Tikal Trip Cont.

Pardon the post delay! I had a busy week filled with family visits in the communities, a bike purchase, and (very unfortunately) I was STILL removing my bed critters. I just moved into a new apartment with Bryan, my old coworker who joined me in Tikal, and three other Guatemalans. After three washes, a doctors appointment, one fumigation session, my own spray down with a store bought leave-me-alone-bugs spray, a move and almost $200 spent, I truly truly truly hope this story comes to an end.

The first night I slept in the new house, and I woke up with bites that I didn't remember from before. The nights after, I have tucked my shirt into my pants, my pants into my socks so they couldn't bite, and I have not had any problems. I'm hoping I am being paranoid. If not, I am just screwed. On behalf of my readers who probably don't want to keep hearing stories about bugs in my room, I will kindly ask them to get moving so I can share more exciting and pleasant stories. If you have been in a similar situation, please let me know what you did to save your skin. I would like by next week not to look like I have some sort of skin disease.

On a happier note, and before I continue with my Tikal story, I would like to give a big thank you to Mr. Peter Deisinger who bought my beautiful bike Betty in Madison. It is with your help (ehem, cash) that I could buy Betty's successor: Bob, yet another cheap, used bike. Although Bob lacks Betty's style and is definitely her less equal successor, he sort of works. The gears are slightly broken. But hey, you can't ask much from a bike that costs less than $50. Bob and I just went for our first ride on Saturday and I think we will share many more lovely sunny days together.

Ok, now back to Tikal...

After our sketchy ride from the policemen, we went searching for the hotel with the cheapest accommodation. Tikal has only three hotels, so they can jack up the prices as they wish. We stayed in a tent that costs $10 a night, per person. That may not sound extreme, but when you think about how much we spent on an overnight 10 hour bus ride ($18.75), you realize how expensive that actually is in terms of Guatemalan prices. It was good we were exhausted because the heat and somewhat comfortable air mattress did not stop us from passing out right away. Unfortunately for our sleepy bodies, we woke up at 4 in the morning to watch the sunrise from the tallest pyramid.

Our alarm went off and I was warmly greeted by a pounding headache and a talking stomach. We had bought snacks the night before, but couldn’t get sandwiches because everything was closed by the time we realized we should get food for the next day. We clearly did not plan well as we also forgot to bring a flashlight, a necessity when you are going for a walk in the middle of the night in a place where street lights are about 17km away. Luckily, we could not enter without a guide that early in the morning, so we relied on another group's flashlights.

We walked in complete darkness, only able to see a few feet ahead. I asked the guide why we consider the Mayans one tribe when today there are many Mayan dialects throughout Guatemala. He gave me a very brief overview of the history, explaining the Mayans split into many different tribes to what have now become the various dialects. In his extremely brief version of the history, first came the Olmecs, then the Mayans, then the Aztecs. He said he would explain more later, so I didn't ask why they are still called Mayan communities when the Aztecs lived after them. However, I didn't realize we would later not be part of the group since we didn't pay for a guide--we just had to enter with one at four in the morning.

We climbed to the top of the tallest pyramid via a staircase, which was somewhat anti-climatic. I expected to walk up the actual pyramid, but I don't think it is even possible since part of it is still covered by the ground.

At the top, everyone sat silently, looking ahead into the dark emptiness. Any sound was abruptly shushed. Sitting in silence in the dark probably does not sound like the time of your life, but it actually was really incredible. You could hear the jungle wake up all around you as the gorillas roared their morning wake-up call and birds chirped and flapped their wings not far from where we sat. The gorillas and monkeys sounded incredible and their voices echoed throughout the jungle.

With the sun, the fog slowly rose, and our view evolved from pitch black to dimly lit fog covering blurred out trees to the entire jungle ahead of us. Sometime in, our tour guide pointed out one of the visible pyramids directly ahead of us in the distance. Little by little, more of the pyramids became visible as the fog lifted and the sun came out. When the view was clear, you could see the expansive jungle that looked like it never ended.

Our different morning views of the Jungle at Tikal

Bryan and I split up with the tour group and hiked the pyramids. Although our only educational guide was our tour book that gave us limited information, I think it was better we went on our own because we were able to hike all the pyramids we wanted and go at our own drowsy pace. I was happy that the other pyramids did not have a staircase that led to the top so we climbed the pyramid that was actually built thousands of years ago. One of the pyramids had a rope in front with a sign advising us not to pass, but an American guy told us to go up when no one was around. He climbed it the night before to watch the stars come out and he said it was worth it. He was definitely right. The view from the top was better than even the tallest one. You had a perfect 360-degree view of all the pyramids around.

Up to no good and climbing the forbidden pyramid. Shh... we were never there.

One of the pyramids was basically at a 90-degree angle with a ladder to climb to the top that was just as steep. I am usually not so scared of heights, but looking down from the top made my stomach drop. I made sure to keep as far from the edge as possible. Climbing back down was worse than going up.

The steep ladder to the top.

I smile for the camera as I carefully make my way down.

It’s such a cliche to say, but I’m going to go ahead and say it: I can’t even imagine how the pyramids could have been built at that time. I know it’s what everyone thinks and says, but really, how can you not wonder. That feeling is completely intensified when you see them tower over the jungle’s tree line in person.

A Tikal pyramid in all its glory.

By 11, we were beat. We toured all the pyramids, except the furtherest one that the tour book said did not compare to the rest. We ate lunch from a food stand, a much cheaper alternative to the overpriced restaurants. We were like zombies, and definitely needed to pack our body with more calories for some energy. As we enjoyed our desert of a cut open coconut, a tour guide approached us to sell us tickets to the zip-line. We calculated that if we went, we would have no money for the bus, but we decided to go and use a debit card or take out from the ATM later.

We went in the afternoon, which was not the smartest idea since it’s rain season and rains every afternoon. In route to the zip line, it began to downpour. The rain continued when we arrived, but stopped a half hour later. It didn’t cause any problem, but the monkeys all went to hide from the rain. The guide said you usually don’t see them, but you can usually hear them while zooming through the zip line. The monkeys started to come out on one of our last lines.

Bryan and I both had an awkward start. We stopped ourselves much earlier than necessary and needed to pull ourselves part of the way to the next platform, but after some time we got the hang of it. Our instructors showed us how to go upside down, but when I needed to pull myself up to stop myself, I lost balance and helplessly flopped around. On the longest line, we both went with an instructor so we could go face forward, “like superman!” This was my favorite because we had a great view looking straight down at the jungle.

Our next stop was El Remate, a city we passed on the way to Tikal that is right on the lake. This time, we easily got a free ride just as we left the zip line area. It was the first of several problem-free hitched rides for the rest of the weekend, a welcome change to the extreme difficulty we had the day before.

El Remate is a tranquil town, with little activity. We walked around after arriving in search of food. We saw more foreigners than I had expected in such a small town, but because it is on the way to Tikal I can see why we had so many gringo spottings. By the way, the term gringo here is not used offensively. It has pure descriptive purposes, so don’t be offended!

We ended up at a comedor, a restaurant that has typical Guatemalan food at an economical price. It is not abnormal that a comedor is located at a family’s house, and this one was no different. However, we did not expect our food to be prepared at homestyle speed. The lady did not have anything pre-made as most restaurants and comedors do. She cooked everything the moment after we ordered, so we waited about an hour for our food. The huge portions made up for the wait.

The next day we rented bikes and followed the main road toward the Belize border. The bikes were $7.50 for half the day, so you can imagine the shape they were in. The gears did not work, which at first was not a problem on the flat terrain. However, my body got a hard wake-up call when we hit a hilly area. With my bike on a high gear, I couldn’t make it, and I had to walk up the second half of the first hill. I know a good workman never blames his tools, but I am not a good workman. My weak, unworked-out legs were as much to blame as the old broken bike. Bryan and I switched bikes since his was on a lower gear. Although it was easier going up the hills, the bike was too high and I had trouble reaching the pedals, so we switched back soon after.

The easy flat terrain was a good warm-up before reaching the monster hills.

After a good ass-whipping from the hills, it was time to head back toward a small lake we had passed earlier. We went for a swim to cool off our sweaty bodies and then it was back to the road. After some time on the road, we were ready to eat, but there was no food in sight. We stopped at the side of the road for a coconut that young boys were selling in front of their house. They told us if we wanted to eat at a restaurant we would have to turn back around or bike another 30 minutes in the direction we were going. Interested in seeing what was further, we kept going and kept an eye out for a place to stop and eat.

A quick cool down in this small lake was warmly welcome after biking the hills.

Before we could find any food, Bryan’s bicycle pedal fell off. He said he could somehow attach it and keep going. I trusted his creative abilities and went ahead, but I was stopped by a couple on a motorcycle that told me he was stranded. I turned around and found Bryan continually attempting to cycle as his pedal fell out after a few seconds. With no other choice, we had to hitch a ride back to El Remate. We ended our day with a swim in the lake, and then it was time to go back home.

Bryan enjoyed a late afternoon swim before going back to Antigua.

I would like to say our way back to Antigua was uneventful and carefree. I would have loved to write about a comfortable bus ride in which I passed out and rested well, but we had no such luck. Like the great savers we are, we decided to go for the cheapest bus ride. It was 40 queztales cheaper than the bus we took to get to Flores, which sounds like a lot, but that equals $5.

As we ate dinner, a nice coach bus passed by, and Bryan said, “Take a look at luxury, because it is the last time we will be seeing it tonight.” We did not know how opposite of luxury we would be getting ourselves into. The bus was an old tattered wreck. It was basically the coach bus equivalent to a chicken bus. To make matters even worse, we had the most uncomfortable seats on the bus--all the way in the back with no reclining seats. The chair in front of mine was broken and leaned at an angle, so I had no leg room whatsoever.

We were hysterically laughing at first. The situation was just so ridiculous there was nothing else to do. Our laughter stopped as soon as the bus started moving. The seat in front of me jiggled and constantly hit my knee. Plus, the driver was an absolute lunatic and drove extremely fast on very curvy roads. I cringed anytime oncoming traffic came our way because I was sure we would hit something. I couldn’t stay in place and struggled between not swaying into the seat next to mine and finding a comfortable position for my legs.

A seat opened up three hours into the drive, and I moved to leg space and relative comfort. Unfortunately the man next to me decided he needed more room and took up almost half my seat. I tried to forcefully push him off. I poked him, shoved him, nudged him, but he slept soundly. Finally, he woke up and I told him I couldn’t sleep because he was in my seat and I had no space. “Me?” He replied. No, the man sitting completely on the other side of the bus, I wanted to scream, who else but you! If there is one thing that gets on my nerves is stupid questions, and he decided to push my buttons even more. “Are you tired?” What do you think, sir???? I’m on the bus ride from hell with a man next to me that is determined to push his way into my personal seat, making me extremely uncomfortable and in no way able to sleep. “Yes,” I said. “I am very tired.”

I did finally get some sleep, but I was in no way well rested. Note to self: never take a bus that is $5 cheaper for an eight-hour ride. In Guatemala, $5 goes a LONG way.

How to exhaust almost all forms of roadway transportation in three days

The end of the flea/bed bug/pest dilemma came in good timing. The smell of my room right after it was sprayed, sterilized and free of the little critters creeped out the door even when it was closed. Residue of whatever they showered my room with stayed on the floor like a thin slimy coating, and my mattress was still damp from the spray down. Luckily, I was gone all day for work for Constru Casa’s 400th house celebration and came home quickly after just to pack my bags for my weekend trip to Tikal, the site of famous Mayan ruins.

My coworker Bryan and I had planned on going for about a week, but since I was plagued by the attack of the mysterious night biters, I had done little research. Bryan, as far as I know, had no such excuse. So after the 400 house celebration, we ran to the office to figure out when the last bus left Guatemala City for the eight hour ride to Flores, the alternative trip to boarding a more expensive plane.

Form of Transportation #1--The Chicken Bus
Our well-organized journey began at 6:30 pm when we jumped on the chicken bus to Guatemala. The driver and the bouncer/doorman (official title unknown) cram as many people in as possible to make the most money. This means you are in for an extremely uncomfortable ride. People try to pass through the tiny aisles, so if you are sitting at the end, you most likely need to constantly get up to let them by. The awkward crotch-in-the-face situation happens every now and then as the bouncer/doorman pushes his way through the crowd to get money from the new passengers. It’s not the most enjoyable ride, but its bearable because it only lasts 40 minutes.

Form of Transportation #2--The Negotiated Taxi Ride
The moment you step off the bus, the taxistas hound after you. Before leaving, we had asked the bus driver about how much a cab should cost to the Flores terminal--30 Quetzales ($3.75) he said. The first taxi driver that got to us told us he would charge 50Q. Arguing that it was too high, we talked to the next driver who coincidentally Bryan had talked to about soccer on an earlier Guatemala city trip. He offered us 30Q. We walked to his car when taxista #1 threw himself in front of the door, pushing taxista #2 around. “You’re stealing my customers,” he yelled. “25, I’ll give you 25!” Thankfully taxista #2 looked like a bear in facial features and size, and he easily pushed taxista #1 away. Bryan later told me that taxista #2's bear features were how he remembered him. It’s not every day you meet a Guatemalan of such stature. After the scurry and halfway through our drive, taxista #2 said, “You know, it’s 30Q per person.” I was not too happy about that, and I argued until I realized I was getting nowhere. While I sat agitated in the backseat, Bryan, always the “football” enthusiast, chatted the driver up about soccer the rest of the way. When we arrived, we paid 30Q in exact change with no complaints from taxista #2.

Form of Transportation #3--The Semi-Luxury Coach Bus
Our overnight bus ride was uneventful. We fell in and out of sleep as cheesy 80s Spanish rock played in the background. We woke up to a completely different landscape in the background. Antigua is surrounded by mountains, whereas the northern Peten area is flat and dotted with random hills that look like humps of a camel. I loved the area, and tried to find an excuse to come back for work. However, most of the houses we saw were intact and stable brick structures. It seemed as though Constru Casa’s help was not desperately needed in the areas we passed.

I was instantly struck by Flores as we got off the bus. Flores has a very distinct ambiance from Antigua. Although both have a very tranquil feel, I personally think Flores’ streets have much more flavor. Yes, Antigua’s colonial style is beautiful, but to me the view is what makes it really striking. Flores’ surrounding lake gives it a beach town atmosphere and its buildings have much more varied style. They stand at different levels and do not all have the same facade as the buildings do in Antigua. Both Flores and Antigua are very colorful cities, but Flores’ buildings have much more vibrant colors. However, the activity in Flores is lacking. We saw few people as we walked the streets.

We ran into a man who made Rastafarian figures made from coconut.

The beautiful streets of Flores are quite a sight.

Bryan models in front of a colorful wall in Flores.

We walked around the city in search of breakfast then went for a swim. Bryan swam to the other side of the lake as I did small laps back and forth. After about 10 laps I was out of breath and would take breaks. With Bryan’s intense workout and my warm-up under our belts, we dried ourselves off and went to find more food to fill our hungry bellies.

We thoroughly enjoyed our breakfast after a 10 hour bus ride that we asked for a second portion.

The water was perfect temperature--a great way to cool down from the extreme heat.

Form of Transportation #4--The Almost Unsuccessful Hitch-Hike Ride
We stopped in the bus station for information to Tikal, but decided we’d try our luck to hitch a ride. With our thumbs in the air, we walked toward the main road that led to Tikal. We were having no luck, but once we got on the main road, we knew we would be fine. The strong sun beat down on our shoulders, so I took out my umbrella to protect my fair skin. Once on the main road to Tikal, car after car after car passed and we were rejected time and again. For about two hours, we stood by a gas station, hot, sweaty and pissed off for waiting so long.

We went to the airport down the road sure a bus would depart at some point. Instead, we talked to cab drivers willing to give us a ride for a hefty price, of course. So it was back to relying on our thumbs on the road.

Inching down the highway, we were drained from the sun and lack of sleep. A few men at another gas station informed us to wait by a nearby mall entrance to find a car much easier. That was probably the best advice we received all weekend. Within 5 minutes of waiting there, a car picked us up.

Form of Transportation #5--The Public Minibus
The truck dropped us off halfway to Tikal because they were headed in the other direction. Quickly after, we were on a public van, or a minibus, that went to the entrance of Tikal National Park. Unfortunately, that was another 17km to where we actually needed to go. They said they would take us for 40Q/head, but of course we were too cheap to accept.

Bryan wanted to walk it. I was not too keen on the idea, but figured a passing car could pick us up on the way. However, the guard at the entrance said it was forbidden because jaguars could hunt us down. He told us to wait for the next minibus. Although he wasn’t sure when it would arrive, he was sure it would come soon. Well, a bus did pass by within 20 minutes, but it was a private tour so we weren’t allowed to join.

Even after only a month of being in Guatemala, I have quickly learned when a Guatemalan says he is sure another bus is coming, you should trust your instinct that it is not. I don’t know if they outright lie, they truly believe what they say or they just don’t want to admit they don’t know. Either way, I do know not to listen. When a bus is supposedly coming in 10 minutes, that means it’s coming in a half hour to an hour. If it will “come soon,” an hour later you will learn that the last one of the day already passed. Therefore, after the private bus drove by without a care that we were stranded, we asked a man nearby at a restaurant if he would drive us in exchange for some cash.

Form of Transportation #6--A Ride from Guatemala’s Finest
The man didn’t seem to want to drive, but he talked to two policemen who said they would give us a ride on the back of their motorcycles. I was a little wary when I asked how much they wanted and one responded, “whatever you like.” “Well, how about nothing!” I said. Our options were minimal, so we climbed on.

Lucky for me, I rode with the chubby, sketchier policeman--not by choice. As we rode away, he said to the men we passed, “aren’t you jealous.” That earned him one point for a certified stand-up policeman. He drove slowly, far behind the other guy, which made me even more nervous. He earned another point when he said, “don’t be afraid to hold on tighter.” Ick.

Thankfully, Bryan’s policeman stopped every now and then to show him the monkeys and toucans in the jungle. Officer Creep began to do the same for me and told me how lucky we were to be getting rides from them. According to him, it was like our own personal tour.

We were so lucky that just before entering our final destination, they stopped because “the guard won’t like to see us ask you for money.” Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present to you the fine policemen of Guatemala. I thought it was whatever price we wanted, but I wasn’t going to argue with a man with a gun. I don’t even know how many points these truly kind and selfless policemen earned for charging us. In total, we paid 5Q more than if we had just taken the simple direct bus. As Bryan put it, we have more than 5Q worth of memories.


More on Tikal and our many more forms of transportation, coming soon...

The plight of my mysterious "amiguitos"

With over two weeks being back from Xix, I have a daily reminder of my cheerful trip to the far away town in the mountains. While the memories remain pleasant, I can't say so much for their reminder. Since then, I have woken up every morning to an irritatingly uncomfortable itching sensation that increases daily as red bumps line my legs, stomach and arms. It's as if my bites are the microscopic form of the mountainous ranges of the Nebaj area that introduced these buggers into my life. That may sound poetic, except I'm red, itchy and down right annoyed.

My first thought: bed bugs. So coming back from Xix, I isolated my bag in a corner of the room and took everything to the cleaners as soon as possible. We have no hot water in my house, so the washer is basically useless for solving the problem.

Still, the bugs were feasting while I was fast asleep.

Next stop, the doctor. I went to a nice private hospital to figure out what exactly I should do. I could keep going by trial-and-error to see how I could get rid of them, but that costs money. The doctor examined my bites and said I have fleas. I thought fleas were just for pets? She also looked at my head to make sure I didn't have lice. I felt the humiliation kids do on their first day of camp during head-checks. Thank goodness I was lice-free.

So I asked the doctor what to do. She instructed me to clean all my clothes, bedding, etc. in hot hot water. Fine, but what about the mattress, I asked. She evaded my answer, telling me I have to get rid of it. There is a spray, she said, but it is toxic to use. I kept pressing her for the name of this toxic spray, since I will be away this weekend, but she would not give in. I felt a sense of dread, not knowing how to completely get rid of my fleas. It would be a vicious cycle of cleaning my clothes, but the bugs would stay and keep biting me. To make me even more stressed, she said if I don't fix the problem soon, I could get an infection from being bitten so much.

I walked out of the office, wanting to cry. I get to the register to pay for my visit and they told me with the medicine, my total was 500Q. The sound of 500 made my heart sink. Even though that's about $60, the price just sounded so exorbitant. I walked out on edge, with tears running down my eyes. Now, of course, I could have thought rationally. I could have easily asked someone what the spray is, called an exterminator or just bought a new mattress. However, I was in the middle of a panic attack, and rational did not quite register. I'll skip the details of my hysterics, but I did eventually call the exterminator.

He came to my house yesterday 2 hours late, and told me I did not have fleas or bed bugs. It's some other bug that stays in the ceiling and walls and comes down to feed while I'm asleep. He says it probably came from Xix. Well, whatever this bug is, tomorrow he should be arriving at 8 in the morning to fumigate my room. This morning I lugged my entire wardrobe and bedding to the cleaners thanks to the help of my nice coworker. He carried the heavy bags, and I struggled with my pillows and blankets.

Wish me luck! Hopefully tomorrow I will be free of my "amiguitos." I have no need in my life for "little friends," I am small enough as it is!

The grass is greener in Guatemala

Last weekend, I only had time to go on a trip for a day because Saturday was the Xix group's goodbye party. On Sunday I headed out with four couchsurfers to lake Atitlan. As we were on our way, we decided to go on a big detour to Chichicastenango for the famous Sunday market. Two of the girls on the trip were only in Guatemala a few days and wanted to see as much as possible in their short time here, so we allotted only an hour at the market. I wanted to stay much longer. The colorful fabrics and animal face-shaped masks were so beautiful, but I could only quickly glance at everything I passed. My wallet thanks the others for only allowing me to stay for a short time, but I will be back to empty my pockets to the Guatemalan economy.

After maybe less than an hour, we boarded back on the pickup truck to San Pedro, a city on Lake Atitlan. We exited the highway, passing small towns. We headed uphill until we were in the clouds. Once we were at the top, we drove down the other side of the mountain, and suddenly we were hit by an incredible view of the lake. At the same time we all sang our "ooh's" and "aah's." Picture paradise, and you will see Lake Atitlan. It is one of the sights that blows you away, and as we drove further down the mountain, each angle of the lake is just as beautiful as the next. One forested mountain after another surrounds the lake that glows a bluish-green tone. Although the lake is actually not very clean, from above you could never tell.

One of the girls and I hopped in the back of the pickup to take pictures, which sadly came out mediocre because of the moving truck. We passed through towns around the lake, and every single person we passed, we happily said, "Hola! Buenas tardes!" They all responded with a hello and a smile, and I don't think we missed a single person we passed.

Our first stop in San Pedro was an Israeli hummus store with not so impressive hummus. We ate and chatted, when it began to downpour. Lucky for us, the rain stopped soon after we finished, so we could walk around the city and go swimming in the lake. San Pedro is a very hippy tourist city. Many of the buildings are made from bamboo and shoeless hippies line the main road to sell hand crafted jewelery.

We had come to the lake for a swim, but I of course, forgot my bathing suit. I decided to swim in my underwear, which was slightly difficult because my bottom was a thin material and basically see-through. To make matters a little more difficult, a group of boys were listening to music right where we went for a swim.

I strategically covered a wrap around my waist, and threw it on the rocks as I jumped into the water. I was so relaxed swimming backstroke to look up at the sky and see the mountains in the corner of my eye. It was a moment of pure bliss.

We left at 6:30, just as it got dark. With just minutes in the car, it again began to downpour. The rain was so hard, it was almost impossible to see outside. With no choice, we headed back up and down the mountain. The rain made the dirt roadway into mud, and we passed through a few rain rivers. Glad to not be driving, I fell asleep to the sound of the rain.

Xix Kabob

I came to Guatemala to work as the volunteer coordinator for an organization called Constru Casa that builds houses for families that live in extreme poverty. To very briefly describe my job, I help plan volunteers' trips and make sure everything goes smoothly while they are helping with the construction among other promotional and administrative tasks.

Last Sunday (July 25), I was suppose to go to a small town called Xix (pronounced Shish) with two other coworkers, Stefan and Ranferi. A high school mission group was coming, and we wanted to make sure everything went well. Then we would go to Coban, where Constru Casa recently built a school. However, in perfect Guatemalan style, it did not go as planned. At eight in the morning, I got a call from Stefan saying a land slide blocked the way between Xix and Coban. Their priority was to see the school, so Stefan and Ranferi would go to Coban and I would go by myself to Xix. I was excited to have the full responsibility of my first group.

However, at first I was skeptical how I would get along with the mission group since I am Jewish and not religious in any way. When I first entered the bus, they began singing religious songs, and I thought the next few days would be very long. But I was wrong. It was a very accepting group. Of course, they have their own strong personal beliefs, but they are open to many different ideas of religion. One of the trip leaders is a converted Muslim. You wouldn’t guess it from her looks. She has blonde hair and blue eyes and doesn't cover her head. She grew up catholic, but could never connect to the religion, and when she learned about Islam she realized it was what she was looking for.

I also believe religion can be very powerful when used positively. That’s exactly what this group was here to do--to help a community in need. The kids ranged from 14 to 18 years old, and some had never been out of the country before. It’s always interesting to see how everyone reacts differently to these situations. Some adjusted beautifully, with no problem, whereas others struggled with the new setting. One boy shook in his seat as he tried beans for the first time. He stared at the plate for minute after minute, fidgeting with the food in front of him. “Mom, why didn’t you prepare us for this? You said we were all prepared,” he complained to his mom, one of the trip leaders.

I think those that struggled more will probably come away from Guatemala with a stronger feeling of what they saw and did here. It’s exciting to see when kids put themselves for the first time out of their comfort zone. I really hope it makes a lasting impression on them and they remain conscious of the poverty and problems of the country after they leave. It is very easy to get lost in American suburbia, and this trip can open their eyes to what’s outside of a comfortable home, schools that are easily accessible and a problem-free home cooked meal.

We arrived late to Xix because the driver took the long route. It was a gorgeous day with no rain, a rarity for the rainy season, and he thought we should see the beautiful landscape. It was totally worth the extra hours. We drove on windy roads through mountains. Some of the kids were nervous, especially when we passed fallen boulders in the road or half cleaned up land slides. I’m not sure why, but I never get nervous about things like that. I never feel the pressure of any possible danger, which can have its benefits and disadvantages. I trust too easily, but then again, I don’t spend my time worrying and I have many amazing experiences along the way.

On the road to Xix.

After hours of uphill winding roads, we arrive on top of the mountains to Xix around 9pm. It became obvious why every time I mentioned to Guatemalans I was going to Xix, they had no idea what I was talking about. Xix is in the middle of the mountains between isolation and the middle of nowhere.

As we arrived, the director of APRODEFI, a school in Xix with which Constru Casa partners, waited for us with a group of male students. The boys were all ready to take the women’s bags down the steep driveway that our van could not drive down. We had a meal of cold, but to my delight, well cooked beans, plantains and weak coffee.

The next day the students began constructing houses at three different sites. I went back and forth between the three, checking up to see if everything was OK, taking pictures, and my favorite part--talking to the families. I was surprised to hear that every child in each family goes to school. The other day before my trip to Xix, I went with some coworkers to a town to see if we could build a house for any families. In each town, Constru Casa partners with another organization that knows the local families very well. As we walked around the town with two ladies from the other organization, all the kids were home. One of the ladies kept telling them if they didn’t go to school they would not get their gifts. In Xix, forcing kids to go to school did not seem to be a problem. The families all thought education was very important. One daughter of a family that will receive a house wants to become a nurse so she can help those in the community that need assistance. She would have to go to a nearby city called Nebaj for schooling and to work since Xix does not have a hospital.

I joined the race to see who could filter the dirt fastest with the volunteers and some locals kids that stopped by.

I will never forget one of the families in particular. Maria is the mother of six children. The three youngest children were home in the morning when their oldest siblings were in school. The oldest son Cristobal is in school to become a teacher, and will probably continue teaching in Xix once he earns his degree at APRODEFI.

At the house, the kids were so receptive to be around the volunteers. They were a little shy at first, but after about an hour they were hugging and playing with them. The volunteers, of course, loved this. Maria told me, just as the other two families did, how excited she was to live in the new house. The family of seven currently lives in a one-room house with only one bed, which they all share at night. The father lives somewhere in the United States, but he doesn’t send them money back because he has a drinking problem. They have so little, yet every time I was about to leave the house, Maria insisted I have something to drink and bread or a vegetable to eat.

I was visiting one of the houses, talking to Juana the mother of another family when it began to downpour. All the volunteers and construction workers ran into the house. The volunteers struggled to interact with the family because they did not speak a word of English, but they started playing games with the second youngest son Mario. At first, Mario sat in the corner, staring at us and laughing uncontrollably. Slowly he got closer as the volunteers tried to teach him rock-paper-scissors and the hand jive. To Mario and his mother's delight, I snapped pictures of the volunteers and the family. Mario erupted into giggles each time he saw his face looking back at him from my digital camera.

Mario is born to hand jive, baby.

The next day, I helped with construction in the morning. Within an hour, my delicate hands that have done close to no construction work in my life were already starting to get sore. The masons work glove-less with such agility that you think it's a simple job. I twisted metal flexible wires to long metal rods that would go at the foundation of the house. By the time I finished with five rods, the masons had finished the rest. Our next job was to fill the foundation with concrete. I slowly mixed and shoveled the concrete into buckets, feeling the pressure on my back. I felt like I deserved pure wimp status because I was exhausted by lunch.

Lucky for me, the volunteers only worked half the day because they went on a tour of the school. APRODEFI provides classes from kindergarten to professional training. Students can study agriculture, carpentry, textile designs, teaching or how to make break. Classes on different trades are supplemented with training on how to run a business. The school is totally practical, but it seems completely underfunded. The teachers earn less than a third of what I make, and I'm considered a volunteer! I would not even be able to pay two month's of rent with their wage.

The students pay to attend the school, but the director Jose said when money is low, they can't feed the students and sometimes need to close. They have the rights to a large plot of land in the forest, but they still need to pay it back in full. This could be really useful for teaching the students. They could also use the lumber to make money, but they cannot utilize it yet. Big companies want to buy the land for a lot of money, so the school is struggling to keep it in its possession. Currently a Peace Corps volunteer is helping the school, so hopefully she can improve their donations program and publicize the "sponsor a student" program.

After the tour, I became a major entertainment attraction for the kids. Mario from one of the houses saw me and mentioned to everyone about my camera. Before I knew it, children of all sizes swarmed around me begging for pictures. Wherever I walked, I had a group of 20 children surrounding me, all wanting to hold my hand. I never feel tall, but I towered over the kids, which made me feel like a loved deity. Each time I took a picture they huddled around me to pull my camera toward them. Since I was wearing a strap around my neck, I went flying in all directions until each one saw every single picture. When I told them I was leaving to go back to Antigua the next day, they looked confused and sad. Who would have thought that within two days the same kids that hid behind their teacher's skirts at the sight of the group would become so attached?

They may not look thrilled, but seconds after I took the picture, they were jumping all over me.

I left Xix with the group to go to Nebaj. They wanted to see the market, and I needed to catch the minibus from there to take two more buses before reaching Antigua. I got to sit in the front, which was a blessing. As we continued driving, the bus picked up more and more people, cramming them in even though there was little room. I had a spacious front seat view of the road and the passing mountains. For entertainment, I looked out for images you never see in the United States. I saw two women in indigenous clothing running as they balanced huge loads on top of their heads and carried a machete at the same time. This was definitely a new sight for my eyes. Apparently, they never learned the rule that my kindergarten teacher always enforced: never run with a sharp object, and always keep a sharp tip facing you.

Within five seconds, a red truck of men on the other side of the road drove backwards. Another image you would not see in the US. You can't even park on the opposite side of the street if your car is facing the wrong way, let alone drive backwards. The men in the back of the pickup all waved to us and started shouting, "Un asalto! Un asalto!" They told the driver that just up the road a truck was being robbed. We stopped and the people in the minibus called the police. The young girl behind me began to cry. I was thankful the truck stopped us since I have my new camera, and I would definitely have cried if they stole that from me. It was especially a good thing since my fellow passengers were really willing to look out for my well-being. I overheard them talking about how if the robbers came, it would be OK because they would know I was worth the most. Talk about passenger camaraderie--they would have left me for the robbers if they had a chance. But beside the close call, I made it home safe without a problem.

Extreme Cooking 101

As the old saying goes: Beans, beans they’re good for your heart. But today, I am here to dispute this well known phrase. Rather than warming my heart, my run with beans so far in Guatemala has been more of a frustrating process.

Since my new home does not include food, I headed to Antigua’s outdoor market for the first time where the prices are the cheapest. Old women sat behind baskets full of beans, tomatoes, onions and other vegetables and fruits , yelling out the prices to any passerby. I walked up to two women that had three baskets of black, red and brown beans. As I stood deciding which color bean I wanted to buy, I realized I have never cooked beans in my life nor have I ever seen anyone prepare them before. When I have decided in the past to include beans in my meal, I always buy them canned.

I asked how much it was for a pound. 5 Queztales (about 62 cents), they said. What a deal! I walked away wondering why had I never bought dried beans before. They don’t cost much and a pound can last a long time. On the way out of the market, I had my daily run in with Larry, and he instructed me on how to prepare them. First, you soak them in water overnight. Then you boil them until they are ready. Easy enough, right?

Wrong. Apparently it takes years to conquer the skill of bean cooking. I went to work in the morning, leaving my beans as they softened in water. Step one, done. I returned later and began to boil the water in a pot that I later found out was a pressure cooker, a kitchen tool I had never used before in my life. I did not have the lid correctly closed tight and I needed to place a nob on top so no air would escape. Chiky, the lady I live with told me I needed to let it boil and then wait 45 minutes as it cooks. She warned I needed to be very careful when opening because if you do it incorrectly, it will explode in your face and scald you. They should warn you before buying beans that it can be a dangerous activity.

I waited 45 minutes and returned to the kitchen, but Chiky told me the beans needed to cook 15 or 20 more minutes. 20 minutes later she said they still need more time, maybe 10 minutes. And then again, another 10 minutes. I was getting hungry and impatient and when those 10 minutes were up I was ready to open up the pressure cooker, even though she kept telling me it needed more time.

I took of the nob on top, as I thought she instructed me to do and was about to open it, when Chiky screamed, “Karen, no!” She rushed the pressure cooker over to the sink and poured colder water before opening the lid. I was lucky she was around, or else there definitely would have been a bean explosion in the kitchen. It would not have been the first. The other American girl living here painted the walls with beans her first attempt in the difficult task of bean cooking. Chiky tasted them and said, they weren’t ready. But it was 9:30, and I did not care.

After all the time put into my beans, I ended up with slightly undercooked, bland black beans. I didn’t have garlic to make them more flavorful, so I added lots of salt. The pound of beans I was so excited to last me over a week are now the dread of every meal. Ask me what I ate today, and I will tell you the same answer every time: Beans. Eggs with beans. Tomatoes and zucchini with beans. Rice with beans. Beans. Beans. And more Beans. Healthy? Yes. Enjoyable? Somewhat. Getting old? Very quickly.

I now understand the gift Goya has given to families all over America. Just by opening a can and heating the contents, you can eat flavorful, well cooked beans in minutes. Forget hour long waits for a mediocre dish, I am sticking to pre-made. So next time you open a can of beans, say Thank you Goya for saving me time and frustration!

The Beginning of my Guatemalan Adventure

Por fin! After a little over a week of being in Antigua, Guatemala--or ten days to be exact--I am finally starting my blog.

To answer the main question I have gotten so far, yes I am safe and sound. Antigua, in general, is a very safe city, but like any where else you just have to be smart. That means no walking alone too late at night or not carrying more cash than you need.
Antigua is beautiful. I arrived by van, and you can feel the difference the moment you enter the city. Literally. You begin to hop up and down in your seat as the paved roads all of a sudden turn to cobblestone. The view of the city is as captivating as its surroundings. In the city center, the cobblestone roads between colonial buildings paint a picture of the past. But my favorite part are the surrounding mountains, especially when the clouds hover over them. The clouds give it a mystical look, but you always know rain is coming later in the day since its now rainy season.
I had no expectations for my first day. I figured I would be spending most of it alone, walking around and discovering my new home for the next six months. I walked into the entrance of a street market, and a Guatemalan hippy named Larry stopped me to learn to juggle. I told him several times I would not pay for the lesson or the bean bags, and he continued to say he did not want the money. All he wanted to do was teach me to learn to juggle. I semi-mastered juggling two bean bags after 15 minutes, but I could not get three for the life of me, despite Larry’s instructions. “Try again,” he would insist each time I dropped a bag. He had more patience than I did. I gave up after some time and we began to talk.
Larry is, to say the least, an interesting character. He currently has no job. Or as he says, he’s taking a vacation from vacation. Despite his unemployment, he wants to start a nonprofit to help communities to build the projects they think most important. He’s a free spirit who does whatever he wants, without a care in the world what anyone thinks. As a result, he has been essentially disowned by his wealthy family that no longer invites him home for Christmas. But he doesn’t care, he wants absolutely nothing to do with them. He told me this within the first half hour we met.
Since my first day, Larry and I have crossed paths almost every day since. I have noticed he likes to chat it up with foreign women. On my second day, I ran into him talking to a peace corps volunteer. She later told me he stopped her in the street to read her palm. Free of charge, of course.
---
I set Friday to be my massive house search day. I had asked a few people questions where I should look for cheap, but safe housing, so my day was spent running to every place I had learned about. I read postings on doors, asked foreigners in the streets where they were staying and if there was anything open, whatever I could do to find something economical.

I felt like I was on a massive chicken hunt. I went to a certain area someone had recommended and asked people if they knew of anything open, and they sent me to a street near by. The families outside told me which houses usually have a room open. They screamed to me when I approached the wrong door, “No, no no! The next one! The next one!” That house was full, so I went across the way to an old couple whose son rented out room. He lived across town. I briskly walked from place to place, trying to find the best deal. At the end of the day, I had an appointment I had made a few days before to look at a place I had heard about through a friend. I decided to live with this family.

The lady I’m renting my room from lives with two younger children and an older boy about 16. I believe they are all related, but I am not completely sure. When I told the four-year old girl my name, she said, “I have two mommies. Mama Chiky and mama Karen.” I don’t think she wasn’t talking about me. Two younger women have stopped by, and I assume one of them is the real Mama Karen.
---
Over the weekend I went to the Volcano Pacaya, which is active and erupted in late May this year. The landscape has two contrasting features. Volcanos stand behind green hills that look as if they are guarded by a black barricade, a river of dried lava that just two months ago ran through the grassy area. We hiked through the grass over to the lava. If it weren’t for the familiar background of mountains and trees, it would have felt like we were walking on another planet.
The lava has turned to a massive pile of rocks, so we relied on walking sticks to avoid falling. Although it had hardened, the lava still warmed our feet even through our shoes. Smoke rose from certain areas, making it uncomfortable to breath the thick air. At one point we walked into a huge smoke pile you could barely see the other groups just a few yards away.


Our guide was a young Guatemalan that looked like he couldn’t be older than 17. I was happy running off to experiment with my new DSLR camera, so I caught his speech in spurts. If I understood his Spanish correctly, he told us how sad he was about the recent eruption because of the damage that happened in surrounding towns. He said before the eruption, they incorrectly believed an area on one side of the volcano would be affected, and about 100 children and older citizens died because they could not get away fast enough. Everyone in my group discussed how the news only covered the death of one journalist.

As we wandered further in the lava, our guide showed us certain areas where you could place your stick to create a fire. A group of British girls had come prepared with marshmallows to roast. I’m not sure if lava-roasted marshmallows are my thing, but they excitedly ate and shared their “delightful” treat.


Back in Antigua, I went to a taco restaurant with people who I had met in my group. Six of us devoured a huge taco platter for 6-8 people. It had an assortment of meats, vegetables and sauces that was as big as a table for two. It was a delicious way to rejuvenate our bodies after the hike over Pecaya.


More stories to come soon!