Some things require two tries… but they’re definitely worth it!

Before Christmas, I shared my excitement over learning how to play in Xela.  I love it!  A part of my playing turned into volcano climbing.  There’s a 3500+ meter volcano that you can see from outside my window of my room.  It haunts me, calls to me, and dares me to go visit it.  So, I finally did.  Twice.


The first attempt was with our neighbor, Carlos.  Carlos is a really great man who has lived in the States and likes to practice his English with me.   It’s nice to speak Spanish with him too, because when I get confused, I can switch to English mid-sentence and we can help each other understand what I want to say.  Carlos and I decided before our YAV retreat that we wanted to climb the volcano.  I was under the assumption that a group of us from the colonial was going up. I was also under the assumption that Carlos was well oriented with the volcano and recently experienced.  I have learned not to assume.  

Quiet morning from the volcano

We were supposed to meet at 6 that morning to head up the volcano.  At 6:30, I went to his house to see what was going on and we got on our way shortly after that (hanging out the side of a jam packed school bus).  As we hiked up the volcano, we came to a fork in the road.  Choosing right, we began walking along these beautiful fields.  A man walking his cow (leash and all) asked us where we were going and we said, “the volcano”.  “This is Santa Aguito,” he replied.  Santa Aguito is the volcano behind Santa Maria (our objective), and Santa Aguito explodes constantly.  We definitely weren’t prepared to visit there.  We turned around and Carlos, possibly a little embarrassed, said, “the path must have changed.  Here, let’s do this one”.  So, we hiked along the new path a ways and then a little path deviated up the volcano.   Straight up. 

Carlos and I on the descent

Being a guy who likes to accomplish goals, Carlos headed up that path.  I followed, and it was great. It was nice being able to visibly see us getting closer and closer and not having to worry about those annoying switchbacks.  This path served us well until it stopped.  There were branches and a tree lying on the ground, about hip height, and I was struggling to see anyway we could get over them.  And why we would want to.   Evidently, however, we did want to and we were able, so we got back along our way, now forgoing any definition of a path that I respect and just hiking up since up is where the summit is.  Eventually, we began hearing voices (real ones, we weren’t crazy) and four guys showed up from above (also not on a path and also bearing the signs of people who have been bush whacking).  They had a tent and bags and clearly had been sleeping up there.  “How far is it to the top?” asked Carlos. “Saber (who knows)” said a guy. 
Evidently they too had been lost.  So, we all gave up and worked together to find a trail back down. 

We spent 6 fun hours on the mountain and I had fallen in love with my goal…

An altar at the summit

So… when Tina called that night to see if I wanted to climb Santa Maria the next day with her family, I eagerly said yes.  Tina’s family is a traditional Mayan family who seem to get involved in some of the most interesting ceremonies and events.  This one was no exception; it was a prayer service that was expected to last all day.  Learning from my previous day’s encounter with the Guatemalan time, I woke up at 5:45 for a 6am departure.   Tina texted me when her family left her house at 6:30 and they met me around 7:30 after stopping to buy flowers, pick up more people, and do whatever else Guatemalans do when the time has come to begin something on time.  Once we got to the mountain (piled in the back of a pickup), we began walking.  They thought it was hilarious that I had been lost the day before and assured me that they had climbed many times and it wasn’t hard.  It wasn’t for them… at least not to navigate… but boy are there a lot of switchbacks!  When I thought we were about 10 minutes away from the summit, I voiced my thought.  “No,” said one girl, “there are 15 stations (logs to rest on, I think).  We’ve seen one, missing 14”. That wasn’t encouraging.  2 hours later, we reached the summit. As soon as we got there, all the men and women got on their knees, set up their flowers as an altar, and began praying.  Tina and I were hungry and after the break for prayer lower down the mountain, had both decided that the passionate, yelling prayers aren’t within our spiritual gifts or comfort zone.  But, we were definitely inspired by the passion they exhibited. 

So, we ate and took pictures.  It was absolutely gorgeous up there – on one side, we could see all of Xela and the surrounding pueblos.  On the other side, it was entirely clouds and looked as though we could jump off the  volcano and get caught by the clouds.  The clouds moved in a really cool way and occasionally grew in one spot; all products of Santa Aguito, the very active volcano. It was so beautiful up there, it was hard not to pray.  After the end of the prayer, lunch, and another prayer session, we all headed down, stopped one more time for prayer along the trail, and got to the bottom.  It really was incredible….

And a great lesson in mediocrity and the importance of persistently trying to achieve your goals.

Corn is life! Take 2…

So, I know that I already had a pretty long and drawn out conversation with my hypothetical internet friends that read this blog about the power and prevalence of corn in this country and culture.  I just have to share one  more… 

So, the other day, Tina, Juli, Malea, and I went and climbed La Muella.  La Muella, for the record, is amazing.  It has amazing views and was a really fun hike/scramble up to the top.  Here’s one picture… the rest will be saved for a further blog post because telling of the beauty of the hike is not my goal…

Back to the story…

On the way back down La Muella, we were slipping and sliding our way down.  Being the proud person I am, I had zero desire to sit on my butt and slide down the dirt.  Therefore, I struggled to make it all the way down standing up.  In a world where cleanliness is forced to be redefined in order to avoid going crazy (aka you don’t actually  need hot water to be clean, or showers… or water in general), I really valued the moment of cleanliness that I felt by not having dirt all over my butt.

So, I was proudly and cleanly walking down the mountain…

And then it happened.

The thing that always happens when you’re proud.

I fell.

I was fine.  Just a scrape all up my right forearm.  That’s no big deal… I’ve definitely been much worse off before (we try to not talk about those times…).  So, I called it good, went home, took my shower, and put on some Neosporin.  When my host mom and sisters got back from their mysterious location, my oldest sister looked at my arm and yelled, “Mooom!!!  Mira Cat!” (Mom – look at Katharine!).   My host mom comes running around and looks at my arm…  “we have to put some lotion on that,” she says.  Not wanting to disagree with family and cultural traditions (obviously it won’t  kill me since my whole family has all their limbs and seems to use this lotion for bug bites, scratches, stings, and emotional wounds that aren’t visible but the lotion ceases the tears.), I willingly obliged to the mothering care of putting this white pasty lotion ALL OVER my arm.  At one point, you could see a tiny bit of the scratch, and that visual stimulus mandated a whole other application.   Then, they saw my hand, and when they were done with that, I looked as though I had the chicken pox.

After my family went to bed, I was totally intrigued by this lotion stuff.  I went to look at it and as I read the ingredients, it said… “75% lotion and 25% Corn”

Corn is still life.

Guatemalan Christmas in review (or at least my interpretation)

As I have frequently told my family and have probably written on my blog as well, this is my first winter not snow skiing since I was 2 or 3.  What makes that fact pertinent to this blogpost is that skiing has become our family’s means of celebrating Christmas and is probably the most prominent tradition we have (next to the Turkey Trot…).  Therefore, it was surprising not to ski for Christmas… especially since it is SO COLD here that I feel like I’m skiing.  (Okay, okay.. so it’s really not that cold… the coldest at night it’s been was 5 below (C), but without heating in the house, that is really cold!)

El Baul

But, the Christmas traditions here are so fascinating and fun that I didn’t have too much time to lament my lack of opportunities for fluffy white faceplants (Congrats to my Mom and Dad who both received their Christmas falls this year!).  There are the traditions that are more prominently catholic that my family didn’t participate in, but I got to witness… Posadas (9 days of going house to house in a procession fit with a donkey reinacting the rejection at the Inn), lots of Day of the Devil things (refer here), and the Christmas day tradition of walking with a drummer boy (or a few), a baby (doll or real), and lots of people down the street…  I never was exactly clear on the destination, but it was cool!

Our family followed all the other traditions (or at least those traditions that I know of) and they created three pretty fun days!  On the 23^rd, my host mom realized that she was lacking a lot (all) of the gift shopping, so she was off pretty much all day in the horribly crazy, street closing, therefore Katharine not able to find her bus market. That night, we went to the Christmas Eve service at the church (yes, we all realized that it was a day early).  The kids had a Nativity Scene of sorts which was definitely Guatemalan style: 2 kids lip synced to a hip hop song called, “Creere”(I will believe).  Then, there was a song that a chorus sung while Joseph (age 6 and more of a cute visual accessory), Mary (around 12 and dressed in rainbow sheets with a blue bandana on her head, and Gabriel the angel (a totally sweet all white angel costume) danced to another song while a crew of kids sang along.  Then, we had a regular church service and sung some Christmas hymns.  I loved singing and hearing “O, Come All Ye Faithful” and “Silent Night” in Spanish.   It was also really great to be at a Christmas Eve service just to be there.  I wasn’t moving chairs, setting up the computer, organizing kids, or being a kid in the pageant.  I was simply there to listen, to learn, and to remember. I think it was my first Christmas Eve to do so. In this way, I felt a lot like the Shepherds that first Christmas.  They were just there.  They didn’t really know what they were getting themselves into.  They didn’t know how long they would stay.  They just went and stood in awe at Jesus.  Even better, they were fearful, and that was okay.  (They were also probably cold and so were we in the church… I definitely have a whole new appreciation for that night)

The kids with their fire

Christmas Eve itself was rather uneventful.  The 4 year-old and I hung out all morning while everyone else finished their shopping.  She was incredibly excited to open presents and didn’t let me forget it, but we had a good time.  That night, we all headed over to the Abuelo’s (grandpa’s) house to hang out with my host mom’s entire extended family.  The kids quickly disappeared and later on, I was curious where they went off to and when I found them, they were playing around a giant bonfire that they had made.  I went inside and asked if it was tradition for kids to be playing around a large fire on Christmas Eve and the parents just laughed totally unconcerned.  I guess the answer is yes.  The main objective of the fire was to light more fireworks with it, and they sure did!  We played with fireworks pretty much all night until midnight.

More fireworks!

Then at midnight, the fun and games vanished and it was time for serious fireworks.  The entire town was suddenly a warzone, filled with smoke and lights and booms. Fireworks here are cheap and easy to get (aka people sell them in the streets to cars that are stopped at stoplights), therefore they are plentiful.  It was probably a solid hour of constant booms – the girls and I were constantly watching big, bright lights everywhere while dodging our family members who were setting off explosives all around us.

After we froze and the fireworks calmed down a bit, everyone went inside and we exchanged presents. The kids were exhausted, but quickly perked up after a bunch of fire and then receiving gifts.  Then, around 1:30, we headed home (to the sound of still more boombas).

Cool, cool slides!  (this is about 1/2 the length)

Christmas morning we slept in.  Late.  Then, it was family day plus the surprise tradition of… (you guessed it)… more explosives!  Evidently, for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day (as well as New Years), you explode fireworks excessively at midnight and noon.  Later in the afternoon, the girls, my host dad, and I went to El Baul, a city park up in the mountains.  It was awesome.  There were a ton of people there, enjoying each other in their time off, but we got to go down the slides, see the (smoky) city from the hill, and it was my first time to see the park.  It’s so cool!

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas from the Guatemala YAVs!

The 12 Days of Christmas... Guatemala Style


And... Merry Christmas from just me!

I can call a city home!

That’s weird.

Over our vacation during the past month, I have had a lot of time to explore and play and get to learn my location in a better way.  I have gotten to know my family and neighborhood.  I have learned  how to play basketball… both with awesome middle aged women and an older man who is the Guatemalan equivalent of Bill Glazebrook, and with orphans. I have learned almost every way to get lost in this city and still make my way home in a decent amount of time. I have learned to navigate the markets and when to put my backpack on my front.  I have mastered retrieving packages from the post office (and like many governmental things in Guatemala, the most successful technique is not the legal, logical technique). 

I have also learned how to play.  Finally.

You see, in Washington State, we have a playground.  A playground where I was free to play where I wanted, when I wanted, and with what I wanted.  It could be kayaking, biking, hiking, or sitting in the sun.  They were all playing and all things I enjoyed and that gave me life.  Sometimes, I did these things with other people, other times, I did them by myself.  All the time, they were one of the best ways for me to get in touch with God.  

Here, that’s harder.  And losing that freedom to play is probably one of the hardest things for me about my Guatemalan world.  It’s not safe to play by myself.  I don’t have a kayak sitting around… I will get killed if I go on long explorations on a bike.  The pool is even closed so I can’t go there.  But, we finally broke through.  I have now had two hiking adventures, and tomorrow I will go on my third. 

Our first one was a warm up… it went up Mt Sinai and was GORGEOUS!  Mt Sinai is a church that has a large “Cristo Viene” sign above it (Christ is coming).  It sits above Central Park and has a really pretty view of the city.  David, Patty, Catty, Tina, Malea, Juli, and I did the hike one afternoon… along with Fletcher the dog.

Goal:  To reach the rocks.

The other hike was up to La Muella.  This hike was a bit more intense.  First of all, we didn’t have a guide.  We didn’t think this was a problem until we realized all the other gringos did have guides.  That didn’t stop us though, we asked a cute 9 year old girl and she gave us directions “go straight up”, she said.  So that’s what we did.  On our way up, we saw kids going straight down with ropes, that were almost strong enough for me to trust them to tie off my kayaks, connecting their waists to their parents’ hands.  That was not comforting.

 

When we finally got up (after a bit of an arduous journey…), we ate a delicious lunch of avocado, tomato, cheese, and whole wheat bread (we have learned to appreciate some things a lot… these are some of them). We also asked one of the guides how to get down without dying since we didn’t have the “strong” ropes holding us to the “strong” base of our parents’ hands in case we slipped.  The guides did show us another way which had an added benefit of visiting one of Guatemala’s precious saunas, as well as a trail that didn’t lead to imminent death.  It was nice.  I think next time I go, we’ll go up AND down this trail.  

Standing on the hills, we all looked over the city – pointing out cathedrals, markets, our homes, and towns where we know people.  It was so gorgeous.  As we were soaking it in, I was so grateful – I have actually learned to make a city my home.   Against all odds that I staked against myself, I have found this large, bustling, high altitude tropical, FREEZING, metropolis to be my home. This in itself is a testimony to how God is changing me this year, and how much more change is ahead of me. 

I am so incredibly grateful for all the change, and I’m grateful that I now have a city.  After years of living in smaller settings, surrounded by  water or farmlands, and after months of living nomadically all summer and to a lesser extent the first 2 months of Guatemala, I can honestly say that I have a home.  And it’s different from anything I’ve ever known.

Painting our house...

And I like it that way.

Thinking about poverty in a whole new light...

For our YAV retreat this month, we have been reading a lot about poverty.  Our two books ("Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger" and "Unexpected News: Reading the Bible with Third World Eyes") have been really good... I totally recommend them.

It's been a really powerful thing to study because I am learning about how much influence First World theologians and "Bible Experts" have had on my perceptions of the Bible, and how much I miss the hope that is in scripture for those around me.  They are reading scripture in a whole new way that I could never see...  For example, take John 1, talking about the true light.  It says:
 9 The true light that gives light to everyone was coming into the world. 10 He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, the world did not recognize him. 11 He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him. 12 Yet to all who did receive him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God— 13 children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision or a husband’s will, but born of God.

As I'm surrounded by stories of rape, stories of children being abandoned because they were "mistakes", or people who don't feel as though the world cares about them, this says so much...  "children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision, or a husband's will..."

Although Mary certainly wasn't raped... she was incredibly blessed... she did go through many of the same emotional and social repercussions women in those situations endure.  And her song that we sing so much during Christmas also shows her understanding for these women.   

There's one story in Unexpected News that I just have to share. It's totally challenging me to rethink how I look at Christmas.  I'm copying it here... for copyright information, it's on page 85 and the book is by Robert McAfee Brown published in 1984 (that was a sign that I have gone to school for too many years...)

Okay, here goes:
In a South American country where there has been a great deal of persecution of church leaders, a number of priests have cast their lot with the poor, living in the slum area of a large city, working at whatever jobs (street sweeping, housepainting) will pay for food and rent, and conducting informal Sunday "liturgies"at which the people comment on events of the week, and the priests relate those events to appropriate biblical passages. One such exchange went like this:
PRIEST: Today is September 12.  Does that date mean anything special to you?
RESPONSE: Three years ago yesterday, Allende was killed in Chile and the Chileans lost their leader.  Now they are suffering repression.
R: Allende's death makes me think of the death of Martin Luther King.
P: Why do you think of the deaths of those two together?
R: Because both of them were concerned about oppressed peoples.
P: Doesn't the day mean anything but death to you?
R: Well, today is also the Feast of the Holy Name of Mary. So this day also makes me thinkof her.
P: Is there any connection between Allende and MLK and Mary?
R: I guess that would depend on whether Mary was concerned about oppressed peoples too.
P: Let me read part of Mary's song, the Magnificat, in the beginning of Luke's Gospel:  "God has scattered the proud from the imagination of their hearts, put down the mighty from their thrones, and exalted those of low degree; has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich has sent empty away." 
R: Bravo!  But, Father, that doesn't sound at all like the Mary we hear about in the cathedral.  And the Mary in the "holy pictures" certainly doesn't look like a person who would talk that way.
P: Tell us about the Mary in the holy pictures.
R: displaying a picture.  Here she is.  She is standing on a crescent moon.  She is wearing a crown.  She has rings on her fingers.  She has a blue robe embroidered with gold.
P: That does sound like a different Mary from the Mary of the song!  Do you think the picture has betrayed the Mary of the song?
R: The Mary who said that God "has exalted those of low degree" would not have left all her friends so she could stand on the moon.
Corporate Response: Take her off the moon!
R: The Mary who said that God "has put down the mighty from their thrones" would not be wearing a crown.
CR: Take off her crown!
R: The Mary who said that God "has sent the rich away empty" would not be wearing rings on her fingers.
CR: Take off her rings!
R: The Mary who said that God has "filled the hungry with good things" would not have left people who were still hungry to wear a silk robe embroidered with gold.
CR: Take off her robe!
Anguished Response: But Father, this is not right... we're doing a striptease of the Virgin.
P: Very well.  If you don't like the way Mary looks in this picture, what do you think the Mary of the song would look like?
R: The Mary of the song would not be standing on the moon. She would be standing in the dirt and dust where we stand.
R: The Mary of the song would not be wearing a crown.  She would have on an old hat like the rest of us, to keep the sun from causing her to faint.
R: The Mary of the song would not be wearing jeweled rings on her fingers. She would have rough hands like the rest of us.
R: The Mary of the song would not be wearing a silk robe embroidered with gold. She would be wearing old clothes like the rest of us.
Embarrassed Response: Father, it may be awful to say this, but it sounds as though Mary would look just like me.  My feet are dirty, my hat is old, my hands are rough, and my clothes are torn.
P: No, I don't think it's awful to say that.  I think the Mary you have all described is more like the Mary of the Bible than the Mary we hear about in the cathedral and see in the holy pictures.
R: I think she'd be more at home here in the slum with us than in the cathedral or the General's Mansion.
R: I think her message is more hopeful for us than for them. They are mighty and rich, but she tells them that God puts down the mighty from their thrones and sends the rich away empty.
R: And we are at the bottom of the heap and very hungry, but she tells us that God exalts those of low degree and fills the hungry with good things.
P: Now let's see, how could we begin to help God bring those things to pass?


Just some Christmas thoughts to share...

Getting ready for Christmas... Guatemala style

Fireworks are firing...

We've burned the Devil*...

Vendors are selling in Central Parque so we are playing...

And the YAVs are having our Christmas retreat tomorrow!

Christmas is here in Guatemala!

*I recognize that this statement may cause some confusion so let me explain... well, try to explain.  As I understand, there is an annual tradition that at 6:30 on the Devil's Birthday (which is December 7th if you are wondering), you burn trash and devil pinatas, and anything else you can find.  We had a pretty mellow bonfire at our house, but we did compliment it with firecrackers, sparklers, and strange fire chalk toys that are my favorite things EVER.  Right before we started letting the fire die, my host mom told my sister to throw all the extra firecrackers in the fire.  I was like, "This is a bad idea... a bad, bad, bad idea".  They all laughed at me and chucked it on in.  It was SO COOL!  So many pops, bangs, booms!  So not legal in the States... so dangerous... and so cool :)  Across the field, there were 2 more fires... substantially larger, substantially with more bangs, and with a great deal of screaming as they played games involving the Devil visiting.  From our terrace, I could see 12 giant fires... what a fun, random holiday!

I did not catch her name...

I was running this morning when my iPod began playing this song.  It's title "I did not catch her name" by Caedmon's Call.  There's no YouTube video of it (Is that possible!??!?!?), so the lyrics will have to do...   It's completely the story that I hear here time and time again.  People seem to run from God when life gets tough but when it gets unbearable we always seem to run back and develop this raw, personal faith.  I've seen this faith in the churches, on the busses, and in the streets.  Between the stickers all over the busses, the crazy evangelical preachers, and the constant stream of prayer going on in the churches and passionate singing, no matter the key... raw faith is being exposed.  Jesus is all we need, and Jesus often is all they have.  

I did not catch her name
I did not catch her tears
But they hit me like a train
When her story hit my ears
Mother of eight sons
Father off to war
Got no home address
Just bricks on a dirt floor
And she said, "Jesus is all I need"

Tiny plot of land
Corn stored up in piles
The years it doesn't rain
They just stay hungry for a while
With no fatted calf to kill
She made a feast of cuy and corn and said
Who else knew my name before
The day that I was born
Jesus is all I need
Jesus is all I need

And she bragged about her boys
And how they're growing into men
And how the learned to praise the Lord
Old style Ecuadorian
But to buy the new guitar
We had to sell the swine
See my boys go to school on a foreign angel's dime

This world calls me poor
I bore my babies on this floor
But He always provides
Sure as the sun will rise
So I sing Him songs of praise
'Cause I know He keeps me in His gaze

Rain fell from the sky
We raced back to the van
Tears in the eyes
Of this poor forgetful man
Mother of eight sons
She knows the peace of God
Lord, help me learn to lean on
Thy staff and Thy rod

Jesus is all I need
Jesus is all I need
Jesus is all I need
Jesus is all I need

A beachful adventure that I'll never forget...

The all-powerful microbus

About three weeks ago, I was informed that we were going to go on a 5 day family vacation to the beach.  What fun!  There were people with a microbus who were going and there was room for us.  As the time for the beach vacation approached, the trip went from 5 days to 4 to 3 to 2 or 3 to, decided on the day we were going to leave, 1.

 So, we get up at 4:30 and get in the bus at 5.   Based on my former information, I assume that we're going to go to one of my host dad's coworker's houses and get in their bus (ours is not always in a great state of repair), so I stay awake, waiting to stop.  I eventually drift into dreamland and reawake to our bus sliding backwards down a dirt hill.  We're surrounded by corn and clearly not in the city anymore.  As we come to a stop on a random driveway thing, my host mom exclaims, "Jairo, there's 10 people!"  After the initial 10 came down the hill, 6 more appeared, and we strapped all their things on top of the van and began on our way.  As we were getting ready, I crawl up to the front bench where our whole family has squeezed into (because Microbusses have seats for 13 people comfortably sitting... 22 is a bit intimate) and I asked my host mom who these people are. "The grandparents of Jairo's brother," she replies.  Well, that explains why the 92 and 97 year old (pictured on right) are on the bus, but I still have questions about the rest of them.  As it turns out, my host family did too... we only knew one person before all this started and she is the 15 year old daughter who was left when my dad's brother went to the states 10 years ago!  So, during the 4 hour trip there, we got to know the 92 year old woman who has had 14 kids and some of her family, including the 2 year old who was a bit vocal (as were my 4 and 7 year old sisters... given, they were sitting on our laps).

Boat taxi dock

Anyways, we finally get to the house of the relatives who we are going to visit, and it turns out that we don't know them either.  But they have some really cool hammocks, so it's all okay.  We have breakfast with them, and then all 25 of us (we traded out the grandparents for 5 locals) hop in this boat taxi and take a tour of the area post hurricane Stan.  The storm was 5 years ago, but definitely left an impact... it was really crazy and sad to see so many destroyed houses that are still in disrepair yet still being occupied because people have no other choice.




After our boat taxi, we went to the beach.  We drove the bus all the way on the beach (by now, my expectations of this vehicle have been far surpassed), and then walk out.  It is COVERED in trash, so I get my frisbee and Jairo and I play catch while we debate if we want to swim or not.  My decision was sealed when a dead dog carcass washed up on shore.  We were all watching it, and then another dog came up and started eating it.  I was outta there.  I've come to be able to handle a lot of stuff that is considered gross in the States - men peeing on busses, strange food, meat hanging on the side of the streets... but canine cannibals are beyond my comfort level.  So, we all jumped back in the bus and I pretended to be the Ayudante as we headed back home (aka hanging out the bus (because there wasn't room for me) and yelling "allay allay allay!"... they thought it was hilarious).

Watching the sea is always captivating

So is sand.

This man has his own business of walking around and taking pictures of people with this alligator and then selling them a polaroid. As one who grew up with this toy being a staple of my childhood, I found it to be completely hilarious and sentimental...

Coconut juice and coconut milk... a delicacy

After lunch and a really thought provoking conversation with a guy who just got back after being deported from the States, all 22 of us, ages 2-97, jumped back in our van, this time with a cooler of fish and 5 branches of coconuts.  We headed back to the corn, slid down the hill again, and let off all our new friends.

I still have a lot of questions about the day, but life in Guatemala, as I mentioned earlier, is a lot more about questions than it is about answers.  I'm quite satisfied with the fun memories :)

Xopic... water, in the correct amounts, is the source of life

The gorgeous mountains they call home

This past week, the other volunteers, workers at CEDEPCA, and I went to Xopic, a town 2 hours on a windy dirt road in the mountains.  The past two years have been really hard for Xopic, 2 years ago they had a huge drought that took away all their sources for food and water.  This year, there was too much rain that killed a lot of their crops. Being so isolated (most people don't have trucks and the bus only comes once a week), they are definitely reliant on their crops so when rain doesn't come when scheduled, it's really, really bad.

When we got out of our (very full) microbus (full microbusses is a theme of this past week...), our translator (Spanish to Aguacaton) said, "Welcome to the country of Xopic".  What a true statement it was.  The aldea has 84 families living in it with incredibly low population density.  All the women are in the traditional clothing, and many of the older men are as well - something that is becoming increasingly more uncommon. Many of the people only spoke Aguacaton, not Spanish.

CEDEPCA has been working there helping people with ecological and agricultural solutions, as well as psychological recovery from living without the basic necessities and watching friends and family suffer. We went for CEDEPCA's last visit - a workshop and then a celebration culminating the work they have done there. Monica led us in a workshop of how to relieve stress so people could reduce body tension, how to actively listen, and the importance of knowing the names of your neighbors.  It was incredible to watch these people who have wisdom and skills of survival that I will never have learn that by squeezing your hands and releasing them or simply having a face to face conversation with your neighbor, you can really benefit your health and happiness.  In a world where work = survival, there is little time for relationships outside of immediate family... something I've seen in my host families as well.  At the end, Monica encouraged everyone to give each other hugs.  It was incredibly awkward in a culture that doesn't value physical touch.   One beautiful moment was when a younger woman began leading everyone in singing and marching around the room.  We sung two hymns in standard Guatemalan style and it was great.   

During our active listening time, my partner talked about the drought and the floods.  He said that both events resulted in not enough food and a great amount of fear.  Before CEDEPCA came, he said, people were really ugly.  Talking to him, I realized how strong survival instincts are.  They lead you to put yourself and your family first, sometimes to the detriment of a community as a whole.  Our conversation really taught me about the importance of psychological care, and made me really grateful for the lessons in conversations and communication I received as a kid.  There are so many aspects of culture that you just take for granted.

During the celebration, we brought out the ball to play some futbol.  It was incredible to watch the kids just let down their tough emotional walls and just kick around the ball.  After lunch, I got roped into playing a strange game in front of the school where we kicked the ball and laughed our heads off when it flew off the road or when a girl's sandal would fly off with a powerful kick. It was so fun!

Going to things like this make me really grateful for all I've had in my life...

And I'm grateful for Laura who understood EVEN MORE... read her blog about Xopic here... it's really good

Latin American Futbol... Go Xelaju!

 Xelaju!  Xelaju!  Luna de mi corazon!

A group us went to the Xelaju futbol (soccer) game last Sunday.  They were playing Guatemala City for the last spot at playoffs so, unbeknownst to us we were walking into a very intense situation.  It was awesome!

Here are some photos and captions that explain the beautiful essence of Latin American soccer games better than my words ever can.

Evidently it's possible to color smoke in fire extinguishers and then spray it out when the kickoff occurs.  I was filming when they sprayed but the vocabulary in the film is not appropriate or family friendly, so you're just going to have to imagine red, white, and blue smoke filling the air.

When the team came out on the field, everyone threw out confetti... EVERYWHERE.  The confetti is in the form of newspaper squares that are handed out in the 100s like bags of candy.

Can you guess what the team colors are?  If you say green, you're wrong.  I was in the strong minority not having a jersey.  So much so that I gave into peer pressure and have one for the next game... in April :(  we tied and lost the spot.

Security is extreme.  No, there is not a bomb threat, nor is there a hold up.  This is soccer. It's a big deal.  The visiting team and bad calling refs have their lives at risk and have personal escorts.

SUPER CHIVOS!!!  Yep.  The mascot is a super goat.

Pop served in bags... because cans are dangerous.