is not always the smoothest transition, even if I was just gone a few months. I always think it is more difficult to go home than it is to go away because you have experienced so much in your travels, and so much is the same at home. Plus, you always expect changes when you go to a different country, but you think you are going back to "normal" when you go home, and you realize it does not feel as normal as it had before.

I was so happy to see all of my friends and family. The week definitely passed too quickly and I was running between seeing one friend and another. However, it was somewhat overwhelming going back, even after only four months.  I realized how different my post-college life has been compared to my friends. I received a shocked response when someone saw I still have an old-school, outdated flip phone, which is fancy compared to my Guatemalan phone whose buttons don't work, forcing me to push them with a pen for five minutes to just get to my contacts list.

The biggest reverse-culture shock was on my last day when my friend Yamilesi invited me to brunch.  She told me to dress up because it was a fancier brunch, but I had no idea I would be dining in one of New York City's most exclusive brunches at the Plaza Hotel, filled with the city's elite youth. We were able to get a reservation because Yami knew the manager, and she brought me and her friend Celia along.

The wealth was flowing out of the room.  Everyone was dressed in the hottest styles--I learned furs are in this season. Even the waitresses rocked a fashionable short black dress with an empty back.

Coming from trying to stay in my Guatemalan budget and eating only rice and beans for a week to this was a striking contrast. We had mimosas, a bottle of champagne, an appetizer and a main course for ourselves. When it came to desert, the three of us couldn't agree on what we wanted. So to avoid any confrontation, we decided to order them all. That is no joke. We had one of each dessert on the menu. Yami was so sure her friend would be covering the breakfast, and she reassured Celia and me not to worry. She was right. I ended up only paying part of the tip for an amazing meal. Talk about a change of lifestyle from my crap apartment, cheap food and low costs in Guatemala.

I hope this isn't a stranger's house

My month long hiatus has been, for the most part, in good reason. Work has been crazy hectic as I  prepare for my departure. All the work I have to do before is just a bit on the list I had before Christmas vacation. We had to prepare a lot of work before we left on vacation, I was catching up from a week gone in New York for thanksgiving and we have a huge raffle that has been taking up a lot of time. Most excitingly I have had a slew of volunteers coming, and we are completely booked for next week! Running between the communities, around Antigua and in the office has been hectic, but I am happy a very busy time has come--better late than never.

So I will start where I never got to, going way back to last year at the beginning of December...


With a few drinks in us to warm our stomachs, a few friends and I headed back to my friend Ana Karen's place. The night had been a success, but in no way one you would point out in the future of remember when's.  That was the case until we found ourselves locked outside her house. Keys, check. The problem: the door. The key was correct, but the lock would not budge. Her mother had warned her before the door was broken, but she hadn't expected a full lock-out.

What to do? Most of the crew lives in Guatemala City, so they needed a place to stay. The reasonable answer would be for all of us to split up between my house and the house of another friend Jackie that lives in Antigua. But when in Guatemala, adventure grabs your spirit, and reasonable is just, well... boring.

So after an hour of struggling with the door, we were determined to get in. Juan Pablo, known as mono, or monkey, by his friends, lived up to his nickname. He climbed the window grate to the top of the roof. At the top, he found the window Ana Karen indicated, and followed her instructions: break in that window!

The rest of us--Jackie, Ana Karen, Trey, Jessica and I--stood with our heads facing upward, waiting to hear what we knew would happen next. Juan Pablo hesitated. "Are you sure you want to do this?" He asked only to hear Ana Karen's confident response, "dele mono!"

Crash!

Juan Pablo started his work with a stick he found on the rooftop, and he was continually smashing into the window. Then a light entered the house, and we knew he was in.

Juan Pablo came downstairs to open the door for us, but it still refused to open. With an already broken window, it seemed we had no other choice. We all climbed the window grates to the top. Talk about an alternative entrance.

The next morning, Ana Karen played perfect hostess. Although she wanted to go buy food, she realized she would have to climb in and out for it, she figured to stick with what we already had. After a hearty typical Guatemalan breakfast, we left the same way we entered, except this time we were in broad daylight for all her neighbors to see. A man across the way stood in his doorway, watching for a few minutes, but didn't ask us any questions or call the police. For all he knew, we could have been robbers. We at least entered in their style.

To keep you busy...

To make up for my extreme absence I have just added more pictures on facebook:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2889395&id=8643076&l=f33f741ad0

 

Stories coming soon, promise!