I apologize in advance for the pessimistic tone of this post, but the combination of new, ever-evolving illnesses and my upcoming trip back to the States (and consequent comparison to how healthy I used to be) have left me struggling to make it until May 25th. This is not to say that I’m not enjoying myself still, but Guatemala has not been so kind to me as of late.

Rewind several weeks. Coming back from a weekend out of site, I’m in a hurry to make it to the bus terminal in Quiché before the last mid-day camioneta departs for Canillá. It’s around two o’clock, and I haven’t eaten breakfast, a meal which I usually skipped back home. Now, when I don’t have my 5 tortillas, eggs, and beans, I’m ravenous by lunchtime. Unfortunately, terminal food is limited, and usually not the safest bet in terms of avoiding diarrhea. Even worse are the vendors that board the buses, baskets of lukewarm chuchitos in hand, trying to deceive you into thinking that the food they’re peddling is fresh. The combination of my hunger, a slight hangover, and the adorable Mayan girl yelling, “Chuchitos a uno cincuenta Chuchitooooos!” leaves me helpless but to order dos, porfa.

24 hours later, I leave the office feeling a little queasy, but otherwise fine. At some point along the walk home, my pace quickens and gradually becomes a sprint to the bathroom, where I spend the next 30 minutes re-tasting everything I’d eaten that day. Queasiness turns to body aches and chills, followed by fever and exhaustion. After a few bouts of diarrhea, I make it back to bed and fall asleep in my clothes. I wake up several times during the night, soaked in sweat, and have to change shirts. That was Monday.

Tuesday through Friday are more of the same. I wake up feeling alright but not great, make some strong coffee to get me going, and suffer through the morning. Tuesday I walk for 4 hours straight doing house visits, Wednesday we give a training on agricultural mechanization, Thursday a charla on how to plant a garden. Friday, more house visits. Every night, I come home and a little part of me dies, my body temperature rocketing up and then plummeting at whim. At this point, you would think I would have called the doctor, but unfortunately I fall right into a very well-founded male stereotype – I hate asking for help.

By Sunday morning, after 2 nights of 14+ hours of sleep, I’m feeling okay. The fever seems to have passed, and I’m well enough to do some laundry, a task that in Guatemala leaves me ready to sleep again. At dinner, however, I take a bite of tortillla and am struck by how much it hurts to chew. In the mirror, my gums are swollen and red, and the roof of my mouth is starting to blister. At this point, there’s really not much I can do, because I’m 6 hours from the nearest Peace Corps-approved hospital, and my condition hasn’t quite reached my definition of an emergency. I’ll survive the night. I wake up early Monday morning and start to brush my teeth, but have to stop because it hurts too much. I spit, and even against my black sink, all I see is the deep red of my own blood. Now, we have an emergency. I call the Peace Corps medical office and explain my symptoms. “Yeah, you need to go to the hospital,” is the response I get.

7 hours of bus rides later, I’m in Xela, the second largest city in Guatemala, looking for a hospital I’ve never been to, and praying that my teeth don’t start to fall out of my mouth. I’m attended quickly, and I impress myself that I can jump through the hoops of a doctor’s visit in Spanish. They take my blood, swab my throat, and an hour later have my results. My blood test shows no signs of infection, meaning my body has already fought it off. As for the sorry state of my mouth, the doctor explains that the swelling and blistering are a result of my body temperature being too high for too long. After a day or two, a fever becomes counterproductive and starts to wreak havoc on body tissues. I’m prescribed an anti-inflammatory mouth wash, Listerine to prevent infection, and anti-virals just in case. As far as what caused all this, there’s really no way to know. I won’t be eating any more bus-chuchitos, that’s for sure.

I spend two days in a hotel in Xela, because protesters have blocked the highway and there’s no way back to my site. Despite the inconvenience, it’s heavenly to have nothing to do but rest, and I even get to watch a couple baseball games on TV. With the meds, my mouth stops getting worse, but takes a couple days to show improvement. Listerine isn’t the most comfortable thing with a healthy mouth, but with blisters and open sores it borders on torture. 30 seconds, 3 times a day leave me clutching the sink, eyes watering. A couple days later, I’m back to 100%, relieved that nightmare is over.

While I’m on the topic of illness, I’ll touch on some bizarre, yet very common Guatemalan beliefs regarding health. First, there is an idea that all food is either hot or cold. The way I understand it, hot foods can be eaten almost any time. For example, coffee, soup, chicken, eggs, black beans, tortillas – these are a safe bet all day long. Cold foods should only be consumed when it is warm out, and never when you are sick. For example, lettuce, avocado, most fruits/vegetables, fresco (a sugary, juice-like drink). Certain foods are hard to classify, but you’ll know if you get a weird look, as if to say, “Why would you ever eat that right now?” For the most part, my eating habits have adjusted to fit, with two exceptions. First, Guatemalans love caldo, a soup/stew made with vegetables chicken, or beef. What bothesr me is that they love it even more on really hot days, where the last thing you want to eat is a boiling hot bowl of soup. Second, coffee is almost always the drink of choice at night. It’s a hot drink, and with the cooler temperatures after dark, why would you ever want a glass of water or juice with dinner?

Next, Guatemalans love to inject things; there exists the common misconception that if you stick yourself with a needle, the medicine will work better than its pill counterpart. Many people here regularly visit the pharmacy to receive an injection of wide-range antibiotics, in the belief that they are keeping their immune system strong, not wiping it clean and leaving themselves vulnerable. Tetracycline and amoxicillin get popped like candy – my host mom wanted to give me one for a simple headache. Laxatives are even worse, some people “cleaning their stomachs” as much as once a month, also cleaning themselves of any helpful intestinal bacteria they might have. My host mom, not joking, suggested that we all take a laxative on Sunday to start the week off healthy. While my program isn’t so much health-related, other sections of Peace Corps focus on explaining why these practices are so harmful.

Finally, according to Guatemalans, you should never let a dog or cat lick you. This makes a little more sense, as most of the dogs they are exposed to are street chuchos – vile, homeless creatures infested with fleas, their intestines popping out of their bellies and their genitals oozing of STDs. Griffey, my dog, is clean, and for the most part, flea-less. He eats dog food and the occasional bone, and while I hardly let him lick my face, sometimes he sneaks one in. Last week I heard the story of a woman who had an equally affectionate dog. She let him sleep in her bed, lick her face, and she treated it (God forbid) like a pet. When her and her husband tried to get pregnant, however, it took them a long time. When they finally did, their first child was born with a dog face. Their second, with paws. Both children died within several days, but it wasn’t for several years, after getting rid of their dog, that they were able to have normal children. As I listened to this story, I struggled to keep a straight face, knowing that stuff like this is accepted as fact here.

The early start of the rainy season turned out to be a tease; the week of torrential afternoon rains in mid-April gave way to several more of intense heat and dust. With the heat, out came the bugs. For the past several weeks, I have had to choose between not sleeping because of the heat, or not sleeping because of the mosquitoes. If I leave my door closed, the mosquitoes stay out, but I am left sweating on top of my blankets. Door open, and I can cover myself, but the mosquitoes usually find a square inch of exposed skin on which to feast. Most nights, I stay up reading until 2 or 3 in the morning, killing mosquitoes by the dozen, until finally I’m tired enough not to feel them biting.

Last week, for International Worker’s Day, a holiday when ironically everyone gets the day off, I went with my host family and house-mates to the river to have a barbeque and enjoy the weather. We swam, ate lunch, and played volleyball on a little beach next to the Río Grande. It was a great day, and I really started to feel comfortable with my host family. They have always treated me well and done their best to include me, but it wasn’t until recently that I have truly felt at home here. At the end of the day, however, we packed up to head home. Before leaving, I looked around, shocked at how much of a mess we made. Hating to guilt people into cleaning up, I grabbed a plastic bag and started to pick up some trash. “Don’t worry, leave it” was the response I got. Everyone was shocked at the minimal effort I took to put everything in a bag. They were even more shocked when I didn’t toss it in the fire, instead saying that I would bring it back home. Very few people here know that Styrofoam and plastic bottles are not okay to burn. “That’s so much work,” they said, looking at the one pound bag of trash I had accumulated. I didn’t really know what to say.

At the end of a really fun day enjoying nature, it was depressing to see how people who could appreciate the outdoors could also care so little about taking care of it. I’ve never been a tree-hugger/ Save the Earth/ stand-in-front-of-a-steamroller-to-protect-a-tree type, but I grew up camping and being outside. I don’t litter, and I try to leave things the same, if not a little better, than how I find them. I know that at some point my bag of trash will be thrown off a cliff like the rest of the garbage in Guatemala, but at least it wasn’t going directly into the river.

Okay, pessimism over. This will probably be my last blog before I head home to visit family and friends in the States. In honor of my upcoming trip to the North, I’ll take a quick look at the main ways my life has changed in the last 9 months:

Things I have gotten used to during my time in Guatemala (in random order): carrying toilet paper everywhere I go in case of an emergency, cockroaches 2 inches long scuttling across my floor, killing said cockroaches, sitting at least 3 to a seat on school buses all day long, eating 15+ tortillas per day, never flushing toilet paper, shocking myself on the electric water heater on a regular basis, soccer, buying purified water or boiling it before I drink, being fíjese-qued, being really tall, speaking Spanish, women in traje, consistently warm weather, dust, mud, rain, more dust, roadblocks, stores never having enough change, firecrackers, evangelical church services, diarrhea, machetes, chuchos, Púchica, Peace Corps-induced anxiety, telenovelas, $1.50 haircuts, bolos, eggs/beans/rice, aaand last but not least, not knowing what I’m doing the majority of the time.

Things I’m excited for during my trip home (also, in random order): watching a White Sox game, water from the tap, ice, FOOD (I could write a three-page list just about this, but cheese keeps coming to mind), flushing toilet paper, wearing shorts in public, women in pants, beer, English, drinking fountains, giant jars of peanut butter, supermarkets, clothes that fit, real hot water, refrigerators, air conditioning, microwaves, washers and dryers, driving a car, grass, mowing said grass, not having diarrhea (hopefully), carpets, walking around barefoot, but mostly just family and friends.

Check the pics!

Seed selection and pollinization training in San Andres Sajcabaja

Filling out paperwork, although at this point we were really just talking about Arnold Schwarzenegger's Guatemalan mistress and their illegitimate love-child. Direct quote from a promoter, "I wish I were his maid!"

Hot potato during a training

Demonstrating soil erosion by dumping dirt all over the floor My bed, mosquito netting a recent addition after 2 weeks of being eaten alive every night

Griffey, looking particularly weiner-like

My little stove, door to the bathroom on the left

Desk, photos, and kitchen supplies to the left

Sorry it’s been so long since my last post, but this one is extra long to make up for it!

A month and a half ago, I left my first site 1 year and 8 months earlier than expected. After the decision to relocate us came down from Peace Corps Washington, the anxiety of a pending evacuation had slowly given way to denial, acceptance, and finally, boredom. Having had weeks to pack, say my goodbyes, and wrap up loose ends, I was finally ready to leave on my own terms. The day before my departure, I attended a celebration for the Mayan New Year, made an offering to the ceremonial fire (where a Mayan priest spit some water on my face), and partook in a cup of cusha (Guatemalan moonshine). I also spent the entire day on top of a mountain without sunscreen, so I left Comi resembling a lobster. All things considered, sharing in a fascinating indigenous tradition and enjoying the company of a great group of co-workers was the best despedida I could have asked for.

All in all, I was ready to leave, and excited for what was next. A little before 6am, riding shotgun in the pickup truck of a man I hardly knew, I glanced back one last time on the mountain village of Comitancillo. From above, as the sun crested over the hills and glanced off the impressive Catholic church, it finally hit me – I don’t live here anymore. 8 hours later, after several uncomfortable and unrewarding naps, seemingly endless small talk, and only breaking down once, I arrived in my new home – Canillá, in the department of El Quiché.

In the first hour in-site, I visited my three housing options, chose a place to live, moved in my things, and met my coworkers. Over a month later, I am still struggling to catch my breath, but loving every minute of it. When I had finally come to terms with the fact that I needed to change sites, I asked my boss for something as similar as possible to my initial placement – indigenous, remote, and with a community-based host-country organization.

Remote, I got. Canillá is 52 kilometers down a terrible dirt road from the department capital, Santa Cruz del Quiché. After 2.5 hours of sweating profusely, being launched out of your seat, and eating dust out of the air, you pretty much feel like never traveling again. When the rainy season begins, I’ve heard those 2.5 hours can turn into five or even six. I probably won’t be leaving too much come June.

Canillá, at the moment, is very hot, dry, and dusty. In town, however, there is plenty of water, so they have a well-kept, green central park with flowers and grass that they cut with actual lawn mowers. There is also a church, a basketball court, and both synthetic and real soccer fields. In the town center, there is a lot of money coming in from the States, as just about everyone has relatives in Maryland or Rhode Island. The roads are wide, well-laid out, and clean. The stores are much better stocked than in Comitancillo, and you can even find cream cheese sometimes. There is also a soda called India Quiché, which has a cream soda flavor. That’s what’s up. Just like in Comi, as soon as you head out into the aldeas, the wealth disappears and you quickly stumble upon heartbreaking poverty and malnutrition in just about every household. There is definitely work to do here.

As far as the other site criteria I asked for, I may have been given the exact opposite. Canillá as a municipality is around 60% indigenous Mayan-K’iche. However, I live in the town center and work in the closest communities, where almost everyone is ladino and speaks Spanish. My sitemates and I are taking K’iche classes, but without consistent practice I don’t see myself learning more than basic phrases. While the pronunciation is similar to Mam, it seems like my 4 months of studying were for naught. Here’s all I know so far.

Utz = goodSaqarik = good morningXpek’ij = good afternoonXoq’akab’ = good night

My work situation has changed drastically from what I was used to in Comitancillo. I am now working with FAO – the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations. Because of the global scale of its work, FAO operates very differently from AMMID. For one, they have lots of money. While this allows them to pay their employees better and purchase materials for trainings, it also means that they have fallen into the ‘cash for work’ black hole of development theory. Because FAO partners with the World Food Program, they can obligate families to make gardens, compost piles, etc. in exchange for the distribution of corn, beans, sugar, and oil. It is already painfully obvious that many of the FAO beneficiaries do the minimum work required, not to improve the lives of their families and children, but to receive handouts of food and seeds. Hopefully during the rest of my two years I can change the way FAO works here and reduce the dependency on insumos that has been created.

While I am first and foremost a Peace Corps Volunteer, I now feel like an employee of FAO as well. The first day with my counterpart/supervisor Pedro Pablo, he put me in charge of the other two, soon to be three técnicos. I also attend all the FAO trainings, which means I have to travel a decent amount, and am responsible for 65 house visits per month. In addition, I have to give trainings and charlas to fulfill the goals of the Peace Corps-Food Security program. There aren’t enough hours in the day. While adjusting to this has been incredibly stressful, I am seeing it as a huge professional opportunity and perhaps a foot in the door for a job after my two years are up.

While I try to stay in the campo as much as possible, I do have a place to work at the municipal building in the Planning Office. Everyone is really nice, and one of my sitemates, Justin, also works there. In Comi, I always had to be the one to start the conversation, but people here are much more open and talkative. My Spanish is getting a lot better, because people always want to ask me questions about the U.S. They are fascinated by us gringos, which means productivity takes a hit. Unfortunately, in Guatemala a lot of jobs are given politically, based more on who you know than how qualified you are. Once you have a position, it tends to be hard to lose it, no matter how little work you actually get done.

I now rent a room and bathroom on the second floor of a family’s house. Eventually I will have a little balcony, but right now my host mom is adding another bathroom so it is occupied by various construction materials. While I don’t have as much space or privacy as before, I like my new living situation a lot more. My host mom, doña Elvia, owns a comedor (a little cheap “restaurant”) downstairs, so there is always food being made. I negotiated a monthly price so that I can eat good food with a family instead of cooking mediocre food by myself. I pay a little over $100/month for rent and food – ESO. Doña Elvia has 3 kids – Ingrid (22), Erick (20), and Mariañeli (17). I’ve learned not to answer when doña Elvia screams my name, because the majority of the time she is actually looking for her real son. Erick worked for FAO last year, and just started a new short-term contract with them. He also likes to exercise, so we’ve been waking up early to go running and are going to start lifting together soon. In addition to my host family, there are 5 other people who rent rooms here – 4 RENAP (the Guatemalan DMV) employees, plus my FAO counterpart, Pedro Pablo. It has the strange feel of a boarding house, but everyone is very friendly and there are always people around, watching TV or inviting me to play soccer. It’s been strange not having 3 little host siblings to bother me at all hours of the day, but there is a little kid from across the street that comes over to fill that role. His name is Angelito (little Angel), but we usually just call him Diablito (little Devil).

The newest member of my extended host family is my 3-month old dachshund puppy, Griffey. He’s pretty cute - I added some pictures at the end of this post so you can see how much so. When he’s not eating or sleeping, he likes bother the host family’s Chihuahua named Saltarín (Jumper) and play with his baseball. He sleeps really well on buses, and is an excellent traveler. We’re still working on the potty training, but he is more or less leash trained, and when there aren’t bones nearby, he comes when you tell him. I have to leave him with my host family during the day, so Griffey speaks Spanish. This may be confusing when I take him home to the States, but I’m sure he’ll figure out English when the time comes.

This post is quickly getting really long, so I’m going to ramble for a bit to wrap up. The first several months in Guatemala, I was worried that I was missing out on life back home. I quickly realized how lucky I am to be here, doing what I am, and that the States will always be waiting for me to come back. This past week, however, I unexpectedly missed out on something that won’t be. Our family’s dog, Jett, passed away, after suddenly taking ill. At 14 years old, his kidneys failed and he died at home with my family. I wish I could have been there to say goodbye, but it is probably easier being here and not having to see him go. RIP buddy.

By far the coolest, weirdest thing I’ve done since arriving in Canillá is cooking (and eating) tadpole soup. After work one day, I was invited down to the river to fish for tepocates. Not knowing what a tepocate was, I agreed, and realized upon getting there that we would be eating tadpoles for dinner. We used nets to fill a big bowl with the soon-to-be frogs (some even had started to grow legs), and proceeded to pop off their heads and clean out their intestines. We then added them to a pot of boiling broth with tomato and onion, and ate next to the river. The sun set and the stars came out, and in that moment I was very happy to be in Guatemala.

This past week was Semana Santa, or Holy Week – the end of Lent and the week before Easter. No one in Guatemala works all week, but Peace Corps only gives us Thursday and Friday off. I took a day of vacation and headed to Antigua on Wednesday to see some processions, and then to the lake from Thursday to Saturday. We stayed at a quiet little hostel in Santa Cruz la Laguna, and made day trips to hike to a waterfall and see some alfombras (intricate carpets made of colored sawdust). It was a relaxing week with good friends, but it is nice to be back in site after traveling so much.

It’s official! – I’m heading back to the States at the end of May for a visit! I’ll be heading straight to Florida on May 25th with my parents and sister for a week, and then spending a few days in Chicago, starting June 1st, to see my friends. I literally cannot wait to be back in the States. I’m not particularly homesick or desperate to be back home, but now that I’m for sure coming back, it’s all I can think about. Enjoy the pics!

Giving a training over wastewater to 70 promoters in Canillá

Teaching how to make a Bocashi compost pile

Meet Griffey!

Not enjoying his first bath in the pila

Passed out in my laundry bin

Enjoying the sun

Three patojos during a house visit

Adorable K'iche girls

Sitemates

Saint Patty's Day

From the day I submitted my online application, now almost a year and a half ago (whoa), Peace Corps has stressed the need for flexibility. This makes sense. To accept a volunteer position in an unknown country, adapt to a new culture, and learn a new language, someone without the ability to adjust is probably not going to cut it. I’ve had cope with a lot of change since my arrival in Guatemala. A new culture, multiple new languages, new food. Even new colors of poop! All of these things (minus the last) drew me to the Peace Corps experience in the first place, and all of these things require me to be flexible.

I never expected that Peace Corps the organization would demand so much flexibility. I may be mistaken, but take a look at the following timeline, and tell me if this would happen in any other, normal job:

January 23rd: You have been working and living in a new place for almost 3 months, and are finally feeling pretty comfortable. You like your home, people at work are cool, and you know your way around. You feel safe.

January 24th: You are informed that the country you live in is part of the most dangerous region of the world outside of an active war zone. You are told that within the next two months (not sure when), you will have to move to a new city (not sure where) and start work all over again with a new organization (not sure who). Oh yeah, and you should probably pack up all your things, because the department you live in is under threat of a state of siege, in which case you would have no rights and will have to leave within 24 hours.

January 25th to February 16th: You pack up all your things, anxiously awaiting the phone call telling you to get out. You have to break the news to everyone you’ve met, and it never gets any easier. You get the same response every time, too: “Well, that’s dumb, it’s safe here. Maybe they’ll change their minds.” You try to explain to Mayan women, who still cook over open fires in the same room they sleep, why you can’t stay and help them build stoves. “Bureaucracy” is not a word that translates easily to Mam. You continue working, stay busy, and try not to get any more attached.

February 17th: You receive your new site assignment. You have to be there within the next week.

When I worked reading water meters for the Public Works Department in my hometown, the full-timers would make an interesting noise in response to anything particularly puzzling or surprising. I never understood how such a small group of grown men had come to use the same, interrogatory, guttural sound, but now it seems a fitting reaction to the events of the past several weeks:

“Huuuuuuuh?”

When I last wrote, I had decided to proceed as if I were staying, and only change my mind if things took an irreversible turn for the worse. Although the last several weeks have been stressful and incredibly anxiety-inducing, I’ve managed to make it through. I’ve been told that Peace Corps Volunteers often take up smoking to manage their stress. For me, it hasn’t been that bad; I’ve managed to stay sane by consuming unhealthy amounts of peanut butter. Thank you Michael Lennon, you’re the man.

I now find myself incredibly excited and ready to start what’s next, mostly because my new site sounds pretty sweet. I will be moving to Canillá in the department of Quiché. There are four other Volunteers living there, but three of them will be leaving within the next 6 months. It is warmer than my current site, far away from the Peace Corps office, and while the town center is ladino, the surrounding communities are indigenous Mayan K’iche (pronounced key-chay). Unfortunately, the limited Mam I’ve learned will not serve me there, but maybe it will make it easier to learn K’iche. Oh yeah, plus there are Mayan ruins nearby. Pretty cool. Finally, I will be working with the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations. At 22 years old, I can say I work for the UN? I’ll take it.

At the moment, I’m planning to move on Friday. I’m almost completely packed, so all I need to do is find a truck to drive me and all my stuff the 8+ hours out there. I’ll spend the week checking things off the Comi bucket list, hanging out, and taking pictures. It still doesn’t feel real that I’ll be moving for good, but I’m sure once my things are loaded in a pickup, it’ll hit me that I may never be able to come back to Comitancillo.

Hopefully in the 4 months I’ve lived here, I left at least the smallest impact. I was just finally beginning to work consistently, so I never felt like I was all that productive. Looking back, however, I guess I did a decent amount. I taught English classes, helped 5 families build their own compost piles, approved 40 homes for the construction of improved wood-burning stoves, helped give an HIV/AIDS workshop to 20 teachers, learned some Mam, made a garden, vaccinated some animals, and most importantly, spent time with a lot of really cool people.

My future puppy is now over a month old, so I should be able to bring him home when I go back to the Peace Corps office in mid-March. I think I’ve decided on a name, too – Griffey. Don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner.

Look for a new post about my new site within the next couple weeks!

“Soy las ganas de vivir, las ganas de cruzar, las ganas de conocer lo que hay después del mar.” – Calle 13.

Laguna Chicabal, sacred Mayan lake - you aren't allowed to swim, but I drank some of it. I can now fly.

Me and doña Hilda, coolest woman ever. She's not tall.

Me and most of AMMID, my host country organization.

Mayan women be swingin'.

I really wish she actually jumped, but she just wanted the picture.

Looking out over the central park of Comitancillo. Church straight ahead.

Local kids breaking it down.

Cool view out over Comi, on the walk back from Tuichilupe.

Me and doña Claudia. I had never met her before, but she walked around with me for 4 hours to get kitchens approved for new stoves.

Mini traje. Enough said.

Over the past several days and weeks, I've been repeatedly asked the same question by friends and family: "How's it going in Guatemala?"

The truth is that I love Guatemala. Like the rest of Central America, it is a beautiful, diverse country, filled with amazing people, a vibrant culture, and well-preserved traditions. While at some point I see myself making my way back to the United States, the strip of land between Texas and Colombia has always treated me well.

If, however, you were to ask, "How's it going in the Peace Corps?", my response would be much different. Before I start my rant, I'll fill you in on the events of the last week.

On Thursday we were informed (via email) that the two next COS (Close-of-Service) groups were being forced to leave before anticipated, some as early as 4 months. A blanket early-COS offer was made to every Volunteer in-country, upping the ante from the Interrupted Service option we were already extended. We were also told that Guatemala was refocusing its efforts in a more specific region of the country, termed the "Central Western Highlands." My site has always been described as being located in the Western Highlands. Looking back, the addition of the word "central," was unnerving to me, but I figured there was no way that Peace Corps would attempt to move everyone in San Marcos. I was wrong. Peace Corps also announced an All-Volunteer Conference, to be held in Quetzaltenango (Xela) from the 24-26th, to further discuss our options.

On Friday I received a call from the PCVL (Peace Corps Volunteer Leader) that lives in my site. She wanted to make sure I understood that my site was not included in the Central Western Highlands, and that I would need to change sites if I wanted to stay in Guatemala. Minutes later, the PCVL from my program called to confirm what I had already heard. "Look at it this way," she said, "at least you only wasted three months." Half an hour later, I was "evacuated" from my site due to disputes over a water source in a nearby town. After various armed conflicts between Ixchiguán and Tajumulco, one man had been killed. In fear of being held hostage and used as collateral, the police ran away from 10 municipalities, including mine. Despite how terrible this all sounds, I put "evacuated" in quotes, because without the calls and texts from our Safety and Security Coordinator, I would have been oblivious to all this. My site continued to be tranquilo como siempre. I hopped on a bus and headed out, knowing full well that I might never be back.

After spending Friday night in my friend Matt's site, I arrived in Xela on Saturday to anxiously await the conference on Tuesday. Sitting cooped up in a hotel with other, very-stressed-out volunteers, I had all the time in the world to overanalyze and speculate on my future. Fast forward to Tuesday morning, 8:30am.

Carlos Torres, director of Peace Corps for the Americas and Pacific region, stood to explain "how we got here" to a room of 200+ less-than-pleased Volunteers. While not the most empathetic man I've ever met, Mr. Torres logically explained the process of the decision to cut Guatemala's Volunteer population in half over the next two months. He made it clear that this was not a knee-jerk reaction to the volunteer being shot in Honduras, and that changes in Central America had been a long time coming.

In 2006, Spain reported 336 murders. In the same year, with an equal population, Central America experienced a homicide rate 42 times higher, with a total of 14,257 murders. Most of these deaths occurred in the Northern Triangle (El Salvador, Honduras, and Guatemala), a region recently described as "the most dangerous area of the world outside of an active warzone." The Serious Crime Index for Guatemala in 2010 was double the world-wide average. In this country, 1 out of 10 Peace Corps Volunteers per year experience a crime incident more serious than being pick-pocketed. This means that over the course of 27 months, 22.5% of Volunteers here will be raped, assaulted, or held at gunpoint.

72% of volunteers feel safe where they live. 63% feel safe where they work. 15% feel safe travelling. As Mr. Torres said, at some point you have to start thinking, "What are we doing here? Are we OK with the fact that we train our Volunteers on what to do in case of a bus shooting?"

A frog in a cold pot of water, which is then placed on a stove, will stay in the pot until it cooks to death. A frog thrown into an already-boiling pot of water will instantly jump out, although a little scalded. Are we that first frog? Are we being de-sensitized to the violence, gradually adjusting to the sickening realities of this place, until finally it's too late? Would we come to to the Northern Triangle to visit? To vacation? Maybe, maybe not. But that's not really the situation, as Volunteers, that we find ourselves in.

We're already here. We're already working in the lukewarm pot of water, trying to cool it down. To some of us, it may feel hot enough already. Unlike the frog, we can jump out at any point. In fact, comparing us to amphibians was slightly insulting, and really alludes to how little say we have in the matter. We are volunteers working in a country that we knew was dangerous when we jumped in. Weeks before I arrived in Guatemala, my dad forwarded me a news article about the drug-related massacre of 40 farmers near the border of Mexico. Yet I'm still here. The giant hand of Washington, D.C. just reached in and scooped out 100 of its "frogs". It is now shaking the pot, making it increasingly difficult for the rest of us to swim. 50 of us have to make the decision to leave or to change sites, to start over again somewhere new. We have until February 10th to decide, by which point we may not even know where we're going.

Mr. Torres repeatedly emphasized how this was not a rushed decision. Then why in April 2011 did Peace Corps bring in the largest training group that Guatemala had ever seen? Why were the January 2012 trainees given only 2 weeks notice that they were no longer coming? Why the arbitrary March 24th date, by which the numbers must be reduced from 225 to 120? It certainly feels rushed to me. After this week, my confidence in the Peace Corps/Guatemala staff increased tremendously. I think they are a fantastic group of people who really care about what they do, and are committed to keeping us here. Also after this week, I've come to realize how bureaucratic Peace Corps really is, and how little say any of us have to change Peace Corps/Washington's decisions. Yes, difficult decisions have to be made. But why are they making it so much easier to leave than to stay? What's the likelihood that 3 months from now, they have to make the next logical decision to evacuate the post entirely? Am I willing to take that risk, or would it be better to cut my losses, with full Peace Corps benefits, and call it a day? Am I still committed enough to reenroll in another, safer country? Saber.

I've only been in Guatemala for 6 months. For some, this decision is much harder. They've already received money to start projects. They've made more friends, forged stronger relationships. Their departure will likely have a greater impact on many more lives. I've been told over and over, "at least you have so much time left." With time and youth, though, come more options. If it were a black-and-white choice between staying and leaving, I would stay. The more I think, however, the more I realize how complicated this decision is, how colored by shades of grey, red, blue, and purple the next few months will be.

The new president, Otto Perez Molina, is planning a state of siege in my department, San Marcos. At the moment, the only thing preventing him is the lack of soldiers and money. When he has both of these, we will be given 24 hours to leave our sites, and we will not be able to return until the state of siege is over. This could be tomorrow, or it could be two months from now. Realistically, we can expect at least two more weeks in site, but I have already started packing my things. There is no guarantee that I will ever be able to return to Comitancillo during my 27 months in Guatemala.

The director of my project was as blindsided by all this as we were. As a result, he does not have new sites prepared for the 15 of us who have the option to move. Because we have so little time to decide, it is possible that I will not have a new site by the time I need to make up my mind. Even worse, I may not have a new site by the time we get the boot from San Marcos. In this case, I'll be living indefinitely with a buddy of mine until I can be relocated, and Peace Corps will have to come and pick up my things.

The next few weeks and months will no doubt be incredibly stressful. At the moment, I've decided to proceed as if I were staying. If the state of siege turns this into an irreparable mess, maybe I'll go home. But I came to Guatemala with the intention of serving for 27 months. There still is a lot of time left, and I will adjust to a new site much faster after having already done it once. I'm trying to look at all this as an opportunity and a challenge, a possibility to grow stronger and learn. Packing up my things, sick, and with a stress headache, that's easier said than done. Who knows, my new site could be even cooler than my current one. I'll have the opportunity to learn a new Mayan language and intimately get to know another part of the country.

The biggest reason to stay? In a few weeks, I'll have a puppy dachshund to keep me company.

Several times a day, I walk along my cobbled street, past houses with tin roofs, ‘yards’ with burning toilet paper and loose chickens, and up the hill to the center of town. All along the way, children crawl out of the woodwork and start yelling my name. Sometimes they ask me where I’m going, or where I came from, but most of the time they just keep screaming “Eric!” until I turn around and wave. Sometimes I stop and say hi, ask them what they’re doing, and try to learn their names. Flashing their rotting teeth, they inform me that I’m a gringo. “I know”, I say, “and you’re a chapín.” We fist bump, and I’m on my way.

After three months, I still enjoy semi-celebrity status among these children. To them, I might as well be from another planet – I’m tall, white, and speak in tongues. When I walk by talking on the phone in English, they love to mimic what I sound like: “sha sha sha sha…” Even my host siblings haven’t tired of me. They will do anything in their power to come hang, even returning a lent soccer ball just to ask for it back. If they know I’m home, they will knock on the door and scream until I answer. I counted once; Saulo yelled my name 18 times before I couldn’t take it anymore and came to the door. “How’s your mom?” he asks, “Can I see if you made your bed?”

I can do no wrong by these children. Playing monkey in the middle, I lifted Saulo in the air so he could try and catch the ball. After succeeding in catching the ball (with his face), I put him down and bent over to see if he was okay. With blood streaming out of his nose, he laughed hysterically, “Do it again!” For a kid who cries at least half of his life, it says a lot that he was not bawling his eyes out.

Being such a spectacle means that I live in a fishbowl; it’s impossible to walk down the street without being noticed. At the same time, it provides me the opportunity to represent my country in the best way possible. In order to teach composting this week, I walked around the Sunday market with a garbage bag, picking up fruit and vegetable scraps. Most of the people I passed stood stared as I collected banana peels, surely thinking ‘this gringo is out of his mind’. But some people stopped to ask what I was doing, and maybe, as a result, might think twice about what they do with their apple cores in the future.

----

I am finally starting to work on a regular basis. I’ve now met all of my schools and most of my women’s groups. After my initial frustrations with my counterpart, he returned in January ready to work, and has been very supportive and helpful. Within the next few weeks I would have had a pretty consistent schedule. Would have, being the key phrase.

I had started this entry a few weeks ago, but a lot has changed. Forgive me, this hasn't been my best post, as it was a little rushed. I want to write something new within the next couple days to explain the giant shit storm that has become Peace Corps Guatemala, but didn’t want to let my most recent experiences go undocumented. Erego, I'm going to end this entry with something a little different, for the sake of time. I call this section, “You know you’re in Guatemala when…”

You hop into the back of a pickup truck and almost crush a pig in a bag.

Upon first meeting your women’s groups, they are already offering you their daughters in marriage.

You can’t make it more than a month without getting sick (so close this time!)

You are offered to go to a whorehouse by a married man.

Coworkers play Mario Kart on their computers to kill time in the office.

You hear your host siblings get the belt on a daily basis.

You direct indigenous Mayan women on how to make a compost pile, at the same time thinking to yourself, “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

I’ll post a new entry soon, hopefully later today. In the meantime, enjoy these pictures of my future dog, born on January 12th!

Feliz Año Nuevo!

No matter where I am or who I’m with, midnight on New Year’s Eve always manages to sneak up on me. This year, under the thatched roof of our hostel’s bar in Panajachel, surrounded by good friends, 11:59 came out of nowhere. Perhaps it was the fifteen minutes of Q1 (fifteen cent) tequila shots earlier that night, or maybe it was the glorious feeling of relaxation that comes with speaking English and being culturally insensitive, but when the countdown began, I was not quite ready to say Adiós to 2011. At least, not in a crowded bar surrounded by other obnoxious Americans. Equally unsatisfied with our choice of location to welcome 2012, my friends and I stared at each other for a second, until someone spoke aloud our shared desire: “Let’s go to the lake.”

And we were off. Bottles of champagne in hand, we tore off down the mile-long strip of restaurants and artisan shops, dodging ­tuk-tuks (miniature taxis), pedestrians, and exploding fireworks. I’m not sure if we made it to Lake Atitlán by midnight, but we arrived in time to see the vast expanse of water and its three massive volcanoes lit up from every direction. In terms of fireworks, Guatemala puts the U.S. to shame. Maybe not in terms of the majestic shows off of Navy Pier in Chicago, but on the individual level, chapines love to blow stuff up more than the average gringo. All around us, 10-year-olds lit giant bottle rockets, roman candles, and other fun explosives I’m sure you need a license to buy in the States. In the middle of the street, a teenager lit a square, simple-looking firecracker with a fuse 5 feet long. When he proceeded to sprint away covering his ears, we did likewise – ‘bomb’ would be a more accurate word to describe the explosion that followed.

We spent the next few hours by the lakeshore, admiring the miniature hot air balloons that filled the sky, little floating candles that drifted until disappearing into the starry night. The tranquil mood that started the new year quickly took a 180º turn, when we stumbled into a private lake party, ordered drinks, got free hats, and terrorized the dance floor. At one point we were asked for our invitations; logically, we pretended not to speak Spanish and kept dancing. Our night ended at 6am with breakfast on the street with a vendor just setting up for the day. Success.

Christmas was a much calmer, yet just as enjoyable holiday. The morning of Christmas Eve, I was invited to a lunch with some relatives of my host family. While the women chatted in Mam and made chuchitos (corn dough with picante and beef inside, wrapped in a corn husk - delicious), the kids played soccer and the men sat around. This is a pretty accurate depiction of most Guatemalan events, by the way. After a few hours, all 20+ of us gathered in a tiny room to enjoy lunch. After being stuffed to the gills, I had to excuse myself to head to my next invitation – yup, I’m that popular.

Doña Hilda is an incredible woman who is in charge of AMMID’s example farm. She has worked with volunteers for almost 20 years, so she understood that it’s difficult for us to be away from home for the holidays. She called me up out of the blue and invited me to spend Christmas Eve with her family. I spent the entire evening sitting around the wood-burning stove in her dirt-floored, adobe home, chatting in Spanish, roasting marshmallows on forks, and trying to speak as much Mam as possible. Doña Hilda is a single mother who has managed to raise 5 incredible children, the coolest and youngest a girl named Giorgina. Giorgina invited me to watch some TV (pretty weird to see a TV in a dirt-floored house) so she could show me her favorite Christmas movie. After surfing all the channels and even passing over ‘The Grinch’, she sighed and told me it wasn’t on this year. “What’s it called?” I asked. “I can’t remember,” she replied, “but it’s really cool because it shows Jesus’s whole life from when he’s born until when he gets hung on the cross. I watch it every year.” Guatemalans definitely don’t forget what Christmas is actually about.

At midnight, we lit more fireworks than I’d ever seen before, and the kids opened their presents. Standing outside on the street and looking out over the dark valley, I realized how scary this place must have been during the Civil War. All over the broken landscape, colorful explosions illuminated the night and firecracker blasts echoed off the mountains. I’m not sure why that thought crossed my mind, but I quickly forgot about it and joined in as doña Hilda’s family blew stuff up. Everyone got in on the fun – check the pictures.

Christmas Eve is the big celebration here in Guatemala, so Christmas Day was very relaxed. After sleeping in at the volunteer house on the example farm, I came home and opened the presents my parents had sent me from back home. Velveeta Shells and Cheese, candy, and socks! A perfect Christmas.

Unfortunately, Christmas wasn’t so merry for a couple families in my site. A stray bottle rocket got trapped in the roof of a house near the center of town and burnt it to the ground. Originally, there were rumors of arson against the outgoing mayor, but it turned out to be an accident. In addition, my host dad’s brother passed away, apparently from alcohol-related causes. Death seems to be both accepted and common in Guatemala. I can’t count the number of people who have passed away during my limited time in site, yet no one seems to get too worked up about it. I went to the funeral lunch for my host uncle, and compared to wakes in the United States, everyone was in a fantastic mood. Perhaps I haven’t had enough experience here yet, but it seems to be that the faith most Guatemalans share enables them to celebrate the end of life and more easily move forward.

There has been a lot of talk about safety and security in Peace Corps as of late. At the moment, I feel 100% safe in my site. In act, out of anything, my height poses the greatest risk to me in Guatemala. For those that know me, they know that I can sleep anywhere. Coming back from Panajachel last weekend on the chicken bus, I passed out sitting straight up in my seat. Due to the tiny seats and my long legs, there is absolutely no way for me to comfortably sleep on most camionetas. The fun-sized Guatemalan next to me managed to pass out on my shoulder (nice to meet you, too). I, on the other hand, was rudely awakened by the metal handrail in front me bashing into my forehead every time we hit a bump (which there are many of on Guatemalan roads). I currently have a black eye, no joke.

As far as real safety and security concerns go, it’s been a nerve-wracking couple of weeks, as PC staff in both Guatemala and Washington are no doubt deciding what to do with us. As many of you know, the January training classes for Guatemala, El Salvador, and Honduras were cancelled due to increased violence and various security incidents within the three countries. Volunteers in Honduras were informed that after a country-wide meeting in January, they are all to be returned home for 30+ days while the future of their post is decided. On Friday, us Volunteers in Guatemala were given the option of something called “interrupted service.” Quoting Peace Corps on this, “interrupted service is granted when a situation beyond your control prevents you from completing your full tour of service.”

In my eyes, Peace Corps has been supportive, understanding, and generally fantastic from day one. Yes, there have been frustrations and stresses, but I was prepared for this. I’m a very flexible person, something that Peace Corps expects and demands. However, there’s a difference between patience and waiting around for someone to make a life-changing decision on your behalf. I understand that this is a difficult situation, and I trust PC to take the appropriate steps to resolve it. I just wish we would be given a little more information. There are rumors that Peace Corps Director Aaron Williams will be paying a visit next week, but who knows if this is true. Unfortunately, a lot of the information in Guatemala is passed around via chisme, or gossip. We have been told to be patient and understanding, but that’s not something you want to hear when the next 22 months of your life are being tossed around in the air.

As of right now, there is no way that I’m going to choose interrupted service. Personally, I don’t see what is preventing me from completing my 27 months, other than a decision from D.C. to pull us out of Guatemala. In the meantime, I guess I just have to wait and make the best out of every day, knowing that my time here might be limited. Cross your fingers. And toes. And enjoy the pics!

Lake Atitlán at sunset, from PanajachelBromance.Friendship.Looks like a painting, doesn't it?New friends. And quite the young business women.I feel like after 2 years seeing adorable Guatemalan children, kids in the U.S. are going to seem downright ugly.Young Kaqchikel girl who we bought more than our fair share of bracelets from.

Mid dance party at the private party we snuck into.1Q shots, can't beat that.Doing Christmas right, note little Santa Claus on her back.

Friend from my site.

Soccer buddies. I kept passing to the wrong kid until one of them took off their identical yellow hats.

My host brother, Saulo. Pretty cute when he's not peeing on his sister.

First solo charla on tire gardens during training. Minutes before I sliced my thumb open.

Cultural integration (meeting people, making friends, and getting used to the idiosyncrasies of Guatemalan life) has been easy. I don’t think twice before belting out a hearty “Muchas gracias” when leaving the dinner table. It has become second nature to respond to the same with “Buen provecho,” even if this means saying it ten times in the span of one meal. I feel comfortable in my site, even though I’ve been here less than two months. Watching the girls’ Christmas basketball tournament the other day, I was surprised to look around and recognize more people than I didn’t. Every time I cook out on my grill, I seem to make a new friend (probably because they want some free food, but I’ll gladly share in exchange for some good Spanish practice). As Christmas approaches, there are a number of families who I plan on visiting to spend part of the day.

That being said, adjusting to Guatemalan work ethic has been a little more difficult. December is a complete waste of a month, work-wise. As an optimistic new Volunteer, I came to site ready to start work and get my hands dirty. After almost two months, I’ve still only met one of my 4 women’s groups, and aside from my awesome garden, have done little food security-related. If I could, I would plan meetings with these women myself. Two problems – I have no idea where they live, and I have no way to contact them. My counterpart has been little help in this regard. He’s good people, but is kind of spacey and not very good at telling me what’s going on. I fall directly into the male stereotype of hating to ask for help, and I don’t like feeling like a burden on anyone, so I definitely haven’t been as persistent as I could be. However, I’ve asked multiple times to set up meetings with these groups, so the lack of effort on his part is frustrating. In addition, as of a week ago he still doesn’t know If AMMID (my host organization, the Asocación Maya-Mam de Investigación y Desarrollo) is contracting him for next year. So I may be counterpart-less for the beginning of 2012. Patience is a virtue.

December was also less productive than I had hoped due to the unpredictability of my bowels. While I’ll admit, I’m not careful about what I eat – I figure it’s better to get the full Guatemalan experience then to worry constantly about food – it got to the point where my sickness could no longer be explained by run-of-the-mill diarrhea. After two weeks of on-and-off vomiting, yellow poop, and horrible gas (I timed it, I farted for almost 10 seconds once), the straw that broke the camel’s back came this past Monday. Every December, AMMID takes a day trip to Xocomil, a water park in the department of Retalhuleu, to celebrate its accomplishments during the year. We planned to leave at 5am, and I went to bed at midnight feeling great. I was excited to swim, be out in the sun, and spend a relaxed day getting to know my coworkers. At 2:30 am, my intestines decided otherwise. I had to make the decision to stay home – it ended up being a wise one, I would have crapped my pants on the bus for sure. Nevertheless, I was beyond pissed-off.

Anyways, after hitting an all-time low, I decided it was time to call the medical office (I should have called weeks earlier, but remember, I hate asking for help). After describing some of my symptoms, the Peace Corps medical officer was able to complete the list, diagnose me with giardia, and tell me what drugs to take. A couple days, 8 pills, and a lot of bread and water later, I’m cured. The Christmas present of normal bowel movements is going to be hard to top this year. Hopefully from now on there won’t be so much poop talk in my blog posts.

On to my garden. My host father gave me permission to make a small garden in a strip of land they have behind the house. I figured I could use it to hone my limited agriculture skills and as an example to my women’s groups. I didn’t want to use too much space, so I started fencing in a small area to plant. I then got sick and couldn’t work for a few days. My host dad came to talk to me one morning, and I came to the door fresh off a bout of puking – I had no clue what was going on. I can’t remember much of the conversation, but he must have asked me what I thought about making my garden a lot bigger, because he proceeded to spend the entire day shifting the fence over, breaking up the soil, and making a sprinkler out of PVC pipe. When they invited me over for dinner later that night, I felt much better. After eating, Julio excitedly asked me to come see what he had done. The transformation was impressive – the rock-hard dirt was now workable, the area was at least 3 times bigger than before, and he made a legit fence that nothing was getting through. I felt pretty bad that he worked so much while I was recovering in bed, so I spent the next 2 days making the seedbeds, disinfecting the soil, and planting seeds. End result: a pretty sweet garden, complete with swiss chard, carrot, cilantro, radish, güicoy (squash), peas, and leeks. Check out the pics.

Some randomness stuff that I’m too lazy to properly transition in: I went into San Marcos for the wedding of another Volunteer a couple weeks ago. We had just left when the chicken bus we were riding came to an abrupt halt. In front of us, there was an improvised spike strip made from a piece of wood and a bunch of nails sticking out. Apparently, the people in charge of the road block were not happy with the condition of the street (while unpaved, it was pretty good for Guatemalan standards, I thought). The logical decision to pay for road improvements? Lay out a spike strip and charge passing vehicles a fee to pass. Someone finally forked out Q50, the strip was pulled back, and we were on our way. Can you imagine if someone tried to pull that in the States?

I’m really starting to crave American food. While Velveeta, as always, tops the list, I would kill for a Portillo’s Italian beef or a Chipotle burrito. Or the stuffed burger from Flatlander’s. If someone could figure out how to wrap one of those up and send it to me, I would be your friend forever. Peanut butter. The lack of quality peanut butter in this country, for lack of a better way to put it, really blows. There is a brand called B&B in San Marcos (1.5 hours away), but to buy the good stuff you have to go to Wal-Mart in Xela (3-4 hours). Every time I see B&B I buy it, thinking that some peanut butter is better than none, and every time I finish the jar, I only end up disappointed and wishing I had a jar of Jif or Skippy.

I’ve started working out again, and I didn’t realize how much I missed it. After losing so much weight and feeling generally weak, I’ve started up with P90x. I’ve done it in the past, but only select workouts – never the full 90 days like you’re supposed to. I must say, it’s amazing what you can do with a jank pull-up bar, some home-made concrete weights, and the floor. Tony Horton can really kick your ass. Plus, his incessant talking pisses you off just enough to motivate you through the workout. “You can do anything for 30 seconds, right?” Go eff yourself, Tony.

The formality of Guatemalan culture is both impressive and comical, at times. First off, peoples’ faith here is unreal. Their belief in God is unwavering, and every single person I meet seems to be more religious than anyone I’ve ever met at home. Religion is incorporated into every aspect of life, be it a graduation celebration or a simple family meal. “If God allows”, or “God first” are two expressions I hear all the time. While I don’t see myself leaving Guatemala a religious person, it is impressive to see a culture in which everyone is so devoted to a higher power. Ironically, Guatemala still has one of the highest murder rates in the world, so I’m not really sure how that fits in, but I feel like that has to do less with religion and more with a highly corrupt government and years of oppression and discrimination.

Another unique custom in Guatemala is the practice of “giving words.” This is done on any special occasion, be it a birthday, wedding, or a simple end-of-the-year lunch. Everyone present has to stand up and say something, and a simple thanks doesn’t really cut it. As a result, an hour lunch can easily double in length. A good example: we went to visit my boss’s wife, who had just given birth to a baby girl a couple weeks before. Fifteen of us were crammed into this woman’s tiny bedroom, seated in a semicircle around her on the bed. Keep in mind, I had never met this woman before, but just like everyone else I was expected to stand and personally congratulate her on her baby. Situations like this really test your Spanish; I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I probably sounded like a 5-year-old in my attempt to wish her good health and luck with her child. If anything, I’ll be much better at public speaking after 2 years in this country.

Finally, as many of you may have heard, Guatemala cancelled the arrival of it’s January 2012 training class due to safety and security issues. I can’t imagine being told 2 weeks before my departure that I was no longer headed for Guatemala. A lot of these people had no doubt quit jobs, sold cars, and put their lives on hold in preparation to serve. Merry Christmas, right? I hope those Volunteers can be reassigned as quickly as possible in a new Peace Corps post. While I personally feel 100% safe in my site, I am also a 6’1” male. Considerably more than half of Volunteers here are women, and unfortunately, are more frequently targeted by thieves. Regardless of gender, Guatemala remains a very dangerous country. Bus hold-ups and robberies are increasingly common as you head towards Guatemala City. Plus, with the amount of traveling that Volunteers do, accidents are inevitable. Peace Corps spends a lot of time and effort assuring our safety, but you can’t prevent everything. Recently, there have been several armed robberies and assaults on traveling Volunteers, including one on a charter bus, which usually never happens. Plus, a Volunteer in neighboring Honduras was caught in a shoot-out on a bus and shot in the leg, breaking her femur. As a result, both Honduras and El Salvador are also canceling their training classes. Honduras is taking further measures and placing its Volunteers on administrative hold for at least 30 days starting in January. This means that all Volunteers in Honduras are being returned home to the United States while their post can figure out how to proceed. I hope for the sake of all Volunteers there that they can quickly and safely return to their sites and keep working.

As a result of all this commotion, this past week has been a little nerve-wracking. We haven’t been told very much about PC Guatemala’s plans. I trust that they are working as hard as they can to figure out the next steps. The timing couldn’t be worse, really. With the holidays in full swing, Volunteers are traveling all over the place, and no one wants to deal with this stress during the Christmas season. While I do not think we will be sent home, it is always a possibility, especially if another accident were to happen over the holidays. Cross your fingers that everything turns out alright.

On a more positive note, I wish all of my family and friends a Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, (or whatever else you might celebrate) and Happy New Year! I miss you all and wish I could be home to celebrate. I never thought I’d say it, but the lack of snow here is pretty depressing. From what I hear, both Guatemala and Chicago are going to have green Christmases this year, so I guess I’m not missing out on too much. I’ve already watched “Elf” two times this month, but that’s probably because I’m deeply in love with Zooey Deschanel and not necessarily due to Christmastime nostalgia. “-Bye buddy, I hope you find your dad! – Thanks Mr. Narwhal.”

Feliz Navidad!

My basketball team playing in San Pedro.

Comitancillo, represent.

My legit new garden.

I know it's been a while, so here's a fairly long post for you all.

At the moment, my semester abroad in Costa Rica (4 months and 4 days) is still the longest I’ve ever been away from home. As if it were yesterday, I remember looking out the wall of windows on the lower level of San José International Airport, admiring Volcán Poas, and contemplating a desperate, last-minute attempt to delay my flight a few weeks. I wanted nothing more than for my airline to have double booked, for a voice to come on over the intercom and offer me a free flight to anywhere in Central America in exchange for my seat. No such luck. Two 3-hour flights and a 20 minute drive later, I was back in Lincolnshire, Illinois, freezing my ass off. After the initial excitement of being home and reuniting with friends and family, I remember having a difficult time re-adjusting to life stateside. Where were all the mountains? The ocean? Why is no one speaking Spanish? And most importantly, where could I get a 40 of Imperial? Hoy ya no era de litro.

December 14th will mark 4 months and 5 days in Guatemala, a new record. However, despite being away from los Estados Unidos for so long, I feel as if I could step right back into life at home. In fact, it would be like waking up from a bizarre, Aralen-induced dream, where the people dress in bright colors, speak an ancient language, and usually only reach my shoulders. I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve come home and needed to reassure myself that I’m not seeing things or going crazy– yes, that woman did just smear lime juice all over her convulsing infant. Yes, that drunk man is stumbling around the town fair, gushing blood all over himself while his ear hangs on by a thread. Yes, I did just eat a combination of shaved ice, chili powder, soy sauce, lime juice, and cornflakes (it’s called a granizado and it is as disgusting as it sounds). While it might be easy for me to come at this point, I’m not saying that I’m ready to leave. On the contrary, I feel like there is a ton more for me to experience here. I’ve only just scraped the tip of the iceberg that is Guatemala, and for a country the size of Tennessee, it’s one giant iceberg.

Being a Peace Corps Volunteer is an incredibly personal experience. It’s difficult to describe to folks at home what I’ve been up to, because half the time I have no idea what’s going on myself. I’ve found that in any given day, there are usually three times where I just want to go home, crawl into bed, and eat peanut butter with a spoon. On the other hand, there are at least three times a day when I catch myself smiling. This drastic swing of emotions is draining, so it’s nice to get the hell out of site once in a while. Thanksgiving was fantastic in that regard – 3 straight days of eating delicious food (the girls in my training class are unbelievable cooks) and a few liters of Gallo were just what the doctor ordered.

This Thanksgiving was one of my favorites in recent memory, despite it being my first and only away from family. We outdid ourselves as far as Thanksgiving dinner goes; every person was responsible for one dish, each of which could have probably fed the entire group. Our hostess did an unbelievable job decorating the dinner table with home-made candle holders and even cut-out paper turkeys. To top it off, I found a bottle of Boone’s Farm (only the classiest, of course) to share as we each said what we were thankful for. After digesting all day Friday, we ventured out on Saturday and discovered a man-made lake, in the middle of nowhere, that rented out paddleboats. For the day, we were those tourists, racing boats around a tiny lake and climbing on islands we shouldn’t have (one of which may have been a grave? We’re still not too sure on that.)

After Thanksgiving weekend, I came back to site ready to do work. Unfortunately, the word efficiency doesn’t seem to exist in Guatemala. It is both common and acceptable to show up 30 minutes late to a meeting, or to not show up at all. Perfect example: I accompanied my counterpart, Julio, on a vaccination campaign in an aldea (village) outside of town. The campaign had been announced weeks before, with frequent reminders that the vaccines were not free. When we show up, there are a grand total of two cows and one woman waiting for us. ‘O.K’, I think, ‘this is normal – people here run on Guatemalan time, they’ll show up eventually, right?’ 5 hours later, we had personally visited the house of every woman in the group and only vaccinated 3 cows and 3 pigs. Hooray productivity. The cost of the vaccine was a shock every single person we talked to, despite having been told various times. Here seems like a perfect opportunity to explain a fascinating aspect of Guatemalan culture, something that is both infuriating and incredibly useful: The phrase “Fíjese que.” If this phrase existed in English, no one would get anything done. Literally translated, it means “focus your attention on…”. It is used, however, as a valid justification of any excuse imaginable.

Fíjese que… I thought the vaccine was free.Fíjese que… I forgot my wallet and I can’t walk back 2 minutes to my house.Fíjese que… Shoot, I forgot I was supposed to wash my hair today. And, I think I see an alien spaceship by that tree over there and it’s kinda freaking me out. Sorry!

As Volunteers, we hear this phrase so much that we’ve turned it into a verb: “Damn, that guy just fíjese que’d the s*** out of me.” However, if Guatemalans can do it, I can too, so it ends up being a pretty useful way to get out of an uncomfortable situation. “Fíjese que… I have a meeting in 5 minutes and need to go, bye!”

Despite the cultural differences in work ethic, I’ve managed to stay busy. My host country organization has been wanting to make a website for a while, and were ready to pay a lot of money to have someone else do it. I offered to give it a shot, and found a easy-to-use program online. In a couple hours I made a decent home page, and they seemed impressed. My “boss” is out of town, so we’ll see what he thinks about it in a week or two.

I’ve still only met one of my women’s groups. December is a terrible time to try and be productive, because Christmas is approaching and everyone is busy catching up on the work they haven’t finished. Despite all this, I managed to schedule a meeting (without any help from my counterpart, I might add), remember how to get there, and set up a training on composting for the beginning of January. Success.

I’ll end with some fun facts/stories for those who have read this far:

After zero pickpocketing incidents during all of training, it’s been open season on Eric’s backpack here in site. Luckily for me, most of the thieves are drunk and have no idea what they’re doing. Walking through the market, I feel someone pulling on my backpack, to the point where I almost lose my balance. I turn around to see a man with his whole hand in the empty front compartment of my bag. He smiles, laughs, and points at me, as if to say “HaHA! You got me!” I stood aside as he stumbled away. That was the most successful attempt at robbing me so far. I’m knocking on wood as I say this, but I heard Guatemalan had some of the best thieves in the world?

I’ve been calling my host sister Ana Luisa for the past month. Turns out her name is Anelisa. Oops.

The other day I was playing soccer outside with my host siblings. The ball bounced over the ledge and Anelisa went down to get it. I got distracted by something – a bird, a kite, who knows, and I turn around to see Saulo (my 3-year-old host brother), pants at his ankles, peeing on his sister from above, laughing hysterically. She didn’t seem to be phased by the urine raining down over her head, but I called a stop to the game. My host siblings are pretty spoiled, and I’m not okay with peeing on people.

Having a Bachelor’s degree is a big deal here, although I try not to flaunt it. Mostly because when I do, people start calling me Licenciado Eric, and I’m not sure I deserve so much respect for my degree in Spanish and Minor in Business.

Guatemalans have terrible taste in American music. Justin Bieber, Lady Gaga (sorry to my friends that are girls), and Nickelback are three of the most popular. It’s shameful, really.

After starting the season out 2-0 in my basketball league, we are now 3-3. Luckily, we’ve already played, and gotten killed by, all the best teams. Although I am a foot taller than everyone on my team, there are some giant Guatemalans out there, many of which like to play dirty. I’ve lost 25 pounds since I’ve been here, so when I’m double and triple-teamed, I usually end up on my ass before heading to the free throw line. After 4 games in 2 days of being hacked to pieces, my entire body hurts. It’s also impossible to breathe at 8,000 feet, something which no one here seems to understand. Back home I could run a half-marathon at 8 minutes a mile. Here, I’m sucking wind running up and down the court. I feel like I have one lung. Miraculously, we have a realistic shot of ending up 7-3 and making the playoffs.

That’s all for now, check the pics!

Fried opossum on the grill in San Marcos

An old picture of my first school charla during training - I had just won a race because I drank enough H2O - hence the ribbon.

Chicken head, probably the only part of a chicken I haven't eaten here.

Capturing chickens for our vaccination campaign during training.

Paddling around in an artificial lake, San José Ojetenam

San José Ojetenam, one of my friend's sites.

Another view of the artificial lake. Literally in the middle of nowhere.

Sweet sweatpants? Check.

The view from outside my house. Not complaining.

Homemade weights. Not all that heavy for how large and awkward they are.

Sweet potato casserole with marshmallows on Thanksgiving.

Just a giant slide in the middle of San José Ojetenam.

My miniature Christmas tree and mirror I made out of the shards of the one I broke.

If it weren’t for being sick, I would have nothing to complain about during my time in Guatemala, and a little bit less to write about. Last Thursday marked the 3-month anniversary of my arrival in-country, and during that time, Guatemalan fare has provided me with the worst 3 bouts of food poisoning of my life. It had been awhile since I’d last taken ill, and I’d started to pride myself on my newfound ironclad stomach. Chicken feet, heart, liver, and gizzard could do me no harm, so I figured I was golden. Not so much.

The transition from the jam-packed training schedule to the boredom of adjusting to a new site left me feeling a little homesick this past week. With Thanksgiving and Christmas rapidly approaching and the weather here only getting nicer, I find myself missing the vibrant autumn colors of the Midwest – needless to say I won’t be seeing a first snowfall this year. Or next, for that matter. What does this have to do with me being sick, though? In an attempt to recreate one of my favorite little pieces of winter, I went out and bought the ingredients to make eggnog. Yes, I’m a loser. 6 eggs, 8 tablespoons of sugar, some nutmeg, vanilla, 3 cups of powdered milk (and some highly unsatisfactory eggnog) later, I was waking up at 3 in the morning, knocking over chairs and desperately groping for the bathroom door. I somehow made it to work this morning, only to leave an hour later and spend the rest of the day either sitting on my throne or hugging it. Slumped against the bathroom wall, I’ve never wanted to leave Guatemala so much in my life. I’m not a religious person, but I found myself begging the higher powers to make me feel a little less like death. Miraculously, it kind of worked – I think I might go to church this week to say thanks. The lesson learned from all this? If you don’t have a refrigerator, stay away from raw eggs.

The wonderful thing about Guatemala is that even at my lowest, something little always happens to remind me how lucky I am to be here. When my stomach had finally settled down, I ventured out to buy some bread for dinner. Halfway down the road, a little girl’s voice behind me asked, in Spanish, “Where are you from? Do you live here?” In a town where most kids stare in wonder as I walk by or run away when I say hello, 14-year-old Ingrid walked with me all the way to the panadería, chatting me up along the way.

While most Guatemalans can be shy, almost all are friendly. Walking down the street, there are already a few people that know me by name, and I’m gradually finding the best stores to go to depending on what I’m looking for. As of right now, I’ve got a meat guy, a bread lady, and a charcoal dude. There are several candidates for vegetable woman at the moment. Everyone at work is great, as well. There are about 20 people who work at the AMMID office, but it’s rare that everyone is there at the same time. For a basement in Guatemala, it’s actually a pretty modern office. There’s several computers, a copy machine, and a coffee maker. AMMID even has 6 motorcycles (which due to Peace Corps I’m not allowed to use, bummer) and a car.

My first week in-site, I spent a lot more time in the office than I was expecting. Day one was the annual monthly meeting, where everyone goes over what they did last month and their plans for the upcoming one. I didn’t really have much to say, so I just had to stand up and introduce myself. It was a long and boring day, but an important one as far as starting to learn how my host country organization works. They are impressively well-organized, with a clear mission, vision, and philosophy. I’m lucky to have been placed here – it will make my job a whole lot easier.

Adjusting to a new work environment is hard to begin with, let alone in English. Throw Spanish and Mam into the mix, and I there are more than a handful of times in a given day where I have absolutely no idea what’s going on. Luckily for me, I came in at a time when I have multiple opportunities to get to know people at the office. First, I get to play on the soccer team that AMMID sponsors for the local Christmas soccer tournament. Second, sometime in December they take an end-of-the-year field trip to a waterpark. Did I say yet that I’m lucky to have been placed here?

Possibly the coolest part of my site is how well the Mayan culture has been preserved. The traditional Mayan-Mam greeting is awesome – when you say hello to someone, you extend your hand like with a normal handshake, but only touch the other person’s fingertips. You then lift your hand to your forehead, like a vertical salute. To show deep respect for someone, the younger person will grab the elder’s hand and place it to their own forehead. The other day I learned of another funny/interesting cultural belief. While walking to AMMID’s example farm, I noticed how none of the small farms had fences around them, and that there were tons of ripe squashes left out in the open. I asked my counterpart if they ever got stolen, and he told me it’s believed that if you steal one, your next child will look like that squash (bald and round-headed).

I’ve now been in site for 3 weeks, and time is definitely flying by. Here is a short summary of the most exciting things I’ve done.

English classes. This week I substitute-taught two English classes for another volunteer in the area. On Wednesday I taught an hour-long class to almost 50 adults. At the end I opened it up for questions. The first thing one of the Guatemalan men wanted to know was how to say “Do you have a boyfriend?” Nice. The next day I taught an equally large class of kids. They can now count from one to twenty and know a how to say their name, where they’re from, and a few colors. I met with the first of my womens’ groups and the mayor of the town they live in. The women are all very friendly and seem eager to learn. My meeting with the mayor, on the other hand, was a little dicey. Background information: a Canadian mining company has a quarry near my site, and in short, they make a ton of money without giving anything back to the community. No one here supports them, and as a result, people are wary of outsiders. After giving the typical 5-minute-long Guatemalan introduction speech to a room full of grizzled, terrifying-looking men, the mayor paused to think, and then said to me: “Well, if you are really here for the reasons you say, then welcome. If, on the other hand, you are working with the mines, then it would be in your best interest to turn around and leave.” My counterpart and I spent the next 20 minutes assuring the room that Peace Corps has nothing to do with mining, and that I am only here to work with schools and womens’ groups. Finally, he was convinced, and I was accepted with a round of applause. Phew.I’ve spent a good chunk of time setting up my new house. The room I wanted to rent finally opened up, and I couldn’t be happier with my set-up. I have two rooms to myself and my own bathroom. The volunteer I replaced left me with most everything I need, so it has only been a matter of finding ways to store things. Check out the pics at the end of this post. The best part? I have a URINAL in my bathroom. Some Peace Corps experience, huh? My host family is very cool, too. Julio works for CONALFA, an organization that works for literacy in Guatemala. He was also strangely motivated to get aforementioned urinal put in. I’m not complaining, the toilet is at the base of an angled wall and makes peeing standing up literally impossible. As any guy would understand, peeing standing up is an essential part of our identities, and cannot be compromised. Alicia is a nurse at the local Health Center, and is a sweetheart. They have 3 adopted children – Ana Luisa (I really don’t know how old she is – she’s told me anywhere from 7 to 10, depending on the day), Saulo (3), and Oliver (2). Oliver doesn’t talk much, but the other two make up for his silence. I’ve literally had to childproof my room – everything within reach, they think is the most interesting thing in the world. Yesterday I turned around to find Saulo with a kitchen knife, poking it into the USB port of my computer. I can’t complain though, they’re cool kids and listen if I tell them, politely of course, to get the hell out of my room.

In other news, in no particular order, the presidential election came and past, with surprisingly little commotion. In fact, it feels like no one really cares – if it weren’t for the lack of obnoxious radio advertisements, I wouldn’t have noticed at all.

I got invited to join a basketball team that plays in San Marcos. I went to our first practice, and it’s really not even fair how much taller I am than the rest of my team. The basketball hoops are made proportionately, which is awesome because it means I can dunk. I feel like Michael Jordan out there.

The other day I went out in search of a garbage can for my kitchen, and in one of the stores I recognized a kid from my English class. The only reason I remembered him is because he had terrible burn scars on his face and hands. It turned out that this store did not sell garbage cans, but Hinngler (strange name, I know) offered to help me look around. I spent the next 45 minutes walking around town, practicing English with this really cool kid, who had spent 4 years of his life recovering in a hospital in Boston. Not only that, he turned out to be my host dad’s nephew. Small world. It’s amazing what happens when you get out and start talking to people. Guatemalans always have time to shoot the shit.

That’s all for now, I’m finally settled in so I’ll be better about posting from now on! Enjoy the pics!

Saulo, 3

Ana Luisa

My Desk

My Bed, representing America

Homemade Shelf

Door to the Kitchen

Maps of Guatemala and my site

Door to my bedroom

Kitchen table

Kitchen shelf, door to bathroom

Shower, URINAL!

Sink and toilet cave

October 25th – November 1st

I applied to Peace Corps knowing full well that I could be living in a mud hut, without water, electricity, Internet, or any of the other crazy technology the 21st century has to offer. I was cool with that. Over a year later, I am swinging in a hammock, listening to my iTunes, and if I hadn’t forgot, I could even be enjoying an ice cold Budweiser (no joke, they sell them here). I’m cool with that, too.

As of Friday, I am moved into my new site in C* (sorry, we're not allowed to say exactly where we are), San Marcos, and I couldn’t be happier with where I was placed. It is a beautiful town in the mountains of Western Guatemala, isolated enough from the country’s big cities to give it a relaxing atmosphere, but close enough so that the only necessity I can’t find here is peanut butter. I haven’t seen Velveeta here, either, but I’m coming to realize that maybe Guatemala just hasn’t picked up on that marvel of American society.

It has been a crazy week, to say the least. Because site visit was cancelled, counterpart day was moved to the day before swear-in. I had to say goodbye to my host family the morning of the ceremony, and immediately after taking the oath, we were herded into vans and sent off to site. It was an overwhelming 24 hours, sad at times, and happy at others – I got a lot closer to my host mom than I expected, and I may or may not have teared up when we hugged goodbye. At the same time, it was a great feeling to be done with training. I am now officially a PCV, how y’all like me now?

I’m really lucky that the Volunteer I replaced is sticking around Guatemala for awhile, so we gave him a ride out to C*. Him and my counterpart, Julio (who is awesome, and only 20 years old), helped me lug the mountain of Peace Corps materials I’ve accumulated over the past 3 months. We had to change buses in Xela, and again in San Marcos, so the trip ended up taking around 7 hours. For the last 2 hours, I was smashed into the corner of the seat over the axle – I don’t think I felt my legs after the first 15 minutes. In front of me, I witnessed my first real-life example of malnutrition in Guatemala. A Mam family of five was squeezed into one seat. The oldest two children had sunken eyes and were toothpick skinny – they could easily squeeze into the tiny space by the window. I then watched as the mother pulled out a bottle of Coke, poured it into a baby bottle, and fed it to her newborn, whose hair was thin and red. That was a wake up call for sure. The juxtaposition of a thriving town with such extreme poverty is both mind-blowing and extremely sad. When you take the time to think about it, though, it starts to make some sense, and you can get a feel for what needs to change.

To start off, water here is associated with sickness. Because there is little to no waste management, everything runs into the rivers, and eventually back into the drinking water. Diarrhea can be a deadly disease to a child with malnutrition, so people stop drinking water and turn to sodas. It’s ironic, and depressing, that the same Spanish word for water, agua, can also be used to order a can of Coke. This still doesn’t explain why the woman on the bus didn’t just breastfeed her baby. The sad fact is that here there exists the idea that once a woman is pregnant, she should no longer breastfeed. In Guatemala, where sexual education is rare and contraception is rarer, women are pregnant all the time. These are just some of the problems I’ll be dealing with as a Food Security Volunteer.

On a more positive note, my living situation at the moment is awesome. None of my three housing options were ready when I got to site (the first room was already rented out, the second is under construction until January, and the third is occupied until November 11). Until then, I’ll be living in the previous Volunteer’s house. This means that I have my own kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, patio area with two hammocks, and even a spare room that I’ve been using as a workout space. Three months in and 20 pounds lighter, it is amazing to have time to exercise again. The only problem is that, although it is considered part of a family compound, the family isn’t home very much. I would like to live with a family for the first few months to get to know people, so I’ll be moving into a different house halfway through the month. For now, I’m living a little outside of town, but it’s a really nice with a fantastic view. On a clear day, I can see the tallest volcano in Central America from my front door. Ten minutes down the road, there is a giant cemetery, which may be one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen. All the tombs are above ground and painted with bright colors. For Día de los Muertos, November 1st, all the families repaint their loved ones’ graves and bring offerings of candles, flowers, and even booze. It was awesome to see such a cool aspect of the culture so early into my time here.

There are a lot more white people around than I was expecting. Three PCV’s live in C* with me, another lives in an aldea close by, and two more live within 20 minutes. There were literally 7 of us sitting around a table the other night, playing Apples to Apples. We also hiked to a really cool waterfall the other morning. Everyone is really cool, but it’s important to me to make my own way and not rely on them, so I haven’t been going out of my way to hang out just yet.

Another thing that there’s plenty of in C* is drunk people. Called bolos, these middle-aged men drink until they can’t stand and then pass out the first place they can find. Often this is face-down in the middle of the street, face-up on the curb, or if they’re lucky, in the grass. Alcoholism is pretty rampant, but for the most part they’re pretty harmless. I just need to make sure to avoid “Bolo alley” late at night.

When I walk into town, just about every woman is in the typical dress, or traje. A good number of men are rocking a cowboy hat, but very few still wear their indigenous clothing. Most of the time, people are speaking Mam to each other, but most know Spanish as a second language. Listening to people switch back and forth between the two languages is fascinating. Where I will be working, out in the surrounding areas, I’ll need to know Mam, as most people in the more rural areas have not learned Spanish. I’m in the process of finding a teacher, and I’ve picked up a few useful phrases. I’m probably still butchering the pronunciation, but I’m not too worried – it took me 6 years to be able to roll my r’s, it make take me a while before I can pronounce something like “aqo' nya tkyaqil.”

Tomorrow I meet with my host organization, called AMMID – the Asociación Maya-Mam de Investigación y Desarollo. I’ve already met my boss, who is nice but also kind of a weird dude. He seems like he’s in two places at once during any conversation. Tomorrow I’ll meet the rest of the employees. It sounds like everyone is nice and easy to get along with. AMMID also has a store, where women sell their woven goods, like blankets and bags. Their market is mostly tourists, so the previous Volunteer got them making Frisbees, awesome pants, and even beer koozies. I’d definitely like to get involved with the marketing as a secondary project.

I’m in the process of buying a new camera, so unfortunately there won't be any pictures for a while.

Chin nej! (Good bye!)

October 12th – October 24th

The morning of Site Assignment day, no exaggeration, felt longer than all the time I’ve spent in Guatemala so far. Instead of telling us straight away where we’re going, we had to make it through three separate sessions and lunch before receiving our little yellow folders. I honestly don’t remember much from those classes, as I spent most of them drawing squares, checking the clock on my phone, and sucking down coffee. Somehow I made it through the morning without losing my mind…

But I finally know where I’m going to be living and working for the next two years!

I’ve been told not to put the exact name of the town on my blog, but I’ve probably already told most of the people who care enough to be reading this anyway. I’ll be in the department of San Marcos, all the way in the West, pretty close to Mexico. To get to my site from where I live now, it’s a 7-hour ride via chicken bus. My site is 2 hours away from the second biggest city in Guatemala (Quetzaltenango, or Xela as it’s commonly known) and half an hour away from the department seat of San Marcos. From what I understand, I’ll be living in the center of a 23-town municipality of approximately 70,000 people. The actual city I’ll be living in only has about 3,000 residents, so it’s not quite the middle of nowhere. In fact, I think it’s a little bigger than Whittington, Illinois. I’ll be living with a host family (I have three options from which to pick), but I should have a decent amount of private space, electricity, running water, and I can buy a USB stick to get Internet on my computer (which I’ve already done, btw). It’ll be a huge step up from my training site, where the water ‘falls’ every 8 days and I take a daily bucket bath. Sometimes I feel like I’m not suffering enough to be in the Peace Corps; every Volunteer’s house I’ve seen so far has been pretty nice, and it sounds like mine will be as well. However, then I turn around and there is a women carrying a giant log on her head, or a man carrying 900 pounds of corn from his neck. I’m not sure if the romantic, mud hut vision of a P.C. experience exists in Guatemala, but there are definitely people whose living conditions are downright sad. My site is in the poorest of Guatemala’s 333 municipalities, and ranks highest in the country in terms of chronic malnutrition (remember, Guatemala ranks 4th in the world in that regard, so I can only imagine it’s not a great place to live – I think I’ll have plenty of work to do).

I’ll be living in the mountains, at 7,500 feet above sea level, with an average temperature between 59 and 68 ºF depending on the season. Needless to say, it’s no tropical paradise, but it’s so high up that at least I’ll get plenty of sun. I’ll be working with a host country agency called the Mayan-Mam Association of Investigation and Development (AMMID). My work will consist of building capacity in school and family gardens, small animal production, and infrastructure (stoves and water tanks). 99.5% of the population is indigenous Mayan – Mam, and only 54% of the local population speaks Spanish. This means I’ll have a chance to learn Mam and still practice my Spanish, which is exactly what I asked for. We started learning Mam this past week, and it is absolutely mind-blowing. It doesn’t look anything like Spanish or English. I’m pretty good at languages, but it’s definitely going to be hard to learn. To give you an idea, here is a common greeting, translated into English.

Chin q’olb’en tey nana, jek’y tza’n ta’ya? B’anxix wen, chjonte. Hello ma’am. How are you? Very well, thanks.

What!?

The ‘q’ sound comes from the throat, and sounds like you’re choking. There are multiple versions of each vowel and consonant, and the language has yet to be codified and standardized. The hardest part, for me at least, will be saying the number six (qaq, pronounced “cock”) without laughing. I’m normally a pretty mature person, but after two hours of classes in a language that sounds like gibberish, having to repeat 1 2 3 4 5 cock 7 8 9 10 over and over again put me over the edge. I was crying laughing for almost ten minutes. I’ve memorized some common phrases, but I’m sure that I still butcher the pronunciation.

We nb’i Eric. My name is Eric. Ti t’ibiya? What’s your name?

I’ll be replacing another Volunteer who is about to complete his service, and will have at least 3 site mates in other P.C. programs. I talked to the guy I’m replacing, and it made me even more excited to move into my site. He’s actually coming back to work for another organization, so I’ll have a valuable resource in-site for almost the first year. There are several other Volunteers living in San Marcos, including one from my training class, so I should have plenty of gringo contact. All things considered, I could not be happier with my site placement. This site was one of the few I had my eye on, so I’m pumped to get out there on the 29th and start working. We were supposed to visit the site from Tuesday to Saturday, but Guatemala has been getting its ass kicked by rains. Out in the west, there are landslides all over the main highways, and travel has been brutal. It hasn’t been nearly as bad where I’m living, but I don’t remember the last time I saw the sun. I’ve been joking with my host mom about drawing a sun and putting it in the corner of our kitchen, so that we won’t be so depressed. When I initially wrote this blog, site visit had been shortened by one day. Since then, site visit was cancelled altogether. They took us out to coffee to break the news. While the coffee was delicious, the canceling of site visit sucks for several reasons:

I will have to stay in a hotel while I meet my host country agency and decide between 3 families to live withI’ll have to carry all my bags at once instead of breaking it up over two tripsThe volunteer I’m replacing will have already left and won’t be able to introduce me to important peopleWe leave for our site, with our counterpart, immediately after we swear in, so I have to say goodbye to my host family Friday morning after breakfast

In short, if there is any word to describe P.C. training, it is ‘change’. Not a single schedule we have been given has not changed. It’s annoying at times, but has taught us to be extremely flexible. On a positive note, since the bad news about site visit, the sun has come out, and it has been glorious. Guatemala is a beautiful country when the sun shines (Guatemala means the land of Eternal Spring). When it rains for 14 days in a row without stopping, it’s more or less a giant mudslide.

Site assignment was by far the most exciting thing that happened this week, but we also had a family appreciation lunch on Sunday. Peace Corps gave us 300 Quetzales (about 40 dollars) to cook lunch for our host families. We ended up making mashed potatoes, chicken with fried vegetables, rice, and sweet corn for almost 25 people. It was nice to be able to properly say thank you for everything our host families have done for us over the past few months, but I still plan on doing something nice for them before I leave. While I personally thought the mashed potatoes were out of this world, most of the Guatemalans were put off by all the garlic we added. We’ve been eating 15 tortillas a day for 2 months, so I think they can eat at least one U.S. meal.

In the process of cooking for 25 people, buying the chicken for the lunch was quite the experience. Antigua’s market is enormous, crowded, and incredibly smelly. After spending the day shopping and relaxing in town, we lost track of time, the sun set, and we and had only 15 minutes to find 12 pounds of chicken before the last bus left for our host community. It started to downpour, and the aisles in the market filled with inches of water. We had to sprint into the heart of the market, finally finding a solitary meat vendor who sold us some mildly stinky chicken. We somehow made it, soaked to the bone, back to the bus station in time to catch the bus. I think it’s safe to say that my stomach has finally adjusted to Guatemalan fare – if I didn’t get sick from sulfur-smelling chicken that was left out all day, I think I’m golden.

As part of training, we’ve been working on chicken coop repairs for the past couple weeks, and I’m pretty proud of what we’ve accomplished. I’ll post some before and after pictures soon, but for less than 15 dollars we turned a crowded, poop-filled chicken cage into a veritable Taj-Mahal, complete with a ramp and large chicken run. We were going to add improved feeders and waterers and nesting boxes, but we ran out of time. I think the chickens, who used to spend 24/7 living on top of 3 inches of their own feces, appreciated our efforts.

In other news, I ate pig foot the other morning for breakfast. My host mom refused to tell me what it was until I finished it, and proceeded to laugh at the faces I made while trying to not break a tooth on the bones. She’s a real hoot.

My Spanish was put to the test last week, when I had to refuse to borrow a sweatshirt from my host mom. After working on the chicken coop all day, my only clean hoodie got soaking wet. Since it had been raining for the last two weeks straight, I didn’t have anything else dry to wear, so Lidia offered me a Green Bay Packers sweatshirt. I politely and tactfully explained the Bears-Packers rivalry, and how it would be disrespectful to Chicago to wear such a hideous article of clothing. Lidia didn’t really understand, but she already thinks I’m weird, so no harm done.

Our plan was to spend the night of swear-in in a hotel in Antigua to celebrate, but because of all the rain we had to move it up a week (not complaining). Next week we’ll be in the P.C. office almost every day, so training is basically over. It’s crazy to think I’ve already been here almost 3 months, and soon I’ll have to leave my host family and start over somewhere new. I’m definitely going to miss my host family, especially my host mom – we’ve gotten very close. Leaving for site is very exciting, but pretty sad a la vez. (Sorry for interjecting Spanish, but sometimes it’s more fitting to code-switch and speak the local tongue). What up Profesora Montrul? At least you taught me something in SPAN 307.

Finally, a couple updates: first, my host sister is literally about to burst – her baby’s due date was the 20th, but the bun is still in the oven. Incredibly, even though she is as wide as she is tall, she manages to wash dishes and clothes all day. The women here are pretty incredible. Second, my dream of getting a wiener dog may become reality sooner than expected. Our P.C. Volunteer leader has two of them, and they are starting to ‘play’ (aka get nasty) already. It takes 2 months for a dog to have puppies, so I may have a couple little salchichas as early as January/February.

Well, that was a really long entry, but more excitement is sure to come next week in-site!

Last Spanish class (lunch) with teacher

Garden

Making the chicken run

Before

3 solid inches of decomposing chicken poop

Another before pic

Group shot outside the soccer stadium

Hypnotizing ducks

Climbing trees

Group shot at University of San Carlos

October 5th – 11th

Just as I finally started taking my camera places, my Olympus FE-230 bit the dust. On the plus-side, I insured it before coming here, so I’ll get it replaced for free. On the down-side, don’t expect too many pictures in the near future. Not that any of the ones I’ve posted up to this point are mine – I stole all of them from friends. Still, I’ll have to borrow someone’s camera to take some pictures of my host family before I leave for my site. Speaking of my site, I find out on Thursday where I’m going for the next two years! This week has crawled by, as site placement is basically the only thing I can think about.

I’m not so much nervous about where I’ll end up as anxious just to know. Almost all of the sites sound sweet, although I definitely have a few specific ones in mind. We’ve heard through the grapevine that they already have us placed, yet we still have to wait until the 13th to find out. Site placement reminds me of when Peace Corps first invited me to Guatemala. On the way back from Bama ’11 (ROLL TIDE - was that really this year?), Washington updated my application status online: “Congratulations on your invitation to serve as a Peace Corps Volunteer in __________!” I then had to wait over a week to fill in the blank; throughout my whole application process, the invitation kit was the only thing Peace Corps ever sent via UPS Ground.

Tomorrow will mark the beginning of month 3 in Guatemala. To honor the occasion, I think I’ll lead this entry off with something a little more serious. Let’s start with some development stats, most of which I didn’t know until I got here.

Guatemala ranks 4th (in the world) in overall malnourishment50% of all children in Guatemala are chronically malnourished56% of the population survives on under $2.00 per day15% of the population survives on under $1.00 per day5.2% of Guatemalan GDP is spent on health and education (25-30% in the USA)

The homicide rate (per 100,000 people/year) is 52, compared to El Salvador (71), Honduras (67), Jamaica (58) and the United States (5.4). St. Louis, surprisingly, comes in at 55, even higher than Guatemala!

So as you can see, there’s definitely some work to be done here. Malnourishment is the biggest problem that my program (Sustainable Agriculture/Food Security) seeks to alleviate. To accomplish this goal, Peace Corps adopted a 4-pronged approach to build capacity in each of the following: Family and School Gardening, Poultry Management, Nutritional Content/Food Preparation, and Food Preservation. I don’t consider myself an expert in any of these areas. Not even close, to be honest. Up until recently, I seriously doubted my ability to help Guatemalans with anything agriculture-related. Who am I to teach someone with decades of experience raising chickens to do just that? I’ve realized, however, that to make a huge difference in quality of life here, the necessary improvements are simple, and to us, even second nature.

For example, the simple task of cleaning a chicken coop on a regular basis is something unheard of in remote areas of the country. Diarrhea is a killer disease here because people don’t wash their hands after going to the bathroom or before cooking dinner. Two-year-olds have bloated bellies and thinning red hair because their parents have never heard of the food pyramid and they eat junk food all day. Little changes in lifestyle would go a long way to improve overall quality of life in Guatemala. Why is development so hard, then? One would think that if you could teach people in rural areas these basic skills, then they would be set. If only it were that easy. The changes in actions we shoot for are simple, for example, washing your hands. But changing any kind of ingrained behavior gets complicated. Even if you want to change, habits are hard to break. I may want to stop biting my nails, go on a diet, or quit smoking, but saying so and doing so are two completely different things.

That’s why a lot of development efforts fail, because giant organizations throw money at the superficial problems. Such strategies build dependence, and after a brief spike in whatever variables they analyze, people are left right back where they were before, or even worse. I’m not saying Peace Corps has everything figured out, because realistically, it’s hard to tell if they’ve made a difference in their 48 years in country. The transitory nature of the program makes it difficult to determine what effect Volunteers really have. Every two years, a Volunteer transitions out and has to help a brand new person hit the ground running. Every five years, the program director has to resign due to Washington regulations. Despite all this, Peace Corps seems to have things figured out philosophically; it simply makes more logical sense to focus manpower on behavior change at the grassroots level.

That’s enough serious talk for one post. Real quick, I’m going to reiterate that the above commentary is my personal opinion and does not reflect the thoughts of Peace Corps or the U.S. government. I’ve also only been here two months, so what do I know?

Unfortunately, not too many exciting things happened this week. The biggest news was that a man in town hung himself. Some kind of domestic drama, a cheating wife I think – I didn’t pry too much. I guess hanging is still a common way to kill yourself here, but in such a religious community, there wasn’t very much sympathy for the deceased. Everyone feels bad for the wife and daughter he left behind.

We ate the radishes I grew in my tire garden – they weren’t too bad, either! I’ve expanded my diet to include chicken heart and chicken feet, both of which don’t taste too bad. I woke up Sunday morning when a giant spider fell on my head. The bugs here really haven’t been too bad, except for the spiders. They’re enormous, even the harmless ones. Last weekend was Día de Niño, or Kid’s Day. I’m still not really sure what was being celebrated, but my host siblings got a lot of free candy at school, so it can’t be too bad. When we walked by the middle school at lunchtime, they were blasting The Real Slim Shady, followed by Sexy Bitch. If the teachers only knew English…

This week we did our first chicken vaccination campaign. This involves going around town and giving shots and eye drops to chickens, ducks, and turkeys. Chickens here are getting sick all the time, with a lot of different diseases (Newcastle, Choriza, Viruela, Choriza, just to name a few). Some of the less serious diseases make the chickens look like they have warts all over their face. The more serious ones can knock them dead overnight. We vaccinated over 150 chickens, which really isn’t that much, but it was a lot of fun chasing them around and catching them. My chicken-wrangling skills have greatly improved, but I smelled like chicken poop for a couple days. This week we also made a worm compost box. Worms eat anything and turn it into great compost, so we made a box to keep at the Peace Corps office. Whenever we’re in town, we can grab a few handfuls of worms to take back to our site. Finally, we are making improvements on one of our host family’s chicken coops by installing a run. This way, the chickens can get some sunlight and Vitamin D. It’s been great to do some work with my hands – I’m starting to get some pretty good calluses already.

Up until this point, my younger host siblings have been nice, but extremely shy. For example, below I’ve translated a typical conversation between me and my host sister Pamela (this has happened multiple times, btw):

Me: Hi!Pamela: Hi.Me: How are you?Pamela: Good.Me: I like your shirt, what does it say?Pamela: (blank stare)Me: How was school?Pamela: Good.

…and so it continues. This week, however, I had a breakthrough, mostly thanks to my contact lenses (taking them out and putting them back in is the coolest thing in the world to a 10-year-old Guatemalan) and Photo Booth on my computer. My host siblings are much more talkative with me now. I put some of the pictures from our photo shoot at the end of this post. In addition, I’ve been gaining a lot more confianza (respect, trust) with the rest of my host family as well. Our Spanish teacher taught us some dirty jokes, and I finally felt comfortable enough to test them out on my host family – to great success, I might add. They love it when I swear in Spanish. “What’s the longest hair in the human body? – The nose hair, because when you pull it, you feel the pain all the way to your ass.” (It translates a little better in Spanish, but I’ve never seen a person laugh so hard in my life as Lidia did when I told it). As a result of the trust I’ve gained, I’ve been let in on some dirt that some of Lidia’s children don’t even know. I’m not going to post it here, but I’ll send out an email with that gossip. I’ll just say that I’d never want to fight my host mom. I’ve started to get more responsibilities around the house, as well. In addition to sweeping and selling vegetables, I’ve been getting to weed, too. Why is weeding exciting? Because in Guatemala, it means I get to whack things with a machete and cut down trees. Dad, if you would have given me a machete when I was younger, you could have tricked me into doing yard work all day long.

I’ve decided that I’m going to have a wiener dog as a pet before I leave this country. I don’t know where I’m going to find one, or how much it’s going to cost me, but I saw one the other day and instantly made up my mind. It would make me so happy having a little salchicha running around my house, I can’t wait.

On a completely unrelated note, Sunday was my host brother’s first communion. The highlight of my day was being included in some family pictures. Hopefully I’ll be able to get some copies. The lowlight of my day was that I had to eat lunch three separate times. I almost exploded. They take first communions pretty seriously here – the boys wear a suit and tie, while the girls wear elaborate white dresses. (Note* - At first I wrote ‘where’ instead of ‘wear’ in that last sentence. I am officially forgetting English).

Also really random, but I’ve fallen in love with a 30-year-old Guatemalan woman named Urvelina. She is married and has three kids, but I can dream, right?

Enjoy the photos!

And RIP Steve Jobs

Feria in San M

Church

The jank ferris wheel we rode

Group pic on FBT

Yes, that is a chicken without a head

San M

Let the Photobooth photoshoot begin

September 27th – October 4th

As we near site placement and our swear-in date, time continues to fly by. Yesterday concluded Feria in San M* (my host community) - a week of cultural activities, drunken fun for locals, and sober awkward dancing for me. After several nights of events at the main school in town, here’s what I’ve managed to learn about how to dance in Guatemala:For ever 3 people dancing, 10 watch and gossip from afarYou cannot look at your dance partner, no matter how close/far apart you areDurangense is by far the most bizarre and inexplicable style of dance I have ever seen. If you don’t feel up to a quick YouTube search, imagine a crowd of Latinos jumping, shifting their weight between feet, and holding their arms like a T-rex. I don’t know how, but a talented few make it look somewhat cool.

Although Feria ended up being a blast, it also meant I got a lot less sleep than I would have liked. Before the final day of Feria, a local traveling Marimba band (a giant wooden xylophone, plus drums and guitars), started playing at 9pm and walked around town until 6am the next morning. Because one of the marimba players is my host mom’s brother, they made two pit stops at my house at 3 and 5am. After having gone to bed at 1, I was a little sleepy the next day, and may or may not have dozed off during church. Here, the expression for nodding off is ‘cabezear.’ Luckily, I wasn’t the only one cabezeando during the pastor’s sermon.

Feria reminded me a lot of Lincolnshire’s 4th of July celebration at Spring Lake Park, only a few days longer, minus the dunk tank, and plus one Ferris wheel. Although it was balanced on cinder blocks and looked 50 years old, we decided to take a ride. It was not a relaxing experience whatsoever - the attendant climbed up the thing and used his weight to get it going uncomfortably fast. Meanwhile, everyone and their mother came to watch the 3 Gringos spin in circles. The next day, multiple kids came up to tell me they saw me on the ‘rueda’ last night.

In my sleep-deprived state, I almost destroyed our bathroom this week. Looking back, what was a laughable accident could have easily cost me a lot of money and embarrassment. It would have been even worse if someone had actually been inside. Next to our bathroom (a seatless toilet surrounded by four cinder block walls), is a stack of spare cinder blocks, on top of which I had put my tire garden. My radishes are almost edible, and the carrots, cilantro, and swiss chard that I planted are coming in as well. Everything needed a little thinning out and weeding, so I went to take my tire down. In doing so, I knocked the ENTIRE wall over in the direction of the bathroom. My family ran out, thinking that our new dog did it. Nope, just the white kid. The bathroom wall was inches from collapsing and crushing our only toilet. So far, I’ve managed not to do anything stupid while I’m here – hopefully I can make it another month without knocking anything else over.

As far as actual training goes, this week we did 3 practice charlas to 4th, 5th, and 6th graders. We focused on making decisions with respect to the trash we throw away, and used a timeline to show how long it takes for various products to decompose (banana peels, socks, Styrofoam, etc.) I think the kids got something out of it, and we definitely improved each time. I enjoy working with kids, and I’m better at it than I thought I would be, but I want to be working mostly with adults during my service.

In Spanish class, we are learning a lot about Mayan culture. Our new teacher (who is the man, by the way) speaks Spanish and Kaqchikel Mayan. He showed us each our Nawal, or spiritual protector. Mine is B’atz’, the monkey, or thread, which represents the connection between the past and present, and the source of things. Mom, yours is Tz’ikin, the eagle, or quetzal. Dad and Melissa, you share the same Nawal, called Imox, the lizard. I thought this was pretty interesting, because you two have a lot in common. I hope I get placed in a Mayan site so I can keep learning about that culture.

On a completely unrelated note, I killed my first chicken this week. My host mom prepared a nice meal for Feria and was planning on cooking two of her own chickens. She told me I could help, if I wanted. She tried to demonstrate with the first one, but couldn’t quite snap its neck, so she held it down while I twisted and pulled its spinal cord apart. I ran over a rabbit’s nest with a lawnmower once, but deliberately taking something’s life was a new experience. I felt kinda bad, but at the same time it was exhilarating – the connection between food and death is something that gets ignored in our culture; if everyone had to kill their meal, there might be a few more vegetarians. After becoming a killer, I spent the next hour de-feathering my recent sacrifice. It takes forever to get all the feathers out, but it’s was fun watching the transformation from an actual bird to a naked slab of meat with a head and feet . After washing my hands 3 times, they still smelled like dirty, dead poultry.

Aside from killing chickens and making tire gardens, it’s hard to make an extensive list of the things I’ve learned so far. I’ve definitely improved my public speaking and Spanish, but more than anything, training has been an exercise in patience. There are many things about it that are frustrating: the lack of personal freedom, a constantly changing schedule, undefined expectations, feeling like a child again, a particularly picky host mother, pooping my brains out (not so much anymore), having to always be culturally sensitive ALL the time – the list goes on. It can get to be a little much at times, but nothing that a burger, a beer, and watching the Illini come back to beat Northwestern for Homecoming can’t fix. I-L-L. It was beyond weird seeing Memorial Stadium on TV from all the way down here, and made me miss Champaign a lot. I couldn’t believe Illinois had already played 5 games, and really couldn’t believe they’ve won them all. I feel completely cut off from everything USA, so feel free to send me any news whatsoever – I’ll appreciate anything. The most painful part about being away from home is missing out on baseball postseason, and I can’t believe I missed Ozzie Guillen’s last game as White Sox manager. I guess it was about time.

Walking home from the bus with one of my friends, a Guatemalan called out to us, “Las Torres Gemelas” (the Twin Towers). While it was probably the most creative thing someone has yelled at me, I’m not quite sure how I felt about it. In conversations with host country nationals about the U.S., the most common questions are: ‘how is it that you have a black President?’, ‘have there been any more terrorist attacks since 9/11?’, and ‘you killed Osama, right?’. Obama’s nickname here is ‘café con leche’ (coffee with milk). Beyond that, I feel like Guatemalans know very little about the United States. One of the main goals of Peace Corps is to help both Americans and Guatemalans understand each other better. It seems like there’s a long way to go.

To end this entry with something more lighthearted, I found shells and cheese in Antigua today (not Velveeta, but It’ll do), so now I just need to convince Lidia to let me use her kitchen. And boom goes the dynamite.

Here are some pics for all of you who have been asking!

The starting line, before I finished close to dead last - I still won the prize for first Gringo.

Campfire bonding on Field-Based Training.

Adding a candle to the sacrifice - Mayan Ceremony.

Bandaging myself up mid-Charla: Note 2 weeks of facial hair growth.

Manual labor at school - breaking up concrete to put in a new floor.

Group pic on Field-Based Training.

Group breakfast on Field-Based Training.

My TV debut on "Buen Provecho, San Luis"

Lost? I think I hear the smoke monster coming.

Group pic on TV.

Making veggie burgers, LIVE!

Sorry it’s been so long since my last post! I haven’t had much time to write, and last week we were away from our host communities. I’ll try to make up for it this week with an extra long entry.

Training is more than half-way over. My health is finally improving, hopefully for good. I’ve had three intense bout of diarrhea, but each time my stomach bounces back more quickly. As a result, however, I’ve lost 17 pounds. The Peace Corps diet works wonders. My Spanish is better than it ever has been, and I frequently surprise myself by how fast the words come out of my mouth. In a couple weeks we find out where our sites will be for the next two years. Due to security reasons I can’t post any city names here, but they all sound very cool. Most of the sites are located in the same part of the country, but there are several isolated villages as well. I’m pretty flexible as far as what I’m looking for in a site, but I would prefer to be somewhere warm, rural, and where there are other Volunteers nearby. Our Program Director makes the final decision, but he also takes our thoughts into consideration. One thing I’m stoked about is that a lot of the sites have high indigenous populations. Although I want to keep practicing Spanish, more than ever I want to learn a Mayan language.

Election weekend in Guatemala came and went without incident, for the most part. For months, propaganda covered every square inch of this country, advertising more than 15 presidential candidates and countless mayoral hopefuls. I’m excited to find out who the new president will be, but more so for the end of the painfully cheesy radio advertisements. After an initial round of voting, none of the candidates secured enough votes to be elected outright. The two leaders, Otto Pérez Molina and Manuel Baldizón, will square off again in November to determine the President. Guatemala has a brief streak of successful democratic elections going, but at the local level things get dicey. Politics here are highly corrupt, and violence is common if the result of an election is contested, or even disliked. Roadblocks are frequent, and I’ve heard stories of candidates’ houses being destroyed by angry mobs. Anticipating the worst, Peace Corps decided to move the majority of our training class into a safer, adjacent town for the weekend. While it was a pain to have to pack for 4 days, it was a nice break from the routine. However, the Peace Corps-issued mattresses we slept on were infested with fleas, so sleep was hard to come by.

September 15th was Guatemalan Independence Day. It was celebrated with parades, the running of torches between communities, and of course, tons of fireworks. Firecrackers here are super cheap, so we’ve had a lot of fun setting those off randomly. I heard the Guatemalan national anthem for the first time, which is cool, but also 10 minutes long. My host mom bought me a new shirt to wear for the occasion (so that she can show me off to the community). She also frequently reprimands me for cracking my knuckles. Sometimes I forget I’m a college-educated 22-year-old in this household. As my way of rebelling, I grew out a “beard” for two weeks. Lidia absolutely hated it and told me to get rid of it almost every day. Unfortunately, I can’t grow respectable facial hair, so I eventually gave in and am now clean-shaven once again.

Training has been business as usual. We switched Spanish teachers halfway through training, but not much else has changed. Once in a while, however, something comes along that reminds me exactly how far from home I am. After spending more than a month and a half in-country, I still have the occasional “Where the eff am I?” or “What kind of country is this?” moment. It’s the little things that make this experience so completely different than anything I’ve ever done. For example, during one (a)typical day at home, my host mom decided to change my sheets when I woke up, switching out my duck blanket for an even more masculine Winnie the Pooh comforter. Score. After my morning constitutional, I returned to the bathroom with a bucket to flush, only to discover the rattiest of our dogs chowing down on my feces. Literally eating my poop out of the toilet. After kicking it in the head, I vowed to never allow that animal anywhere near me again. To round out the day, I dined on chicken gizzard, while across the table from me Lidia gnawed on some chicken’s feet. In case you are wondering, chicken gizzard is a grayish color and tastes/feels a bit like rubber. Welcome to Guatemala!

I washed my own clothes for the first time. It sucked. Be thankful for washers and dryers, because people here scrub their dirty laundry against a rock and then hang it out for days to dry. The soap makes your hands sting, and I lost several pieces of knuckle in the process. I guess I’ll get all my complaining out of the way now: The other day I saw and killed a cockroach the size of my cell phone. After smashing it 10 times with a rock and crushing its head with a chair, it somehow was still able to walk and had disappeared by morning.

Several weeks ago we visited an incredible sustainable farm called Finca el Mirador. The whole place was sweet; the waste of every process was used constructively, in one way or another, to reduce costs or increase production. Most farming in Guatemala is subsistence – 80% of the country’s land is owned by a total of 5 families – so this farm was particularly impressive. We got to harvest güisquil, a gourd-like vegetable that grows on vines. The coolest part was how, by fermenting cow manure, they could make enough methane gas to fuel their stove. It was a surprisingly simple process, and the end product didn’t even smell. Melissa, you would have enjoyed the pigs and horses.

We also took a field trip to watch a Mayan religious ceremony. It lasted almost 3 hours, but went by in the blink of an eye. Alternating between Spanish and Kachikel Maya, the women in charge of the ceremony made sacrifices of candles, nuts, and even booze to the 20 Nagüales (spirits) of Mayan culture. Watching the offerings burn was entrancing and incredibly relaxing. We have been learning a lot more about Mayan culture, and it is all fascinating. Today in class we talked about 2012 and watched a documentary on the Mayan calendar. I have a feeling people are gonna be pretty freaked out when 12/21/12 comes around.

This past week was Field-Based Training, or FBT as we prefer to shorten it. This consisted of a week of travel to various Volunteer sites, learning to vaccinate chickens, and our first solo charlas (translated literally as chats, or classes) to womens’ groups. We’ve been working a decent amount in our garden, and I’ve been practicing my chicken-wrangling skills, but it was nice to gain some skills in the field. (Chad, if you’re reading this, a girl in our group demonstrated how to hypnotize a chicken by pushing is beak into the ground. Sorry for doubting you – it was awesome.) This week I learned a lot more about what the Volunteer lifestyle is like. As far as I can tell, it’s a lot more cushy than how I’m living right now. No lie, some Volunteer houses were even nice by American standards, and all were a step up from my tiny room and toilet seat-less bathroom. Although I have to life with a host family for 2 years, I can’t wait to have my own personal space. Most of the Volunteer homes are set up as an “apartment” within a family compound. Two of the volunteers have their own cooking show on a local Guatemalan television station. I made my TV debut making veggie burgers and fruit salad.

My first charla was on making tire gardens. I gave it to a group of 15 women, our training class, and various supervisors who were evaluating me. I was really nervous, but on the whole it went really well. While helping cut the tires open, however, I slipped and cut my thumb open. I didn’t feel it because I was too focused on the presentation, but all the sudden I looked down and my hand was covered in blood. I was able to wrap it in tape without causing to much commotion, and use the incident as an example of why we need to be careful with knives.

Before FBT, I ran a 10K in town. My host brother was in charge of it, and I assumed it would be a fun way to integrate and be seen in my host community. I soon realized that Guatemalans don’t run for fun. I arrived in a t-shirt and athletic shorts to find everyone in uniform (short-shorts and all). I ran at an 8-minute mile pace and got absolutely smoked. I’m pretty sure there were only 5-10 people who finished after me, out of a couple hundred. The hills were obscene – alternating between steep climbs and controlled falls. As I struggled not to die, on-looking Guatemalans yelled various things at me, “Gringo!”, “Hurry up!”, and my personal favorite, “Do it for the pride of the U.S.A.!” Sensing my impending death, one bystander was kind enough to douse me in water. I’m definitely going to do some hill training before I attempt another race.

On the whole, everything is going really well. I’m excited for training to be over and have a little more freedom, but I can’t complain about much. I’ve been incredibly busy and haven’t been keeping in touch as much as I should, so I promise to change that, and I’ll have another entry next week!

This post is a little longer than the previous few, but it also covers two weeks – I forgot to bring my USB drive to the Peace Corps office last Tuesday! Also, sorry for the lack of pictures. I am notoriously bad at bringing my camera anywhere, or taking pictures when I do.

August 23rd - 30th

Last week I got my first haircut in Guatemala - for only 10 Quetzales (about $1.25)! Although I look like I’m about to ship off to boot camp, it was quite the experience. One of my friends’ host sisters owns her own salon, so their whole family came and watched the gringo get his hair cut. I sat for thirty minutes while three teenage girls (and one American guy) whistled at me, periodically yelling “Qué guapo!” Although it was mostly a joke, girls here are much more aggressive than guys. It’s almost the exact opposite of Costa Rica. Here, the girls do the whistling, staring, and hissing. None of us have been groped yet, but I wouldn’t put it past them.

Last week we visited two real Volunteers’ work sites. Both of which made me very excited to be working out on my own. We have to live with host families, but their set-ups were awesome in that they had their own space within a family compound. I, on the other hand, literally share a wall with my host parents and don’t have enough floor space to do a push-up. I don’t think I could last two years without a little more independence. Both of the volunteers had pets, their own kitchens, and even a little yard. One of our five dogs just had 4 puppies, so I’m thinking of taking one with me. I also want to buy a horse. We’ll see about that last one – vacation to Honduras might take precedent.

Last week we also made our first tire gardens. In Guatemala, used tires are everywhere, and stores called Pinchazos are constantly trying to get rid of them. A tire garden is a good way to reuse the scrap tires to make a portable food source for small families without much land. To make one, you cut around the edge of a tire, making sure to leave handles, and then flip it inside out so it can be filled with dirt and seed. Depending on the tire, flipping one usually requires several male trainees and ten minutes of pushing, pulling, and looking generally ridiculous. In my tire, I planted carrots, swiss chard, radishes, and cilantro. Some seeds are already starting to pop up.

Last Thursday we went into Chimaltenango (a larger city with a food market a lot like the one in Heredia or San José). I am now the proud owner of a machete, a soccer ball, and a costal (basically a glorified shopping bag that Guatemalans use to carry EVERYTHING). My host mother was very pleased with my last purchase; although she would have rather I bought another pair of pants. I’m used to wearing jeans for several days in a row, but that doesn’t fly in Lidia’s house. My host mom is fantastic, but also very particular. I tried to find a new pair of jeans to please her, but it’s difficult being a foot taller than everyone else in this country. After several tries, and one pair of pants that would have doubled as capris, my host mom found me a pair that fit in Antigua. My machete doubles nicely as a chucho-beating stick, but I still need to find a sheath. A chucho is one of the hundreds of stray, occasionally rabid dogs that roam the streets. Especially at night, it’s nice to have some protection. That’s what she said.

Last Saturday I attended a Quinceañera birthday party. Probably one of the most awkward experiences of my life. It was held in a garage-like building decked out with blue balloons and streamers. Down the middle there was a runway of columns and blue carpet, ending in a table where the birthday girl sat, wearing a blue prom dress that was twice as big as her. We were only there for an hour (its customary to come, eat, and leave as soon as you finish dinner). But the entire time, a hired preacher rambled about the importance of obeying your parents, carrying a Bible, and the lack of familiarity of today’s youth with the belt or the switch. The cumpleañera (birthday girl) did not look thrilled.

From the limited news I’ve heard, the hurricane affecting New York is pretty crazy. Maybe the end of the world is coming, after all. I’ve already heard several Guatemalans joke about the end of the Mayan calendar in 2012. It’ll be cool to see how people react as the date approaches. In the meantime, I’m getting better at talking for long periods of time about absolutely nothing. The other day I had an hour-long conversation about pots, pans, and various kitchen utensils. Guatemalans place a lot of value on small talk (which I hate), so I’m trying to practice. My Spanish is improving really quickly. I’m already back to where I was after studying abroad, maybe even better. The vocab here is pretty different, but Guatemalans have some pretty cool expressions, too. For example, the exclamation “Púchica!” is said all the time, and basically translates as “holy cow” or “wow!” It’s already getting hard to write in English, and it’s only been 3 weeks! By the way, if you want my phone number, send me an email – texting is pretty cheap!

August 31st – September 6th

This week started with me dropping my cell phone into the toilet. I have now stopped playing Solitaire while on the pot. Thankfully, my host brother works for Movistar, a phone company in Guatemala. He helped me dry it out, and then took it into work and fixed it for me! Peace Corps only replaces one broken/lost phone, so I was really grateful. Guatemalans are incredibly generous with their time and, if they have it, money.

I’m really lucky to have such a great host family. As I write, my 2 year-old sister Heidi is poking her head out from behind my door and sticking her tongue out at me. My host mom has started calling me Eric Lozano, because she cannot pronounce my last name. Lozano translates to fresh/healthy-looking. Lidia occasionally substitutes ‘gusano’, which means caterpillar/worm, and then laughs hysterically to herself at her creativity. I am a never-ending source of entertainment for this woman.

Thursday we gave our first “charla” to a class of 5th graders in Itzapa. A charla is an informal class, or chat, designed to teach a certain topic. Peace Corps is all about non-formal education and the experiential learning cycle. We have to take into consideration that many of the farmers we will be working with cannot read or write. So instead of lecturing, we use drawings, conversation, and hands-on activities to teach. With children, however, this translates to me making a fool out of myself in front of forty 10 year-olds. The topic of our charla was the importance of drinking more water. For my first charla, it went pretty well!

After the charla, we visited one of the temples of the pagan Guatemalan god, Machimol, or San Simón. San Simón was supposedly a Spanish conquistador who took pity on the indigenous people and treated them well. People pray to San Simón for love, money, or to spite their enemies. Outside the temple, shamans sacrificed whole chickens by slitting their throats and then setting them on fire. It kinda smelled like KFC. Inside the temple, people offered various items to an altar, and purified themselves by whipping their bodies with different herbs. Weird, but cool.

Saturday we were finally able to go into Antigua, one of the most tourist-frequented cities in all of Guatemala. Look up some pictures online, it truly is beautiful. It reminds me of a bigger, nicer version of Granada, Nicaragua. Antigua is filled with colorful, Spanish colonial architecture, cobblestone roads, and most of all, gringos. After spending a month with the same group of 10 trainees, it was weird to remember that there are other people in the world with white skin and long legs. After three-plus weeks of zero independence, we took advantage of the free day to walk through the enormous market, eat cheeseburgers, and have a couple beers (not necessarily in that order).

Saturday night was a 25th wedding anniversary here in town. My friend’s host family rented a DJ, bought a keg, and held the Guatemalan version of a rager for 150+ people. The cultural perception of alcohol is very hard to figure out, so I’ve been trying not to drink in my community. When you stand out like a sore thumb, having a drink is often more stressful than making awkward small talk. In the end, us 3 gringos attempted to dance cumbia and ended up being excellent entertainment for the rest of the party.

Sunday I helped with my host mom’s vegetable cart again, this time with some additional responsibilities. I no longer just push the wheelbarrow – I can now make my own sales and deliveries. I’m getting used to the slower pace of life here, especially how Guatemalans make better use of the day. I’m normally up at 6:30 (5:30 if I want to run), have class or training from 8 to 5, eat dinner, do homework, watch some Big Bang Theory on my computer, and am asleep by 9:30pm. I need at least 8 hours of sleep a night to function (nothing new), plus the malaria medication-induced dreams are still pretty fun: Last night I spoke fluent Ka’chikel Mayan while flapping my arms to fly to the bus stop, then drove the manual transmission chicken bus to the Peace Corps office. Too bad the malaria pills are impossible to swallow quickly and taste like vomit.

Finally, Monday we went to Guatemala City to learn how to get to the U.S. embassy and the Peace Corps-approved hospital. We aren’t allowed to go to the capital, or Guate as it’s known locally, without PC approval, because it gets pretty sketchy. Guate is the second biggest Central American capital city after Mexico City, and its homicide rate is incredibly high. There are really nice parts of the city, as well, something I could never say for San José, Costa Rica. It was a miserable day - after waking up at 4:45 to exercise with my host family, I started to feel feverish. The fever gave way to hands-down the worst headache I’ve ever had, and by nighttime I was shivering uncontrollably and running to the bathroom every few hours. My host mom made me use an umbrella to walk from my bedroom to the dinner table, and blamed my sickness on the salad I had for lunch. I think it was the pork I had the night before, but I’ve learned not to argue. I really hope my immune system figures out how to deal with this place soon – hopefully I’m getting all the sickness out of the way early.

Sitting three to a seat in the crowded camioneta on the way back from Guate, with the money-collector’s (ayudante) sweaty ass in my face, I think I finally realized that I’m in Guatemala. And that I’m going to be here for a loooong time. Right now I would be a quarter through my study abroad experience, yet I am only 1/27th through my Peace Corps service. At the same time, the first month has flown by, and I can only imagine that I’ll be wishing I could stay when October 28, 2013 rolls around.

To finish off this entry, a quick list of the things I miss most about America: Baseball, Velveeta Shells and Cheese, toilet seats, being able to flush toilet paper, the ARC, campus bars, driving, sleeping in, the Quad, Orange Beach, AL, shorts, and of course, family and friends. Despite all that, I’ve been here a month and am still loving it!

I didn't really have time to write this week, but here are some pictures of my house! my room

bed

i sleep in the one on the right

the view of my house from the street, my room is first on the left and behind it is the kitchen, to the right is the bathroom and straight ahead is the shower

the kitchen

rabbit and duck pen

entrance to the bathroom, sorry its sideways

my friend the toilet, the bottle on the seat is used to flush

my shower

More next week!

Already two weeks in! It’s strange to think that at this point last year I was starting my last year at U of I - playing catch on the quad, going to (and sleeping through) class, and alternating my nights between working at a bar and drinking at one – all these things seem like a lifetime away. Time moves strangely in Guatemala; waking with the sun and going to sleep early makes the days seem longer, but the weeks fly by. Despite this post’s title, I am still having a great time. This week, however, I got my first taste of Guatemalan intestinal bacteria – and let me tell you, they put Montezuma’s revenge to shame. For the weak-stomached, you may want to skip this next paragraph.

If you’ve ever seen the South Park episode where Cartman pretends to have Tourette’s, one of his go-to outbursts pretty well describes my week. I’ll let you figure that one out. During the 48 hours starting from Thursday at 6am, I used the bathroom 30 times. All #2’s. These were no enjoyable, post-Wednesday-calzone-day poops, but more like “please tell me where your little boys room is before I soil myself on your floor” emergencies. My tour of Guatemalan bathrooms included a police station, the town hall, and multiple friends’ houses. I was meeting important local figures while my intestines threatened to fall out of me, learning about organic pesticides thirty minutes at a time. For two days I was feverish and couldn’t eat. I’ve already had to tighten my belt – I’ve lost noticeable weight. My lowest point came when, mid BM, a Justin Bieber song came on the radio. I can’t even escape JBiebs in a Third World country? - I dropped an audible F-bomb in addition to several other, liquid-based incendiaries on the toilet. Despite all this, my host mom says I didn’t have it that bad – her previous volunteer threw away his jeans after not being able to make it across the yard to the bathroom. She, of course, fetched them out of the garbage and washed the crap out of them. Lidia is a saint. Thankfully, I’m feeling much better now. Hopefully this won’t be a frequent occurrence over the next two years.

Other than that, I've been having a great time! It's kind of hard to keep track of everything that has been going on, so forgive the following stream-of-consciousness rambling.

First off, I'm going to buy a machete. And a sheath. And it's completely normal/ not frowned upon. For 30Q (about 4 dollars), I can carry around a mini sword and not be looked at like a criminal - needless to say, I'm pretty pumped. One of the men in our group bought one last week, and I think it's safe to say the other 4 guys will all have one by weeks end. This week we started or community vegetable gardens and compost piles. Nothing too fancy, just a bunch of food scraps, cow manure, and weeds in a big pile under a tarp, but it's nice to finally do something productive.

I think I felt a mini earthquake last night, but it might have just been my stomach. I feel like an absolute giant here - in church, I'm at least a head taller than every other person. Most women come up to my stomach, and my siblings reach mid thigh. I keep whacking my head on pots and pans in the kitchen, which my host mom gets a huge kick out of. Peace Corps told us at the beginning that during training our independence would be greatly reduced, and it definitely is. We have to ask permission to do anything or go anywhere. We just found out we aren't even allowed to go into Antigua (the most touristy place in all of Guatemala), because apparently it isn't safe enough. It's frustrating, but it will make it even nicer when we're set free at our new sites. We've been practicing 'charlas' a lot, which are basically just presentations on technical skills. Unfortunately this means a lot of public speaking, which I despise, but I guess it's a good way to improve. I keep forgetting to take pictures - hopefully next week. I would kill for a piece of pizza right now. I finally put up some pictures and decorations, and reorganized my room, so that it feels more like home. The giant American flag you guys gave me is hanging proudly on my wall. Amurrica. Also, my host mom said that Jett (my dog) is ugly. That's all I can think of for now, hasta luego!

On Saturday we had a quick security meeting at HQ, got cell phones (Nokia brick, how I’ve missed you), and then piled into PC buses to head for our host families. I lucked out and have almost 900 minutes leftover from the previous volunteer who used my phone. My home for the next 3 months is in San Miguel Milpas Altas, in the department of Sacatepequez. Two other trainees live close by, and the rest live in Santo Tomás and Magdalena, about 10-15 minutes away by bus. To get to PC HQ we take a camioneta (chicken bus), which is a decked out old school bus that can't pass safety standards in the States. They drive them down to Central America to get some more use out of them.

My host family is enormous, but I technically belong to Doña Lidia Chacon, who affectionately refers to me as “my gringo.” She is the queen bee of the household, and although almost 60 somehow manages to wake up as early as 4 and go to bed around 10. She cooks me really good food and we eat together at every meal. So far, a lot of rice, beans, veggies (juisquil and guicoye among others), tamales and beef. Three of Lidia’s five children live in the same compound – Sergio, Enma, and Silvia. Sergio/Leonora have three kids: Estuardo (7), Heidi (2, and possibly the most adorable child I’ve ever met, she enjoys stuffing leaves down my shirt when I sit down) and Ivan (1). Ivan can’t walk quite yet, but they practice with him by tying a blanket around his waist and holding him suspended above the ground until his legs get stronger. Silvia/Alberto have two kids and another on the way: Soselie (12) and Pamela (10). Enma/Walter are expecting. I finally had to draw a family tree to keep it all straight.

I have my own room, and we have electricity. I suppose you could call our water “running,” although it does so only a couple times a week, and only long enough to fill several giant barrels used for water storage. Everyone has to drink purified water or risk fun parasites and explosive diarrhea. Diarrhea has become a common topic in PC meetings, and we’ve started a pool to see who will be the first victim. One week in and we already have a winner – not me, luckily. There is no shower here, so I fill a pitcher with hot water from the stove and mix it in a bucket until I find the right temperature. Then I soap up and dump warm water on myself using a bowl-like container called a guacal. A warm bucket bath definitely beats a cold shower. As far as the utilities, I have to crouch and twist my way into a brick latrine with a porcelain, seat-less toilet. I can’t come close to standing up inside (Guatemalans are tiny), and the lack of a seat makes for some creative positioning. I’ll be able to squat for days by the time I’m done here. To “flush”, I pour a few gallons of water from a storage tank down the toilet. We have several watch dogs (Bronco, Lassie, Fanny, Cirico and Orejón – Lidia calls them all Pepita) a cow, ducks, rabbits, and pigeons.

I spent day 1 on site playing with all the kids. Our adventures included searching for an escaped turtle, soccer, tag, card games, English lessons, and monkey in the middle. The next day I was up at 5:30 for church (I’m not religious but it’s an easy way to meet people and look good in the community). Peace Corps instructs us that no matter what our beliefs, we must say that we believe in God. God may be your water bottle, but you have to believe in it to fit into Guatemalan society. After that, I walked around town with Doña Lidia and met some more relatives, then made the trek back up the hill to start loading her vegetable/fruit cart. For the next few hours, I pushed a wheelbarrow full of carrots, apples, potatoes, watermelon, cilantro, bananas, etc. around town with Lidia. I eventually learned some of the prices and sold a piece of watermelon for 1 quetzal. 7 quetzales here is about a dollar - much easer than the 550 colones to a dollar in Costa Rica. Lida buys produce in Antigua and sells it slightly marked-up by going door to door in San Miguel. She also sells chuchitos (mini tamales) and tamales colorados (the bigger version).

Monday through Saturday are spent in-site with Spanish lessons for approximately six hours followed by technical training. Tuesdays are group sessions at PC headquarters. My only alone time is basically at night before I go to bed or whenever I have to take a dump. If all study abroad programs were structured like PC training, everyone would be fluent by the end of 3 months. Its only been a week, and really only 3 days of constant Spanish, and I already feel a lot more competent. I definitely feel out of touch as far as news from the states, so if anything big happens, send me an email! I'll try and upload some pictures soon.

Today is day 4 of my PC experience - it has been a whirlwind four days, but I am really enjoying myself so far. I'm currently writing from the PC Office, which has computers, a library, a basketball court and soccer field. Everyone is furiously typing emails to family right now, it's our first access to Internet since we arrived. It reminds me a lot of the Instituto in San Joaquin, Costa Rica - only bigger and with a couple shotgun-toting security guards. Our training staff is awesome, and the group as well. I have been living with one other volunteer in with a host family for the past couple days, but tonight is our last night with them. Chepe, Miriam, Nimsy (13 yo girl) and Libni (17 yr old boy) have been great. They live in a little compound with the entire family. Mom, imagine living right next door to all of your J-first-named bros and sisters and their families. Dad, imagine living next door to all of mom's J-first-named bros and sisters. They apparently don't get sick of each other. Amazing how one Agapestock is enough for us. Coffee, the dog, doesn't quite know who I am yet. I've been able to take hot showers via an electrical device on top of the spout, and as long as I don't flush the TP I can poop to my hearts content. No diarrhea yet - Connor (if you're reading this, I haven't been too musical yet). Guatemala reminds me a lot of Costa Rica - I really missed being able to say hello to everyone on the street without it being weird. It's definitely poorer, but there seems to be a lot of development going on. Almost everyone has cell phones (we get ours tomorrow), and my family has a TV and electricity. The architecture is more Spanish and everything seems a little bit closer together. Tomorrow we move to a new family for 3 months, mine is in San Miguel Milpas Altas, a few miles from here. It's apparently a lot more rural, so we'll see what the amenities are like. We have 6 hours of Spanish class a day - I'm in a group with 2 others who speak very well, so we basically just chat and learn vulgar Guatemalan slang. Apparently, there's an alcoholic drink called chusma that is illegal and fermented with the help of human feces. Shit moonshine. Delicious. We also will have a ton of community-based tech training, learning composting, chicken vaccination, and other fun stuff. I took the first round of malaria pills last night - they warned that they could cause bizarre dreams, and oh they did. I had no idea where I was when I woke up this morning - and although I couldn't remember exactl what I dreamed about, it felt like quite a wild ride. They also gave me the wrong vaccination today, so I ended up getting an extra dose of pneumococcal in addition to tetanus, whoops. The food is good, and we just have to be careful of the water we drink. After a whole day of sitting in training sessions, we're all pretty mentally exhausted from all the new information. I've been missing being able to work out and run - it's going to take some adjustments to figure out how to exercise. I can already tell I'm gonna be skinny when I get home - Guatemalans are very active and we are moving around a lot. I'm sure there's more to tell, but I want to keep these blog posts short so you don't get bored. If you have any questions, lemme know! Oh, and to all my Costa Rican friends - they use the word huevon here - so I'm pretty well set! Pura vida, maes. Later, Eric

After getting 45 minutes of sleep and boarding a 7am flight to Washington, I took a taxi to our hotel and arrived at 10 (3 hours early), only to find that I couldn't check in. I left my bags with the concierge and set out to explore D.C. I soon found out I was nowhere near anything cool except GWU, and I didn't want to pay for another taxi. However, just down the street were these rental bikes that you can check out, ride around, and then return at a bunch of different locations around D.C. So, still wearing my shirt, slacks, and tie, I set out for the White House.

2 hours later, I had seen the White House, Pentagon, Arlingon Cemetery, the Washington Monument, and Lincoln Memorial (where in the world is that damn reflecting pool thing?). Aaand I was hopelessly lost with only an hour before my meeting. Long story short, I made it back in time - but arrived to staging drenched in sweat and having only eaten a banana all day. Not the greatest first impression, but the day went fine. After 6 hours of icebreakers, skits, cookies, and even coloring on big pieces of construction paper (is this the Peace Corps or summer camp?), our group of 10 grabbed dinner and headed to bed.

Tomorrow we wake up at 330am to catch our flight at 8 to Miami (Peace Corps policy says we have to get there four hours early). Then a short layover and off to Guatemala! I'm finally more excited than nervous - everyone is very cool, outgoing, and relaxed. We're an even split of 5 guys and 5 girls, and not to brag, but I already know that only one person is at a higher Spanish level than I am . Granted, he has the unfair advantage of having spent 18 years in Argentina. I'll take what I can get. Stay tuned for more updates in-country! Miss you all.

I figured it would be a good idea to get my blog up and running before I no longer have a steady Internet connection (or running water/electricity for that matter). In a little more than a month I'll be 'peace'-ing out of the U.S. and starting my 27 months in Guatemala. This is my first blog, so don't expect too much at first, but please do stay in touch!

I'll post my mailing address here, in case you would like to send me something. I won't be able to get large packages, but I'm sure a letter would make my day. Keep in mind that it may take as much as 4-6 weeks for it to get to me.

Eric Larson, PCTCuerpo de PazApartado Postal 66Antigua GuatemalaSacatepequez 03001GuatemalaCentral America

Also, you can follow me by email by entering your address into the bar on my blog homepage.

Finally, the required disclaimer: The contents of this website are mine personally and do not reflect any position of the U.S. government or the United States Peace Corps.

Hasta luego!