Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Las Camionetas
All volunteers spent Labor Day exploring the capitol, Guatemala City. We made the venture because the Peace Corps deems three locations imperative to know: the US embassy, the hospital and Tikal Futura, a shopping mall slash hotel slash concert and convention venue where there is a Payless Shoe Source, a food court and an entire level dedicated to sporting goods shops, one of which specializes in tennis rackets (my spanish teacher thinks the biz is a little fishy cause, lets be honest, how many Guatemalans really play tennis?) The Peace Corps likes this mall because its one of the places in the city where its safe to call a taxi.
The trip into Guate wasn’t anything overwhelmingly exciting although I did treat myself to a double scoop ice cream cone that tasted like heaven in my mouth. Besides the magically refreshing helado, I found the bus ride the most exciting part of the trip. I have grown to love the camionetas here. The buses are retrofitted american school buses painted funky colors on the outside and decorated inside to the driver’s (or as the are called in spanish chauffeur's) liking. Unfortunately, one rarely can enjoy the interior decor because there seems to be no limit to the number of people that can be crammed in these buses. In fact, on this very day, Shaila and I opted to pass on a ride from a camioneta that had people hanging out the side. Literally, three men flailing and clawing for dear life while holding on to some indiscernible pegs or handles or railings outside of the front side door of the bus. Now imagine what the inside of that bus musta looked like. Brings a whole new meaning to the word packed. Every bus ride is an adventure in itself because everyone is crammed three to a seat, the chauffeur drives like a 16-year-old boy in his dads BMW, and the roads are bumpy, hilly and windy. The windiness is key here. It can get so swervey that my friends and I have begun playing a game called “grab-the-oh-shit-bar” on certain stretches of highway. You know those teacups at Disneyland that you spin and spin until you feel like your cheeks will permanently be windblown to one side of your face. Thats the extent of the g-force felt on the bus rides. So you get the picture. Now, it may be hard to believe but, the ride itself isn’t the best part- the people are. I’ve never experienced a better location for people watching. And since everyone is so close, like on each others laps and butts-in-your-face close, its almost impossible not to eaves drop on peoples conversations. My favorites are always the ones involving twenty something guys picking up on eighteen year old school girls in uniforms,
Boy: “Whats you’re name”
Girl: “Lucia”
Boy: “Thats my favorite name, no kidding, I’ve always said when I have a baby girl I’m going to name her Lucia etc. How old are you etc. Can I get your phone number etc. etc.”
I must admit although entertaining, I kinda got upset about overhearing this convo because Lucia is one of MY favorite names and now its tarnished.
I was too quick to judge camioneta crushes because before I knew it, I was experiencing one myself. Moments after internally rolling my eyes at the above conversation, at the Jocotenango stop, on walked the most beautiful Guatemalan God I’d seen since stepping foot in this country. Tall, dark and perfect. At this very instant I thought to myself, “so this is what my dad was worried about” (refer back to my first post re: taking a Guatemalan back to The States). I blushed while this beautiful specimen got on the bus and quickly turned to Shaila who was sitting two rows back and motioned to her to check him out. She gave me the smile and nod of full approval. Eight minutes later my Guatemalan David got off the bus at the Antigua stop. No words were exchanged, just a few looks and I doubt i'll ever see him again. However, now I am particularly attentive at the Jocotenango stop.
The trip into Guate wasn’t anything overwhelmingly exciting although I did treat myself to a double scoop ice cream cone that tasted like heaven in my mouth. Besides the magically refreshing helado, I found the bus ride the most exciting part of the trip. I have grown to love the camionetas here. The buses are retrofitted american school buses painted funky colors on the outside and decorated inside to the driver’s (or as the are called in spanish chauffeur's) liking. Unfortunately, one rarely can enjoy the interior decor because there seems to be no limit to the number of people that can be crammed in these buses. In fact, on this very day, Shaila and I opted to pass on a ride from a camioneta that had people hanging out the side. Literally, three men flailing and clawing for dear life while holding on to some indiscernible pegs or handles or railings outside of the front side door of the bus. Now imagine what the inside of that bus musta looked like. Brings a whole new meaning to the word packed. Every bus ride is an adventure in itself because everyone is crammed three to a seat, the chauffeur drives like a 16-year-old boy in his dads BMW, and the roads are bumpy, hilly and windy. The windiness is key here. It can get so swervey that my friends and I have begun playing a game called “grab-the-oh-shit-bar” on certain stretches of highway. You know those teacups at Disneyland that you spin and spin until you feel like your cheeks will permanently be windblown to one side of your face. Thats the extent of the g-force felt on the bus rides. So you get the picture. Now, it may be hard to believe but, the ride itself isn’t the best part- the people are. I’ve never experienced a better location for people watching. And since everyone is so close, like on each others laps and butts-in-your-face close, its almost impossible not to eaves drop on peoples conversations. My favorites are always the ones involving twenty something guys picking up on eighteen year old school girls in uniforms,
Boy: “Whats you’re name”
Girl: “Lucia”
Boy: “Thats my favorite name, no kidding, I’ve always said when I have a baby girl I’m going to name her Lucia etc. How old are you etc. Can I get your phone number etc. etc.”
I must admit although entertaining, I kinda got upset about overhearing this convo because Lucia is one of MY favorite names and now its tarnished.
I was too quick to judge camioneta crushes because before I knew it, I was experiencing one myself. Moments after internally rolling my eyes at the above conversation, at the Jocotenango stop, on walked the most beautiful Guatemalan God I’d seen since stepping foot in this country. Tall, dark and perfect. At this very instant I thought to myself, “so this is what my dad was worried about” (refer back to my first post re: taking a Guatemalan back to The States). I blushed while this beautiful specimen got on the bus and quickly turned to Shaila who was sitting two rows back and motioned to her to check him out. She gave me the smile and nod of full approval. Eight minutes later my Guatemalan David got off the bus at the Antigua stop. No words were exchanged, just a few looks and I doubt i'll ever see him again. However, now I am particularly attentive at the Jocotenango stop.
A Few More Photos
Shaila and me at our Gym, A few PCV's out in Antigua watching American Footbal and the US v. El Salvador soccer game (go USA), Church in Pastores and Spike and Keiser (just for you Doug)- Spike is the lighter colored one.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
My House in Alotenago
Here are a few pics of my house- The courtyard, the pila... will try to post more later.
¡Que Rico!
About a week after we arrived in Guatemala and a few days after settling into our three month stint in Alotenango we were informed that during training we would be working with local artisans to help them sell their products. The artisan group is a formal association comprised of about 30 craftsmen and women whose specialties range from candle making to weaving to cooking dulces tipicos (local sweets) to whittling wooden owls (that look eerily similar to the ones my dad puts on our dock in California to keep the ducks away). For the last few weeks we have been meeting with the artisan group to get a feel for how we can support them. It has been eye opening to see what they struggle with, keeping invoices, looking for new markets, researching competition, counting their own labor as a part of their cost of production etc. This past week we went around and began visiting the artisans in their homes or shops to build good report and see their products first hand.
Shaila and I had the opportunity to meet up with Don Luis at his house where he weaves everything from pillow cases to large blankets. When we arrived he greeted us with his adorable pint size wife and their youngest of five sons Wilber (age 11). They sat us on their porch and we began chatting about their products and Don Luis showed us pictures of some of the rugs and hammocks he had woven and brought out some samples of pillow cases and table runners (don’t worry mom, already thinking xmas gifts) that he had woven and napkin holders his wife had hand made. We talked and talked... about the weather, about the volcanos, about US immigration (Shaila’s favorite topic), about airport security in the states. One thing led to another and before we knew it we were off the porch and in the garden where Luis and his family were pulling tangerines, jocotes, nispero (loquat) off their trees left and right and handing them to us to eat. Most of what was handed to me i’d never heard of or seen before but I just put it in my mouth and complimented Don Luis on how delicious it was “Que rico!” as juices ran down my chin. At one point I did turn to Shaila and ask if it was kosher to be eating right off the trees without washing the fruit- she shrugged an “uh, sure” so we continued to munch away. We were finishing up a handful of nisperos when Don Luis pointed out his sugar cane growing near a fence and I was naive enough to say, “I’ve never tried sugar cane before.” This of course triggered a, “Wilber get the machete” Wilber ran back into the house and before we knew it Don Luis was chopping down a stalk of sugar cane with his machete, peeling off the outer bark and breaking the stalk into portions for us all to begin gnawing on. We all stood around a pile of the bark debris, talked as we chewed on the sugar cane (more juices running down my chin) and spit out the fibers like a bunch of pura Chapinas. I learned that it took a year to grow the sugar cane and, apparently when hosting two gringas, only minutes to chop it down. Don Luis’ hospitality is not uncommon here in Guatemala and we spent about two hours just shooting the shit. There is a saying that my spanish teacher uses: American’s think time is money, Guatemalans think time is life. This couldn’t be more true.
After promising a second visit to his house, including a soccer match with all five sons, we parted ways with Don Luis and headed to another artisan’s house, Dona Mercedes’, were we were to taste her dulces tipicos. Another chat on the porch, this time with all four of us Alotenango volunteers, more sharing of food- this time honeyed yams and sweetened figs, more “Muy ricos!” and more promises to visit again. By the time we were finished with our rounds my shirt was stained with at least three different colored juices and my stomach was fully satisfied. Just in time for lunch.
Later that afternoon Shaila and I made a trip to the gym then ran home to change for a fiesta. Amanda’s host mother had invited all of the volunteers and our host families to a joint birthday party in honor of her 28-year and 22-year-old sons’ and 90-year-old mother-in-law. This would be my second birthday party in Guatemala and I was so excited to have something fun to do on a Friday night that I actually blow dried my hair for the occasion (only after asking Lidia if the electric system could handle it). I wasn’t the only one to go to great lengths to prepare for the event. Don Miguel had washed the family’s red Nissan pickup and parked it outside for the journey across town (which we normally just walked). Shaila ended up coming over to go to the party with my family because hers had prior commitments. At 7:30 Don Miguel closed the molino business for the night and we all piled into the pick-up. Eswen, wearing his “Relax, I’m a massage therapist” shirt, was ordained the chauffeur. Most hopped into the cab but Silvia and I sat in the bed, ok, so I sat in the bed and Silvia stood up holding the support bars like the “king of the world” as we rode a half mile to Dona Ana and Don Manuel’s house. When we entered the house there were about 50 white plastic chairs set up in the courtyard/driveway and my family immediately took their seats. Shaila and I decided to look for Amanda and Pati. We found them upstairs (the house is a two story palace by my Guatemala standards) with Melanie, a Peace Corps volunteer that had done her training in Alotenango and keeps in touch with Dona Ana’s family. Melanie told us that the white chairs were set up for the bible study of sorts that would take place before we say our happy birthdays and dive into the tamales and coffee. And sure enough, thirty minutes later we were all sitting in the white chairs listening to an energetic woman preach, “God here are my hands, here are my feet, here is my body” I looked around and noticed girls across the isle painting each others fingernails pink. The woman continued, “the worst thing you could do is have doubt, don’t doubt because with god everything is possible”, The guy in front of me was nodding his head and listening intensely as the woman sitting to his left was cradling and bouncing a 40 day old baby on her lap. About 20 minutes into the preaching it hit me that I was starting to get hungry. I thought to myself, “Maybe I should have eaten a little something, something before leaving my house”. The sermon continued but the woman stopped talking and instead put some christian music on (which my family knew all the words to thank you very much). Shaila got up to go to the bathroom and didn’t come back. My stomach started to growl. After three songs it was back to the preaching and this time the woman asked if anyone wanted to stand up and say something, “any youngsters, or teenagers”, but not a soul stirred. “Thats ok” she said, “just remember that if you have something to say to God, you should say it, life is short, very short...” And I was thinking, “tell that to the woman in the front row turning 90”. The preaching continued for another 15 minutes and after everyone said their last amens I got up and walked over to where Shaila and Amanda were helping Dona Ana unwrap tamales and put them all on styrofoam plates with a fork and bread. When in doubt, help in the kitchen right? We set up an assembly line and as I unwrapped tamales I was sizing each of them up, literally, I wanted to find the biggest one to save for myself. We kept unwrapping and I kept choosing “my” tamale, only to see it swept up from under my nose and trotted off to some awaiting lap over in the mass of people in white chairs. After unwrapping a good 75 tamales we were rewarded with our own plate and I told Dona Ana that I would prefer a shovel to a fork cause the tamales were “tan ricos!” I could eat ten of them. I ended up scarfing down two- they were heaven in my mouth. Shortly after we finished our tamales and cafe my family said it was time to leave so we all piled back into the pick-up. This time Shaila opted to take the adventure in the back with Silvia and me and at 10PM we bounced along back home.
When we pulled into the driveway Eswen had to back the truck into the driveway. Don Miguel threw our dog Spike into the bed of the truck then directed Eswen into the spot. It took 5 minutes but everyone stayed in the car, even Silvia kept standing in the bed of the truck as he maneuvered back and forth, straightened up and backed into the spot. When the car was finally parked, everyone jumped out of the truck but Spike who was stuck cause he was afraid to jump over the side. I said my goodnights as Spike was wagging and whimpering trying to find a way out of the truck. I asked if anyone was going to help him out and as they walked away Lidia said, “In the morning” and everyone went to bed. All night long Spike joined in the standard neighborhood barkfest from the bed of the red Nissan truck.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Mi Hogar
some more pics of my house in Alotenango. My room (thanks for the pillow danica)the kitchen with my abuelita making tortillas and Don Miguel watching, mimi the cat.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Omar the Trainer
Thursday I got a personal trainer. I’ve actually never had one before so it is most peculiar to have my first experience with one in Guatemala. If you don’t mind, let me explain.
Shaila and I, both of us being used to regular exercise routines in The States, have been trying to figure out how to work some cardio into our weekly schedule. We tried soccer but found out that girls can only play on Saturday and Sunday. Then we tried running outside, but its only safe for girls to run along the careterra (main thoroughfare) where bus fumes choke the lungs, tuk-tuks swerve and honk, dogs chase and people stare, really stare and oftentimes whistle, so we started looking for other outlets. I started dancing (god i miss “So You Think You Can Dance”) and doing basic tae-bo moves in my room to Britney Spears, T-Pain etc. which was serving me fine until Shaila mentioned one day that her Dona said there were gymnasios in town. Then the search for a gym commenced. There turned out to be two in town. The first we visited was in the back room of a clothing shop- old weight machines and a broken elliptical. not too promising. The second was just a few blocks down from our houses it actually had a name “Lifesport Gym” with a mural of a buff blonde guy painted on the entry wall. When we entered Euro rave music was blaring in the background and about five short buff men stopped their lifting and just stared at us. The gym was the whole bottom level of someone’s house and the facilities were decent, free weights, random exercise machines AND three spinning bikes. Perfect. We were sold. The owner was very kind and enthusiastic and said we could use the gym on a day-by-day basis for 10Qs or $1.25 an hour and a half including a trainer. We said we’d be back.
Thursday we did go back. We spent thirty minutes on the bikes during which we realized were technically in the “dining room” of the converted house, a 6 year old smiley faced kid entered the gym and pushed his bike upstairs and the family dog ran in and out and around the equipment for a good 10 minutes. This is how things are run in Guatemala. When we were done with our cardio Omar (the trainer) appeared. He is a personable fellow about 5’2 stalky with big muscles, probably half chinese half Guatemalan and dressed in a full black workout suit with a gatorade logo on his chest. Without hesitation he just started giving us different exercise to do. He let me plug my ipod into the gym’s “stereo system” and after a good 15 minutes of quad work including many unsuccessful attempts on my part to perform squats to his liking we decided to call it quits. We stretched, chatted it up with Omar a bit more, he showed us the garage where a carpet is rolled out and the karate classes take place and then we headed home for cena (dinner).
So that’s my Omar the trainer story but of course the fun didn’t end there and since I haven’t kept bathroom stories from you thus far, why stop now...
When I got back to my house I told Dona Paula that I needed to take a quick shower before dinner. So I ran to my room grabbed my bathroom stuff and jumped into the shower room. Just to give you a visual. The house is a huge square with rooms all opening into a large courtyard in the center where the cars are parked, the roosters have their pen, the clothes hang to dry and there is a little garden. My room is across from the kitchen and about ten steps to the left of the toilet room and the shower room (remember all open directly onto the courtyard). The shower room is the size of a handicap bathroom stall and has a narrow space with a chair between the door and the shower curtain to use as the “dry area”. Ok so I'm in the shower room and I check to make sure the water (its cold water) is running cause it sometimes isn’t in which case I have to fill a bucket with water (again cold water) from the pila outside and bring it into the shower room to bucket bathe. Luckily, the water was running so I jump in the shower and turn the water on, rinse, turn the water off, lather (remember the steps Dona Brenda taught me) turn the water on, or at least I turned the nozzle in the “on” direction but no water came out. I turned the nozzle off and back on, off and back on a good eight times before giving up. Ok great, so the water stopped running mid shower and there I was all sudsed up with no water to rinse. So now I have to get out of the shower and somehow get a bucket of water from the pila into the shower room. I step out from the shower curtain soaking and soapy to the “dry area” to grab my towel to wipe the suds from my body but my towel wasn’t there. In my haste to quickly shower I had somehow forgotten to grab my towel. Shit right? But this is the randomness that i deal with everyday so I wipe the suds off as best i can with my hands then throw my clothes on and go outside. I fill a bucket with water from the pila and put it in the shower, run to my room to get my towel, run back, jump back into the shower room and bucket bathe.
The rice and beans I had for dinner that night tasted delicioso after that ordeal.
Shaila and I, both of us being used to regular exercise routines in The States, have been trying to figure out how to work some cardio into our weekly schedule. We tried soccer but found out that girls can only play on Saturday and Sunday. Then we tried running outside, but its only safe for girls to run along the careterra (main thoroughfare) where bus fumes choke the lungs, tuk-tuks swerve and honk, dogs chase and people stare, really stare and oftentimes whistle, so we started looking for other outlets. I started dancing (god i miss “So You Think You Can Dance”) and doing basic tae-bo moves in my room to Britney Spears, T-Pain etc. which was serving me fine until Shaila mentioned one day that her Dona said there were gymnasios in town. Then the search for a gym commenced. There turned out to be two in town. The first we visited was in the back room of a clothing shop- old weight machines and a broken elliptical. not too promising. The second was just a few blocks down from our houses it actually had a name “Lifesport Gym” with a mural of a buff blonde guy painted on the entry wall. When we entered Euro rave music was blaring in the background and about five short buff men stopped their lifting and just stared at us. The gym was the whole bottom level of someone’s house and the facilities were decent, free weights, random exercise machines AND three spinning bikes. Perfect. We were sold. The owner was very kind and enthusiastic and said we could use the gym on a day-by-day basis for 10Qs or $1.25 an hour and a half including a trainer. We said we’d be back.
Thursday we did go back. We spent thirty minutes on the bikes during which we realized were technically in the “dining room” of the converted house, a 6 year old smiley faced kid entered the gym and pushed his bike upstairs and the family dog ran in and out and around the equipment for a good 10 minutes. This is how things are run in Guatemala. When we were done with our cardio Omar (the trainer) appeared. He is a personable fellow about 5’2 stalky with big muscles, probably half chinese half Guatemalan and dressed in a full black workout suit with a gatorade logo on his chest. Without hesitation he just started giving us different exercise to do. He let me plug my ipod into the gym’s “stereo system” and after a good 15 minutes of quad work including many unsuccessful attempts on my part to perform squats to his liking we decided to call it quits. We stretched, chatted it up with Omar a bit more, he showed us the garage where a carpet is rolled out and the karate classes take place and then we headed home for cena (dinner).
So that’s my Omar the trainer story but of course the fun didn’t end there and since I haven’t kept bathroom stories from you thus far, why stop now...
When I got back to my house I told Dona Paula that I needed to take a quick shower before dinner. So I ran to my room grabbed my bathroom stuff and jumped into the shower room. Just to give you a visual. The house is a huge square with rooms all opening into a large courtyard in the center where the cars are parked, the roosters have their pen, the clothes hang to dry and there is a little garden. My room is across from the kitchen and about ten steps to the left of the toilet room and the shower room (remember all open directly onto the courtyard). The shower room is the size of a handicap bathroom stall and has a narrow space with a chair between the door and the shower curtain to use as the “dry area”. Ok so I'm in the shower room and I check to make sure the water (its cold water) is running cause it sometimes isn’t in which case I have to fill a bucket with water (again cold water) from the pila outside and bring it into the shower room to bucket bathe. Luckily, the water was running so I jump in the shower and turn the water on, rinse, turn the water off, lather (remember the steps Dona Brenda taught me) turn the water on, or at least I turned the nozzle in the “on” direction but no water came out. I turned the nozzle off and back on, off and back on a good eight times before giving up. Ok great, so the water stopped running mid shower and there I was all sudsed up with no water to rinse. So now I have to get out of the shower and somehow get a bucket of water from the pila into the shower room. I step out from the shower curtain soaking and soapy to the “dry area” to grab my towel to wipe the suds from my body but my towel wasn’t there. In my haste to quickly shower I had somehow forgotten to grab my towel. Shit right? But this is the randomness that i deal with everyday so I wipe the suds off as best i can with my hands then throw my clothes on and go outside. I fill a bucket with water from the pila and put it in the shower, run to my room to get my towel, run back, jump back into the shower room and bucket bathe.
The rice and beans I had for dinner that night tasted delicioso after that ordeal.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
