Eight Months: Thank You, Guatemala

Guatemala, I know you and I got off to a rocky start. Times weren't always happy or comforting. I learned I am very American and very not Guatemalan. But throughout it all, you helped me to become a stronger person.

Guatemala, in the end, I've grown fond of you. I've grown fond of your geometric conical volcanoes. Your huge cumulonimbus clouds edged in gold drift often through my mind. Your rich culture full of textiles, temples, and traditional cultures. I loved your rugged mountain country filled with canyons, valleys, and immense mountains. I've grown fond of you, Guatemala, that's just it.

Thank you, Guatemala, for letting me come home safely. Thank you for helping me grow and change. Thank you for inspiring my writing and photography. Thank you for teaching me to live alone. Thank you, Guatemala, for sharing weaving with me. Thank you for forcing me into a difficult situation. Thank you for giving me strength to get through each hard day. Thank you for sharing beauty that gave me joy. Thank you for the friends I met, people I knew, and people I will know due to a connection to you. Thank you for great coffee, cardamom, fresh fruit, and macademia nuts. Thank you for an awesome research project. Thank you for Mayan pyramids, Mayan language, and Mayan crafts.

Thank you for everything.

Thank you for you.

Part of My House Flooded Last Night

When you think about flooding, normally you think about normal occurances. A pipe broke, it rained so hard the house flooded, the river rose, your ceiling leaked. But, you don't normally think about the other way a house floods. A way that seems almost foreign to developed countries' mindsets. It is, in fact, a very common flooding incident in Latin America. It happened to me today.

I awoke early in order to take the garbage out. As I trudged into my bathroom to empty the full can of soiled toilet paper, my flip flop slipped on a puddle of water. My sleep-fogged brain registered that something had happened to the toilet, but it didn’t look serious, so I took the garbage outside.

Then I noticed it, a veritable river of water oozing from the bathroom into the hallway. Puddles of toilet water ran downhill until forming a centimeter deep reservoir in my kitchen. It was the Latin American Bathroom Nightmare. The one fear all foreign travelers and livers in Latin America share. The toilet overflow. The porcelain explosion. The leaking toilet.

I stared at the network of streams, rivers, and lakes that had formed in my kitchen. Thank God the water didn’t go into either the living room, where my luggage is, or into the other part of the kitchen, where my computer cables are. I glared blindly at the puddles until I realized putting on my glasses would make it easier to see the extent of the damage.

It was time to fix the tank. I went into the bathroom, took off the porcelain tank top, and adjusted the water level screw. Then, on to the next predicament of the newly formed lake in my kitchen. Luckily, I had about 5 towels to employ in the soaking up of water, as mops in Guatemala are really just rags attached to a stick. Not very effective for efficient water soaking-up. One by one I grabbed soaked towels, strained them in the sink, and returned them to the kitchen lake. Finally, I managed to soak up the last of the puddle, mop away my dirty foot prints, and went back to bed. What was the point of cooking in a marsh? Twenty minutes later, the remaining water seemed to have dried up and I could go about my normal business. The one difference, I’d be watching that toilet to make sure it didn’t explode on me again. I’ve got its number. Oh Latin American toilet issues.

Only 20 days to go in Guatemala.

The Small Step Revolution

Trudging up yet another 30 degree slope and watching the line of hikers grow farther and farther away from me, I started thinking about my childhood. I have so many memories of being outside and enjoying nature. But rarely was I hiking. My brother and dad would always hike peaks and explore mountains while shy me and sympathetic mom would find other things to do. During this 11 mile day 2 of the Nebaj-Todos Santos hike I wondered at why I was so resistent to hiking as a kid. The answer I came up with was that I was always the smallest, the slowest, and the one that was left in the dust. I would always get so upset as the rest of my family seemed to keep fast paces and I was stuck always trying to catch up. It would always make my little face screw up with sobs and I would run, bike, or trot as fast as I could to keep up. And I never could. Man, I hated it!

Moving to Idaho changed my attitude about outdoor activities like climbing, mountain biking, backpacking, and biking. I naturally fell into its great outdoor community and discovered I could keep up and relly truly loved all the above activities! I was finally in a place where I could consistently get outside and was with friends who also loved it, taught me, and helped me improve my skills. Now when my folks and I were in the West, I could keep up and loved watching them enjoy the outdoor experiences too. Life was good. I realized that I was a consistent hiker. Maybe not fire crew material, but consistent. No more sobbing about being in the back for me! I relished the back!

I’ve been two-footing it through Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, and Guatemala since. People told me I was a good hiker, always in a good mood, okay with different paces, and enjoy the hike. So, now, hiking through the Cuchumatanes, what was the deal? There the group went, hundreds of feet in front of me, speeding through the Cuchumatanes Mountains, and I was left in the dust... again. Dangit!

I remembered how people always give such helpful advice as “keep a steady pace and you’ll make it to the top. Don’t take breaks. Just keep going.” Well, shoot, I was keeping a steady pace and still having to take breathers on the uphills. I couldn’t breath at over 3000 meters without taking a break. Why could everyone else keep up with the ridiculously fast guide? Meah!

Finally, Alex slowed down to wait for me. We talked about hiking skills and she said, “You’re still taking really big steps. Take really little ones and you’ll get there. Small steps get you anywhere you need to go!” I immediately changed my steps and realized the small step revolution. All of a sudden I could power up those hills! I was hiking away, not needing breaks, and moving like a mule, sherpa, or llama up those 30 degree slopes. Why hadn’t anyone told me this crucial step before? Why hadn’t they said, “You need to have a consistent pace and take small steps when climbing hills”? Come on, people, the Small Step Revolution can get you anywhere!

I saw the rest of the hike unfold in frot of me. I could make it up and down all those mountains with the small step revolution! And indeed I could. My breaks reduced to nothing as miles melted under my feet. But still, the group was way ahead of me no matter what I did. I guess I am just not a fast hiker. But instead of my face screwing up with repressed sobs at being left in the dust, I enjoyed developing my small step skills, examining the dark soil under my feet, and visiting with the handful of other people who couldn’t, didn’t, or wouldn’t keep up with the guides’ army-training-pace march through the mountains. Fine, I thought, I can’t keep up, but I can consistently hike with my pace and small steps all the way from Nebaj to Todos Santos (38 miles).

The small step revolution gets you anywhere your head and heart desire!

100 Beautiful Things about Guatemala

Today in Eat, Pray, Love, I listened to Gilbert’s reflections of her time in India studying in an ashram and meditating. One particular quote stood out to me, “You are, after all, what you think. Your emotions are slaves to your thoughts and you are slave to your emotions.” I forget sometimes to remember what is beautiful or what makes me happy in Guatemala. I feel so out of place that it is often easier to reflect on what’s complicated about Guatemala and not what makes it such an intriguing place. After such a heavy post, I wanted to express some of the beauty I see in Guatemala:

1. Marvin Cone clouds billow every day in the sky due to tropical convection. In the evenings they turn brilliant pinks, oranges, and yellows.
2. Blossoms everywhere in every color, shape, and texture.
3. Warm weather and blue skies.
4. Pupusas – stuffed tortillas filled with cheese, meat, beans, you name it. They’re actually from El Salvador, but they’re quite popular here.
5. Vibrant colors of weavings and traditional fabrics.
6. Horrible Guatemalan-Spanish accents that make everyone sound like they’re constantly whining.
7. Jade.
8. Mayan temples.
9. Tajumulco.
10. Xela aka Xelaju aka Quetzaltenango aka my favorite town in Guatemala.
11. Antigua.
12. Chocolate from Chocotenango.
13. Hot chocolate with cinnamon that tastes like the elixir of the gods.
14. Coffee.
15. Smiles and encouragement at the gym.
16. Micro buses that get me around the country.
17. Refaccion, even though I hate snack break.
18. The Westin Camino Real where Rotary meets weekly.
19. My apartment, gray walls and everything.
20. The toothless woman who sells tortillas and always grins when she sees me.
21. The Curves security guards with their gold-lined teeth.
22. The afternoon sun that turns everything golden.
23. Toucans and parrots.
24. Spider and howler monkeys.
25. The checkers at the grocery store who all know me and always say hi.
26. Vista Hermosa Bookshop, my local English language bookstore.
27. Rainbow Room café in Antigua although I never find good books there.
28. The very effeminate waiter at the bagel shop who knows exactly what I want every time I go in (1/2 dozen bagels, everything, onion, and some more everything).
29. The fact that the Café Barista waiters always pretend not to know who I am, even though they really do.
30. Gelato samples at Café Barista.
31. Plants that survive in the canopy by absorbing mist from the air.
32. Quetzales.
33. Tikal.
34. Peten Itza and Yaxha lakes.
35. Lake Atitlan, even though I don’t like it.
36. Quetzaltrekkers.
37. Cookies from the Menonite bakery in Xela.
38. Cement slides I fly off of and crash spectacularly and scrape my knee on.
39. Fresh tropical fruit like pineapples, zapotes, bananas, strawberries.
40. Hot atol on cold mornings.
41. Museums about the Maya, even though they need to work on their interpretation.
42. My taxi driver, Juan Alonzo, just because he always gives me rides and looks out for me.
43. Solitude, although I am frequently lonely.
44. The back road to Curves.
45. The poor taco stand boy trying to cross the street with his Pepsi Cola shaped grill.
46. Rotary Club Guatemala Sur, for all its machismo actions and bingo playing.
47. Triple days for Tigo cards.
48. Calling internationally on my cell phone.
49. The view of Volcanes Agua, Fuego, and Acatenango from the cross walk by the grocery store.
50. Fruit venders who know what fruit I want to buy and the price I want to buy it at.
51. Rex II, the golden retriever, who is always glad to see me.
52. The fact the dog down the street and I made friends when I let her back inside her gate after she had somehow gotten out and didn’t know how to get back in.
53. The crisp contrast between clear blue skies and fantastically painted walls, brightly colored flowers, and green leaves.
54. The road to Xela. It takes forever, but the whole way is a beautiful mosaic of volcanoes, corn fields, and valleys.
55. Sunsets and sunrises.
56. Having time to write.
57. The clipped Spanish spoken by the indigenous Maya.
58. The way national tourists in Tikal say they go to see Tikal to make sure it really exists.
59. Travelers excited to be in Guatemala.
60. Lightening storms.
61. Crashing waves and black sand beaches of Monterrico.
62. Watching baby sea turtles get released into the ocean.
63. Two for one movie nights at the movie theater.
64. Poporopo, the word for popcorn.
65. Licuados, or smoothies, delicious whether they are made with water, milk, or yogurt.
66. How it takes so long to get anywhere you notice the changing scenery
67. Beberly and her hugs.
68. The ambivalent nature of Guatemalan relationships.
69. The fact that Guatemala imports cranberries, cheddar cheese, Silk soy milk, Twix, and maple syrup.
70. Slang.
71. How the insanity of this country makes me laugh, shake my head, and jump on board… sort of.
72. Chicken buses (like the Orellana Chicken Buses with their naked lady emblems).
73. Crowding over 100 people into chicken buses
74. Sitting in the back of a chicken bus and flying feet into the air whenever the bus goes over a speed bump (about ever 10 minutes).
75. Pollo Campero and everyone’s obsession with it (it’s soooo good).
76. Really ugly necklaces and embroidery thread covered pens that end up in Goodwill.
77. Guatemalans perseverance even when the going gets tough.
78. Scrambled eggs, refried beans, tortillas, and chili sauce being the only meal in the entire country (besides Pollo Campero).
79. The number of tortillas one person eats per day (at least 20).
80. Canyons, mountains, and plains.
81. Watching Pacaya spew out lava.
82. Being close enough to the USA that people come to visit.
83. How random people always offer help or advise, even when I don’t ask for it.
84. Ceiba trees.
85. Hearing awful ranchera songs for hours on the bus (“Si fuera ladron, te robaria tu cuerpo, te robaria tus besos, te robaria tu amor” If I was a thief, I would steal your body, I would steal your kises, I would steal your love).
86. How very inflexible people are when it comes to sizes of things (“We only have the large size.” “Can’t you just fill it less?” “But we only have the large”).
87. Too many people employed in one store so that my table gets mopped around at least three times while I’m sitting at it.
88. Orquids.
89. Zip lines in Chuiraxamolo Municipal Park.
90. How shoestring backpackers think Casa Argentina in Xela is the bomb, when it’s really just a gross, dirty hostel with broken beds and toilets that don’t function.
91. Teresita from Santiago Atitlan.
92. Church ruins in Antigua.
93. Pops ice cream and people’s obsession with eating it, especially in banana splits.
94. Vesuvio Pizzaria, the only good pizza I’ve ever eaten in Latin America (besides one other place in Ecuador).
95. Trees at 4000 meters.
96. How excited people get about weather changes like snow in the highlands.
97. Carlos Peña hairstyles. Nothing is hotter than the skunk cut.
98. The Cathedral in Xela.
99. The traditional dress of women from Zunil – florescent colors.
100. Esperanza and her family with their ready laugh, jokes, smiles, and welcoming embraces.

These things make me happy everyday. They’re beautiful even when I don’t always think they are beautiful at the time. Although life in Guatemala is hard, I reflect on this list and it gives me joy day.

Winter Symbols

There is something in the cold comfort of bare oak trees that will forever nourish me. Throughout my childhood growing up in the bitter cold of Iowa winters, the rasping grey-brown branches of the white oak symbolized life changing. Every season the trees would display some new miracle. In spring time pollen falling in long worm-shaped spirals would sink in rain puddles where I would fish them with Jeffery. Rich green leaves crowned the canopy in the long humid months of summer. In the fall, rust brown leaves would spin from the sky for us to rake into piles and drag into the backyard. Winter exposed the bare branches and coated them in layers of white, billowing snow.

Oak trees are one of the most familiar and homey trees I have experienced. Although I love the trees of Idaho, Wyoming, and Montana, nothing, not even the changing tamarack, seems to connect to so much of my life as the oak tree. Growing up on the border between the oak savanna and the tall grass prairie, oak trees older than the Civil War graced the surrounding hills. On windy days, I would play in the yard imagining I was conducting the trees to play the soft whooshing sounds their leaves made when playing with the breeze. Down the street a hillside of oak trees cooled the summer days and created a miniature wilderness in the midst of our neighborhood. The Nature Center brought together the subtle lines of prairie and oak savanna in a picturesque union of golden fields and brown-green limbs on the Cedar River flood plain.

When I landed in New York City to spend Christmas with my family, the first thing that registered with me was seeing in the darkness the naked winter trees of my youth. I knew when I crossed the river to New Jersey the hillsides would be covered with this wintery symbol. I welcomed the trees, the cold, the grey winter sky, and the brown land into my heart even as those winter symbols drew me back home. For, in Guatemala, the resolute tropical atmosphere, humidity, and overly green 5,000 foot hills, always give me the crawls. It just does not feel right that there is a consistency and never-changing environment around me. I need the cold, the sweaters, the winter light, and the hope of coming spring. Here in Central America, I feel decidedly uncomfortable about the climate (although it’s nice to be warm) for its lack of change, never-falling leaves, and constant unfamiliar and overwhelming green.

In Guatemala, the months hardly seem to vary and there is little seasonal change to look forward to as I cross off the days on the calendar. December in Iowa, Idaho, and New Jersey means cold, the longest night of the year, Christmas, and returning light. December in Guatemala seemed to mean constant fireworks, consistent temperature, posadas, and Gallo Christmas trees. I hardly realized Christmas was approaching here without the seasonal traditions of cookie baking, tree scavenging and decorating, and catching up with home. What is Christmas here? I never learned.

Seeing the bare limbs of the deciduous trees and the ice on Cedar Lake, feeling the warmth of family, and enjoying the spirit of the season through Christmas carols, caresses, and compassion, I felt safe and whole again for the first time in six months. What a remedy to months of solitude. The wintery symbols were all I needed to feel complete again.

Earthquakes

For the past 3 days tremors have shaken Guatemala City. My imagination would like to pretend these are Giants shaking and grooving, or that Chicken Little is running about exclaiming, “the sky is falling!” But it’s really the earth moving.

On Friday, I sat in my flimsy chrome chair at the kitchen table resolutely punching numbers into my Tikal database. My chair started shaking. I thought it must just be because the chair is weak or maybe I felt dizzy. Then I noticed that a low rumbling sound, almost imperceptible, seemed to be groaning from the earth itself. The table started shaking. I looked up alarmed and saw my entire apartment begin to twist, warp, and move to the earth’s grumble. The structure shook unnaturally, shaking on the world’s plastic surface as earth buckled and stretched below. It felt as if a malignant being were trying to escape from the center of the earth through Guatemala’s sewers.

My eyes went wide in shock and fear. I’d never been in a big earthquake before, and this was big. This was moving my whole house in a circular skewering movement. What was I supposed to do? Frantically I stood and shaky-kneed moved over to pick up my passport, debit cards, water, and camera from a nearby chair and shoved them in a bag. Now what? Was I supposed to run outside to escape a collapsing building or hide in a doorway, closet or bathroom like in a tornado?

Within 10 seconds the quake stopped, leaving the world as stagnant, yet unsettled, as before it started. The world seemed inert again, but also suddenly alive and full of the human tension that permeates Guatemala City. I was reminded of Global Environmental Change and Lee’s talk about plate tectonics and how corn and the Himalayas are related. “C4 plants! Carbon dioxide! I want to go home! There are no earthquakes where I live!” The four thoughts rushed simultaneously in my head even as I realized that Yellowstone experiences several quakes a day, we just don’t feel them. Teeth gritted determinately, I reminded myself of my vow to return home by the end of February. “I’m not letting an earthquake prevent me from going home!” I stated determinately and daringly to Guatemala’s active crust.

The rest of the day, while I tried to ignore the thought that “the earth is still very much alive,” as Pibs says, I couldn’t help being hypersensitive to subtle movements. My shaky table continued to shake as I typed on my computer’s keyboard. Was that the start of another quake? I occasionally lifted my hands from it to see if the world was moving. The forceful 80 mph wind outside howled and shook the house. I turned off the music to listen.

I fell asleep that evening to restless dreams where The New Pornographers’ “Myriad Harbor” echoed in my ears. A shriek coming from the beds moving and the same low rumble from the earth-monster partially woke me at 4:00 am. I forced my heavy eyelids open, trying to decide if that was really another quake or if my active imagination was on overdrive. The world stopped moving and almost instantly I drifted back to sleep.

The following morning Bridgette, who was over 70 miles away from me called to say she had felt the night quake too. Fear slunk coldly into me as I thought of how strong a quake had to be for both her house and my house to move to the same tremor. The day past quietly and the earth seemed to have scratched the itch that pestered it into shaking. My nerves calmed a little, wondering how many more “study abroad moments” I really wanted to experience in Guatemala.

Today I went and talked to Rosemarie and Roberto about proper earthquake protection. Rosemarie’s eyes went wide as she said, “Yes! It was a very big quake! They are normally very small quakes but this was big.” Roberto interjected, “Yes in the papers it said it was a 5 something.” Roberto informed me that upon a tremor I should lie down next to the bed and throw a blanket over me. Going under the bed meant I could get squashed. I refrained from saying that I was sure lying next to the bed would do little to stop the ceiling from killing me either.

I had just returned to my work when I felt it again. The earth shuddered and twisted. The earth-monster was trying to reappear. Again, my eyes popped open with fear as my breath came low and shallow. The world shook and I thought, “I just want to go home, please.” Maybe the earth heard me as the world righted itself seconds later. Maybe I’m just hopeful that it listened. Mostly, I want to leave before the sky crashes into the earth’s hungry mouth.

Six Months

For the first time in Guatemala I had friends around. Friends who truly care about me, love me, and nourish me. For the first time in six months, I explored Guatemala joyously with the companionship of Bridgette, Hanne, and Pibs at my side. The wonders of Guatemala opened to me as I saw the heavens from Tajumulco and alpine environment around Xela, experienced crashing waves and turtle releases in Monterrico, learned everything there was to learn about coffee production, and laughed at street venders and snack eaters. Guatemala became something less serious and more joyous during December. It was a time where I met beautiful and inspirational people, savored and learned to make rich hot chocolate, and saw through the frustrations to the humor of this foreign country.

Friends made all the difference. Having someone to talk to and share with, experience and wonder with, and inspire me to explore Guatemala’s beauty made this time abroad blossom for me. All I needed was the support of people to get me to find a better place in this foreign land.

Thank God for Pibs with his words of inspiration and support, for Hanne who got me out there, and for Bridgette’s calming and cheerful presence. They saved December and Guatemala for me. Hanne got me mountain climbing and traveling again. Pibs said I’m doing all right and making good decisions. Bridgette helped root me again in the spirit of home-finding in a foreign country. Their support has been invaluable and I thank them forever for helping me find the joy in the tension, the rush of traveling 100 miles at 25 miles an hour, and humor in the insanity of Guatemala.

Then I went home. I went home to the warm embraces of family for Christmas. I nearly cried when I set my feet on the homeland again. There was New York City’s skyline, the one city I’d consider living in. There was Dan waiting to show me around his new home. Getting off the bus in Denville, I was united with one of my most sacred places. There was my aunt, uncle, and cousins making jokes, finding treats to eat at the Viking Bakery, and always ready to walk around Cedar Lake. There was my Grandma always ready with a hug and stories and my Grandpa ready with a joke and Snickers in the top drawer of his desk. My parent’s came: Mom working on a puzzle like every Christmas and Dad back to exploring his childhood home. Marie and Jack were there with their humor and calm sense of selves. Everyone was there, my whole family.

Even though the Christmas traditions were different from Iowa, the sense of home, safety, and comfort filled me with the spirit of the season and spirit of love. I was loved and I loved in return. I understood the culture, the nuances, the language. The warmth of 33 Cedar Lake West filled me as it always does with the joy and beauty of having a sense of place, a sacred place, that revolves around home, family, humor, seriousness, and love. The most wonderful Christmas miracle was being home with my family.

This December blessed me with family and friends. They saved Guatemala for me. They made this six month priceless, unforgettable, and reviving. I thank you, friends and family, forever.