Name: Barbara Elizabeth Veres

Site: Santa Cruz Comitancillo, San Marcos

Sector: Agriculture

Nicknames: Ana Bárbara, Qué Bárbara, Barbita, Barbarita, la hija más canchita de doña Isa y las mujeres artesanas, VereẍBiggest accomplishment: Surviving.

Biggest disappointment: Hearing excuse after excuse of why they couldn't do something from the very people who wanted change.

Biggest regret: Regret? ¿Qué es eso?

Biggest fear during Peace Corps: Getting held up on a bus... ha. I kind of outdid myself on that one.

Defining Peace Corps moment: Two of the many others I could list here are:

1) In my third month as a PCV, January 2009, I didn't have water for the entire month due to the pipelines being dug up in town, so leave it to Murphy's Law to give me food poisoning at that same time. Streams of any hydration that was left in my body were projected out uncontrollably from both ends simultaneously, and I had nothing to flush with. I told myself if I could make it through that, I could make it through anything.

2) After spending two weeks in front of la compu with my grade six educated counterpart, Isa, who had never touched a computer before, I called her from the Peace Corps office to ask her a question.

"How are you?" I asked.

"Oh, just here in the office practicing on la compu," she timidly, but proudly responded.

I was glowing. Did I understand her correctly? Just days before she was still skiddish about turning it on with me by her side. Did I actually do something sustainable? I think so. Púchica.

Things you will miss most: The gorgeous view from my country house, my house, the kids from my street, being part of a community, morning sunshine and afternoon rains, mountains, avocadoes, my lime tree, my ladies, most of the people in my office, el Rincón de la Yaya and the owners and teaching them how to make real cappuccinos, walking to get from point A to point B (as opposed to walking for the sake of walking), going out for a walk to "la gruta," Bobby, cheap and great comedor meals, ease of mobility and cheap travel, people's genuine hospitality of giving what little they have, riding in the back of 'picops', riding on top of buses (whoops), using fíjese que to start off a lame excuse, phenomenal free health care, the list goes on...

Things you will miss least: Being woken up at 2am, 3am, 4am, etc. by dogs barking or 'music' blasting, cocks crowing engines revving, bus horns honking, people throwing their trash on the ground, the crowds of Sunday market days, hearing fíjese que... right before the start of a meeting after hiking 1.5 hours to get there, calling my boss to get an "ok" to leave for a weekend, people asking me why I drink so much water and if it's really healthy, watching my ladies aguantar unwanted pregnancy after unwanted pregnancy...

Biggest Irony: Being absolutely fine with and at times preferring the vegetarian option over a hunk of flesh.

Worst illness: Diarrhea becoming a normalcy for the last eight months of my service.

Biggest freak-out: Getting abducted in a taxi with Carolyn in Managua...

Strangest chisme you heard about yourself: I was a spy for the CIA, my site mate, Charlie, and I were either novios or maridos.

Most useful things I brought: Non-stick frying pan, speakers for my MP3 player which got my through training, my computer.

Least useful thing I brought: Solar power backpack... I was prepared to go in the most remote of places.

Favorite activity when bored: Walking around town to chit-chat with people.

Weirdest thing I did when bored: When watching my site mate's pooch, Amalia, she always seemed to be in heat, and thus the chuchos would alway await their Juliet below my balcony at my first house. There would be at least five of them whining and fighting with one another to get their beloved Amalia, so I'd take a pitcher of water and dump it on them from above. Kept me entertained.

Favorite Guatemaltequismo: ¡A la grán hijo le..!

Greatest lie I told at my site: My father is a mining engineer.

Favorite Guatemalan inquiry: How many kids do I have? Did my husband give me permission to come to Guatemala? Well, why am I not married?!

Best Guatemalan gesture: The simultaneous wrist flip/ chin-up / lip point.

Favorite CD/song during service: NOW! That's What I Call Camioneta Music Vol. I

Song I would be content to never hear again: Any ranchera.

Favorite book(s) during service: Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight - Alexandra Fuller

Favorite Guatemalan fashion: Men unknowingly wearing t-shirts with prints such as "Is that your belly button or are you just happy to see me?", "I'm a beer chick," "Alpha Kappa Sigma Sorority 2004," "Proud Girl Scout," "Why am I so thirsty if I drank so much last night?", "Get down with brown: vote Sanjay for Student Council Treasurer" and older women wearing shirts such as "^ The Man v The Legend," "Play Boy Bunny 1998," "HEY! I've got big boobies!"

Worst jalón: The one where I almost dislocated my tailbone.

Best bus ride: Tacana- dangerous as hell, but it was the quickest one from San Marcos to the capital.

Worst bus ride: All the other ones.

Favorite food: Somehow eggs and beans with chirmol never got old... I don't know if this is a good thing or a bad thing.

Worst thing I ate: Liver... I'm getting nauseous just thinking about it.

Worst thing I smelled: The latrine which was almost overflowing with human waste.

Stupidest thing I did in the last two years: Accidentally didn't turn off my gas stove properly and woke up with a killer headache and an empty take of gas. Oy.

Untrue fact told to you as undeniable truth: “Fíjese que es prohibido por Cuerpo de Paz” - for pretty much anything I didn't want to do.

You know you’ve been in Guatemala too long when…: You know it will be a good day when you have taken a shower without 1) the water pressure lowering to keep the water warm 2) getting any sparks above your head from aforementioned water heater 3) the water doesn't switch off just as you've lathered your head full of shampoo.

I never thought I would…: Discuss my bowel movements so openly and in such vivid detail and come to agreements with other people of what illnesses we might have based discussed details.

When I grow up I want to be…: Full-time corporate slave, part-time yogi and philanthropist, retire at the age of 42.4 with 2.39 children and a husband living somewhere in the European countryside on the seaside in our summer home with our two rescue dogs, with adventure holidays. Or just figuring out the next step would be nice.

If I had to do it all over again I…: No questions asked.

Favorite Aralen dream: The first time I had a psychedelic dream was after hearing about them, but still not actually having taken Aralen, ha.

Favorite Ropa Americana T-shirt: A guy walking around with a "I don't get drunk, I get awesome" shirt.

Favorite animal story: My favorite chucho, Bobby, was actually my landlord's dog that they never really took care of. Bobby would always befriend the gringos in town and follow us around everywhere- he's accompanied PCVs to Taltimiche, Chicajalaj, Los Bujes, Quexlemuj, and other far off places (up to 2 hours one way) just to tag along. Mid-way through my service, he started following me to the office in town and would sit through the treacherous 9-6 monthly meetings. Sometimes he didn't come with me to the office, and as I was sitting with Isa working on something I would hear a pitter-patter outside, see his head poke through the door and be overjoyed with excitement when he found me with something like, "Hey, there you are! I've been looking all over for you," look. Best chucho, hands down.

Best habit acquired: Patience, not being so serious.

Worst habit acquired: Ch-ch-ing people to get their attention, arriving late to meetings because I knew I'd be waiting around anyway.

Thing you missed most from the US (and I'll add Europe): Family, friends, anonymity, red wine, good food, stimulating and intellectual conversation, live music, yoga, spontaneous meet-ups with friends for a coffee or drink.

Thing you missed least from the US: People being so caught up in their own lives that they have absolutely no idea what is going on around them, people thinking they're "special," materialism, media, fakeness.

Favorite location in Guatemala: My site... I wish I would have figured this out earlier on in my service, c'est la vie.

Things you’d wish you had known when you signed up: I'd be back in Buffalo before I knew it. :-P

Best advice for the next group: If you can't be good, be safe.

This has been one of the most difficult decisions of my life. After deciding to stay in Nicaragua, I told myself I would return to Guatemala to get a realistic look at what my situation would be like upon my return.

Arriving back in Guatemala, I felt right at home again. Guatemala has become my home over these past two years. I spent the first few days back in country at the Peace Corps center, and then decided to head back to site for a few days to get a feel for what it would be like to be back in town, as well as to see how traveling by myself would be.

Unfortunately traveling, especially by myself, is no longer enjoyable- bearable at best. My staying in Guatemala would involve a number of things, and one of those things would be traveling to Guatemala City twice a month or more for medical appointments (have you ever not slept for four weeks?). That traveling would involve an eighteen hour round trip (think Buffalo to Boston, except in an over-crowded school bus swerving through the mountains), a two night stay, three missed days of work, anxiety up the wazoo- all for a one hour session.

After a careful cost:benefit analysis, it just didn't seem to make sense. It's like an awful catch-22: in order to get the medical care that is available to me to overcome my anxiety of traveling, I would need to make a solo eighteen hour round trip twice or more a month. Perhaps it would be a good way to test out my resiliency to travel, but at what cost? Knowing the safety situation of Guatemalan transportation and my luck, it seems like a risk too great to take all at once. Coming back to dire straits at work made me question things over and over again, and as you can imagine, wasn't exactly on the list of positive things going on in my life.

"Surprised." That is the response I have gotten from many people, but especially myself. Am I really doing this? I have been disgustingly critical with myself since I made this decision. It was never in my plans to finish up early. I thought I was tough- until my site mate's 11.5 oz. kitten gave me such a fright that I had to sit down for ten minutes. Not so much.

Serving as a Peace Corps volunteer has been the most rewarding and humbling experience I have had. So many people have opened their homes to me over the past two years- and I can't help but feel that I am breaking off a relationship I know I will never have again. Though it is in my tentative plans to come back and visit at some point in time, it will never be the same as it has been. Knowing that it is the right decision doesn't make it any easier to follow through with it.

Thank you for giving me an extraordinary two years, Guatemala.

It's pretty cool to think that Carolyn and I have never lived too close to one another, but have still maintained a strong friendship based on visits and common travel adventures to ten countries, including our Peace Corps time that just so happened to begin within three weeks of each other's- with a geographical distance that is not too much further than our geographical distance was back in the states (of course you're looking at an eight hour leisurely drive through the Adirondacks in the great state of New York versus a grueling eighteen hour bus ride through three Central American border crossings). Ok, I promise not to make grotesque paragraph-length sentences from hereon in.

After spending a few days kicking it back on the beach with my two friends Robin and Marisha, I headed to my next destination: Nicaragua, to get a mere peek into what has been Carolyn's Nicaraguan life for almost two years.

After arriving almost three hours late from Tegucigalpa and spending the night in an over-priced (but Peace Corps-approved) hotel, I was happy to finally see a familiar face after two rancid days of solo travel on a boat and buses. Carolyn had been waiting at the bus station for about two hours, since I was still able to text her to let her know I would be arriving a little late (originally just one hour, and of course leave it to Murphy's Law to have me arrive even later and not be able to text her since I no longer had service once we entered Nicaragua).

We spent the next day in the Peace Corps office in Managua for Carolyn to run some errands, and to kill the rest of the day, we had a very fachenta (fancy) lunch at a nice vegetarian restaurant, did a little bit of shopping in the near-by shopping center (ok, mainly just Carrión, which I have fallen in love with- taste at an affordable price) and even watched a movie in English, Kick-Ass, which, despite having Nicholas Cage in it, was surprisingly good. Posh Corps, anyone? Although that was my first impression of Nicaragua, it was not surprising in the least bit to see the wealth of a capital city in a developing country. Sometimes you feel like you're in a developed country until you see a cow in someone's front yard, which could be just a block or two away from a shopping center nicer than I have ever seen in the states or even Europe.

After those "unique" experiences, Carolyn and I had a visit to the hospital... but no fear- this time it was not for me (seriously- no joke). Just a regular appointment, and then we left back to our hotel and the next morning we finally started our trip: first stop, to visit Carolyn's host family from training, and then spend the night in the city of Masaya, a small city known for its artisan crafts.

Unfortunately we got as far as the micro bus stop until we were left in the middle of nowhere after our "incident." I won't lie- my initial reaction was to return back to the US the following week. Carolyn and I both reacted very differently to the situation. Her "fight or flight" instinct kicked in, and after being unable to get out of the car, she tried fighting back, and I somehow remained calm... but it wasn't until after the incident that I "lost it" after arriving back to the Peace Corps office. I obviously made the decision to stay in Nicaragua, which is the best thing I could have done. I didn't want that to be my sole experience and memory of Nicaragua, because that would have just been stupid. Bad things happen everywhere- some places more than others, and if anything, this experience taught the both of us to trust our gut instincts, and that some people are just plain manipulative assholes- but it shouldn't ruin what could be a wonderful experience with a wonderful friend.

We spent the next few days in Managua, mainly at the Peace Corps office. We had some useless trips to the police office, only to have them tell us that they would not be able to meet us again until Wednesday, since Monday was a revolutionary holiday, and Tuesday was a rest day from the holiday on Monday. Not surprising. We decided to get out of the city and go to Carolyn's town, about a four hour bus ride from Managua.

We spent the next four days in her town relaxing, processing everything that had happened and just tried to keep ourselves busy by meeting her friends, teachers that she works with, and of course her Nicaraguan boyfriend, Norvin. I really enjoyed spending time there, not only because it gave us a safe atmosphere to relax and unwind in, but also because it has been where Carolyn has been tirelessly working for almost two years with teachers in many different schools to try to alter the way people think about the environment. As an Environmental Education volunteer, Carolyn has worked with non-stop enthusiasm to train teachers to teach more of an environment-based curricula in the classroom, and of course trying to make it fun for the students and why it matters.

It was very apparent in the concern expressed and hospitality shown by Carolyn's colleagues that she has built close relationships with them during her time in site- earning confianza, or trust, is a vital tool to get things going in Latin America (would you want to work with someone that you didn't really trust?), and beyond building confianza, Carolyn has also built strong friendships with her teachers.

On Wednesday morning we headed back to the Peace Corps office in Managua- neither of us slept very well that night, but luckily we didn't have any problems, as we were now being extra cautious with everything. We had originally went in to Managua to continue with the police report, but unsurprisingly, the investigator who was handling our case was not ready.

Instead of waiting around for more disappointment, we decided to try out our plan once again- and so we headed to Carolyn's training town and spent the afternoon with her awesome host family. She had spoke so much to me about them, and how she really feels that they are her second family, and after spending just an afternoon with them, I could easily see why. If Olympic-style seed-spitting as a recreational activity with her host brothers doesn't count for cultural and family integration, I don't know what does.

During my visit, my mom called and we spoke for a few minutes. Afterwards, Carolyn told me that she had told her host family that I was speaking in Hungarian to my mom, and her host grandmother said that she could understand some of what I was saying....... say whaaaaaaaaa?! It turns out that Carolyn's host grandmother had worked for a Hungarian family in Managua back in the 1930s and had learnt some Hungarian from them. I have traveled to nearly thirty countries and have met at least one Hungarian in almost every country- not an easy feat. Her host grandmother may have not been Hungarian, but hey... that was far much cooler than actually meeting just a regular old Hungarian (although they can pretty cool as well).

After a wonderful afternoon with her host family, it was hard to leave their endless hospitality after spending such a good afternoon with them, but Masaya awaited us. We arrived there after a thirty minute bus ride and easily found our hostel and went out for a cheap, but delicious meal of gallo pinto (red beans and rice), tacos and some other goodies. The next day we took a short trip to the artisan market where we made rounds and I picked up some pretty cool artisan pieces without going overboard (not as easy as it may sound). That afternoon we headed to Leon- through Managua- but we managed to get a bus that took us directly to the bus station that left to Leon, so we avoided having to taxi through Managua, easing our anxiety and stress.

After arriving in Leon, we set out to find the volcano boarding place we had heard so much about, only to find out that it had been booked out for the next day. I didn't feel overly disappointed at first, as I wasn't sure if uncontrollably hurling myself down an active volcano was what I needed in a time of uneasiness and anxiety. Well, it turned out to be exactly what we both needed, because we ended up finding a smaller, non-profit organization, Quetzaltrekkers, (originally based out of Guatemala, but now with a location and tours from Leon, Nicaragua), which I highly recommend for anyone who wants their hike money donated to local kids.

During the hour-long truck ride to the base of Cerro Negro, the active volcano we were to climb, we overheard the guy sitting next to me talking about being an editor for Survivor: Nicaragua that was being filmed in San Juan del Sur, one of Nicaragua's finest tourist venues. Carolyn had already been bashing it the night before, and continued to do so until two other guys, who had been intently listening, mentioned that they were producers for the show. That shut Carolyn up for the rest of hike. ;-)

Little did they know that we did in fact have very tough nuts...

A walk down into the crater.

Volcano boarding was nothing short of exactly what I needed. It really comes to show that being physically active reduces stress and anxiety in ways I never understood before now, and it was a good self-esteem booster in terms of getting ourselves out there and not locking ourselves in our hotel room for the remainder of our vacation, not to mention it was effing incredible- so incredible that we hurled ourselves down twice.

Despite having an awful situation just days after my arrival, I could not be happier that I decided to stay and enjoy Nicaragua and get to know some important and wonderful people who have been such a big part of Carolyn's life. I would also like to thank the Peace Corps Nicaragua staff for being extremely supportive and helpful, especially to another volunteer from a different country. It really put things into perspective in terms of how supportive Peace Corps is, no matter where you are (so long as you are a PCV visiting in the states or another Peace Corps country :-) ).

If you are interested in visiting Nicaragua, doing it with Carolyn is pretty much impossible at this point, since I took up the last of her vacation- but our experience in Managua should in no way deter anyone from visiting. Nicaraguans are extremely hospitable and wonderful people, but just like anywhere, always have your guard up- even at home, where we often feel a false sense of comfort, that nothing can happen to us.We are both still healing, but it would take a lot more than this to stop the two of us from traveling, doing what we love... and hurling ourselves down active volcanoes.

Having twenty-one days of annual leave left before my completion of service (COS), I decided to do a bit of traveling around Central America. My first week was planned and spent on the island of Utila in Honduras with my two training buddies, Marisha and Robin, and then two weeks in Nicaragua to spend time with my dear friend and fellow Peace Corps volunteer, Carolyn.

I arrived in Managua after a three hour delay at 830pm, where Carolyn met me at the bus station and we promptly headed straight to the hotel, grabbed some dinner, did some catching up before we zonked out for the night. The next day Carolyn had some errands to run at the Peace Corps office, so it wasn't until Wednesday, 14 July that we officially started our vacation.

That morning we left the Peace Corps office and headed to the bus stop on a busy street. Our plan was to visit and have lunch with Carolyn's host family from training, and then go to the near-by town of Masaya, which is known for its artisan crafts (a chance for me to do some drooling and perhaps get some new ideas).

After waiting at the bus stop for about ten or fifteen minutes, a woman, who also appeared to be waiting, started chatting with us and asked us how we liked Nicaragua, how long we have been here for? She was very nice and seemed interested in what we had to say. We told her we are both volunteers and have been here for almost two years, Carolyn in Nicaragua, me in Guatemala. She then asked us where we were going, and said she was also going to Masaya. She then proceeded to offer to share a taxi with us.

Upon entering the taxi, Carolyn sat on the left, I sat in the middle, the woman sat up front, and a man sat next to me on the right rear. After about moving ten metres or so, another guy indicated that he was also heading to Masaya and tried to get in on Carolyn's side, which would have sandwiched us in the car. At that point she told me she was getting a bad feeling, and we didn't allow him to sit beside Carolyn; instead, the guy sat up front next to the woman. As we continued to move down the main road, the man sitting next to me started asking us how we liked Nicaragua. I wasn't 100% comfortable at that point myself and didn't engage in conversation.

About one minute later, the woman mentioned that we should lock our door. Carolyn and I looked at each other and ignored the suggestion. Carolyn asked that we be let off at the next bus station. The driver started turning into where the bus station was, started slowing down, and then slammed on the accelerator down a dirt road. As soon as Carolyn started screaming and everyone else was yelling, I knew this was a situation we could no longer get ourselves out of.

Carolyn tried opening the door to escape, but the guy in the front jumped on top of her to lock the door, she tried kicking him back, but got punched in the face. While that went on, the man next to me pulled out a knife and started yelling and threatening that we cooperate, while hitting us on our heads, otherwise we would get hurt "very badly."

We were ordered to shut our eyes and cover them with our hands. They immediately started searching our pockets, taking out the little cash we had, our phones, cutting the string attached to my camera that I had tied to my belt loop and demanded to know where our bank cards were.

"Sólo queremos 'money'," The man next to me kept on saying, as he continued to threaten us and hit us on the head with the butt of his knife.

I kept on thinking to myself that this will end soon. But it didn't.

Somehow, I was unnervingly calm during the whole ordeal. I don't know if it was because I was so scared I didn't know how to react, or I just wanted it to be over with as quickly as possible so instead of fighting back I just did what they wanted.

After searching through our pockets, the man started undoing my belt and button of my pants. Inside I was screaming, but the knife kept on flashing in my head, and fear ran through me as to what they would do to Carolyn if I fought back. They only patted me down to see if I was hiding a money belt, a relief to the height of my horror.

About twenty minutes in, they went through my small backpack, where they found my MP3 player, and told us to direct them to our ATM cards. Once found, they demanded our PIN numbers with the threat that if we didn't give them the correct numbers we would be put in even more of harm's way. Once given our PIN numbers, the woman in the front was dropped off at or near-by some ATM to verify that the numbers we gave them were correct, and we continued to drive around for another thirty minutes until she called saying the withdrawal was successful.

Before they let us go, the man next to me stuffed money into my hand and asked told us to take a taxi straight to Leon. That Masaya was very dangerous, as was Managua (yes, our abductors told us this as they were abducting us). Ironically, the money he gave me was more than he had taken out of my pockets.

We were released out of the car and our backpacks were thrown to the ground before the car sped away down the dirt road. The trunk was left up, so we were unable to get the license plate number.

We looked around the wooded, remote area we were dumped in. We were both shaking, relieved to be out of the situation, but had no idea as to where we were and what we may encounter next.

We walked up the dirt road for about ten minutes until we hit pavement and saw a hotel. A bit uneasy, thinking that our abductors may have a connection with the hotel, we went anyway; we had no other choice.

The hotel staff quickly realised what had just happened, and immediately called the police, while Carolyn called the Peace Corps office for someone to come pick us up.

A driver from Peace Corps came to get us and took us to the police station while we waited around until we realised we were waiting for someone who was taking their time on their lunch break. I had some minor burst outs of tears, but it wasn't until we arrived to the Peace Corps office and inside the building did I break down, and Carolyn was the more composed one at that point.

The Peace Corps / Nicaragua management and staff have been nothing short of amazing in helping us deal with what we were put through- I have also gotten calls from the Guatemala staff checking in on me. It makes me wonder what lone travelers have done after being put through this.

I cannot express the gratitude from the amount of e-mails and calls I have received. All of them have been urging me to come home, but I would be defeated if I were to have done that. If I would have had to decide the day it happened, I would probably be sitting at home in Clarence, confused, locked up in my room and wondering if I had made the right decision.

Instead, Carolyn and I spent the long weekend in her site watching trash television shows, movies and Sex and the City DVDs... and of course I got the opportunity to meet her friends, fellow teachers and her home for the past twenty months- the reason I had come to Nicaragua. I will be returning to Guatemala on Monday to continue on with my last three months of work.

Life has gone on, and we are unbelievably thankful for that- and also realise how much worse it could have been.

On the bright side, what didn't get stolen? My five-and-a-half year old Canon SLR, C$900 (~45USD) from Carolyn's left bra, C$800 (~40USD) and my US debit card from my left and right bra, respectively. It has brought a whole new meaning to "cash or debit?"

But the most important thing that didn't get stolen: us, obviously.

Please, please, please, if anyone plans on traveling ANYWHERE, check out the US Department of State website, or to get even more useful travel information, creep away on Peace Corps Journals to find a volunteer serving in a country you will be traveling to and contact them. I can assure you that about 99%, if not 100% of PCVs will be more than happy to provide safety, security and realistic travel information to anyone who asks for it.

"Do what you can, with what you have, where you are," - Theodore Roosevelt

The last 22 months (a la grán...) that I have spent in Guatemala during my Peace Corps service have shaped me into the person I always wanted to become (read: I have not changed at all; rather, I have become more myself). I guess plopping you down in the middle of nowhere for two years can do that to you. But I don't want to get remotely philosophical with a title like "An Alternative Way of Cooking," so let's stop right there.

Of the innumerable life skills I have learnt whilst being down here, I have finally learnt how to cook. For those of you who have known me for quite a while, this truly is nothing short of a miracle, right? And for all of you who thought that the day would never come... well, I sure showed you.

And I'm not even talking about turning popcorn kernels and oil into light, fluffy deliciousness (no microwave required)- I'm talking about baking a cake without an oven.

Let me rephrase: with a Peace Corps oven.

Becoming a Peace Corps volunteer turned out to mean more than just learning an unorthodox amount of patience for people to show up for a meeting (waiting 2+ hours at times); it means doing without the many comforts and eases of home. And no, a Peace Corps oven isn't something that we get issued by Peace Corps before heading out to site... it's just a tuna can filled with water, a couple pots and pans placed over your burner, and voila.

And I'm not even kidding.

I was recently asked by some friends of mine to show them how to make carrot cake- a simple recipe with just one or two ingredients that can be found in San Marcos- the rest available in town.

The trick to this was that Fredy and Miriam didn't have a wood-burning stove as I had originally thought- just an open fire that they always cook on.

I was up for the challenge.

Getting the batter ready before adding in the carrots.

Peace Corps oven meets campo: I guess that's kind of redundant. I only had one baking pan, but since the recipe makes two cakes, we had to make do with what was available and use a smaller pot. From bottom to top: fire, comal (a flat surface on which tortillas are usually made), on which you place a tuna can filled with water, and then you place the pans with the batter in it, and cover that with a larger pot. And wait.

About 45 minutes later (normal baking time, even at high-altitude), the finished product.

Yum! Caleb couldn't wait to fill his tummy with pastel de zanahoria.

And if you thought that was cool, what to do if you've been out in the fields all day, and all you have with you are a few eggs, a plastic bag and some water from a nearby stream? No pot or pan to cook anything in.

Eat raw eggs? Nah, not if you're with a Guatemalan.

Fredy had told me when he used to go out and work in the fields with his father as an adolescent, his father would fill a plastic bag with water and eggs and then place the plastic bag over the fire for about ten minutes until the eggs were cooked.

I didn't want to believe him- how could a plastic bag full of water not melt when placed over hot coals or even a fire?

Since it had been well over ten years since Fredy had done this, we had to try a few times until we were finally successful.

Trial numero uno. Place eggs in bag and fill with water with no air in the bag.

The bag eventually broke from the pine needles- not the fire.

...and it slightly cooked.

String to tie the bag? No es necesario.

Doña Mercedes told us that we have to cover the water- and egg-filled bag with the coals. Sounds even nuttier, but mama knows best.

There was a small mishap with the second egg... it fell onto the ground while in the bag and was no longer of use for our experiment.

Egg number three. Will we just have an egg explode all over the kitchen or a fine hard-boiled egg? We shall see.

Whoops. We kind of forgot about the egg while preparing the cake batter, but luckily the egg was still intact.

Now that's what I call a boiled egg. Who needs a pot?

Even Lester was stunned by this marvel.

It is truly rare that an ambassador takes the time to visit communities, see Peace Corps volunteers' work and the people whom with they work alongside, learn an indigenous language- all for the sake of doing his job to the best of his ability. Guatemala is lucky to have an incredibly interested and literally out-going representative to Guatemala, Ambassador Stephen McFarland.

It is even enviable amongst Peace Corps volunteers when this-dare I say über cool- ambassador makes a visit to a PCV's site while on his way to or from official state business.

Comitancillo recently had the pleasure and privilege to host the Ambassador for a short, but action-packed visit, which started with a fashionably-late arrival... which was a blessing, kind of. Of the year and a half I have been a volunteer at AMMID, there has never been a problem with getting locked out of the office. Except on the day the ambassador to Guatemala comes to visit.

Solution? Break-in (and clean up all evidence ASAP). Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Erwin, one of the agriculture guys, breaks the window for us to host Amb. McFarland.

Isa giving Ambassador McFarland a reconocimiento from AMMID.

All right. Call me self-righteous or whatever, but you must admit that you would be pretty psyched if your ambassador bought a textile product from your women's groups that they made and you, yourself, designed. Awesome.

Shane, the dentist in town who opened the clinic the day Ambassador McFarland visited, had an impromptu cutting-duct-tape ceremony that was facilitated by the Ambassador's pocket knife. I must be honest and say I was a bit disappointed that Shane didn't use floss as his ribbon. :-(

Me, Charlie, Amb. McFarland, Lauren and Abby

Not that we already didn't know that Ambassador McFarland is an ace man, he brought each of us PCVs a plate of his famous home-made brownies all the way to San Marcos from Guatemala City. You really can't get any cooler than that.

In Comitancillo, birthdays are not a particularly big celebratory occasion as it has become in the Western world; lavish parties with an assortment of decorations, finger foods, and a much-too-expensive birthday cake that contains over-processed cream that doesn't really taste like cream, but more like the container it actually came from.

In the association I have been assigned to, we celebrate a birthday every month or two. The last two birthdays celebrated were those of my site mate, Charlie's 24th, his counterpart, Erwin's 28th, and the accountant, Heidi's 25th.

Just like any other meeting in Guatemala, a detailed agenda is made.

Objectives (Just in case someone forgot why they were attending the birthday party.)Mañanitas (Happy Birthday song)Space for Expression (This is where everyone goes around the table and basically says something nice about the person whose birthday is being celebrated. Afterwards, the person whose birthday is being celebrated says a general thanks to everyone and why they feel special.)Gift Giving (Everyone pools in Q10 to buy a birthday gift for each person, and then one person is selected to present the gift, usually requiring another short speech that includes "es muy sencillo, pero viene con todo el cariño de todo nosotros" it's a very small gift, but it comes with all the love from all of us"Hugs (Guatemala has an unfortunate tradition of giving very awkward hugs- usually a one-arm, pat on the back that lacks a good, tight squeeze of a real, meaningful, two-armed hearty hug.)Snack (A small sandwich with potato chips and hot chocolate with marshmallows.)Words of Thanks (Thanking everyone for coming to celebrate the birthdays and wishing the celebrated one more time.)

Rubén, the director, giving Heidi a one-armed hug.

Isa giving Carlitos his sencillo regalito.

Although some (or perhaps many) of you may not be able to appreciate the goodness of what were the 80s (minus the hair- seriously, WTF), it is possibly an undeniable fact that some of the best one-hit-wonders came from the decade that, in hindsight, should have had the most fashion police on force.

I am now in the final stages of my time as a PCV. With less than six months to go (not including the All-Volunteer Conference, 4th of July party and three week Honduran / Nicaraguan holiday in July, which will leave me with just the last few days of July left of actual project work), I feel the clock ticking. With just the last bit of May left, a few days of work in July and about half of October, realistically this leaves me with just over three months left to get things accomplished (that is, June, August and September).

Maybe now is a bit of a premature time to reflect on some of the challenges I have had, but there was one point of my service where I seriously considered ET-ing (early terminating), but words cannot express how glad I am that I made the decision to tough it out.

January 2009. It was my third month in site and I had just found out that my NGO's three-year funding had ended. The best part? They didn't start the application process for the next three years of funding until - wait for it - January. Actually, this is the best part: as someone new to the artisan project, the director of my NGO wanted and expected me to write the proposal for the next three years of funding for the artisans. What the...?

I barely knew anything about the groups, let alone the project, and to make matters worse, the head artisan, my wonderful counterpart Isa, was not hired for the this process because at the time she was unable to use a computer, which is why I was insensibly assigned to a job that wasn't really supposed to be my responsibility.

What really put the icing on my frustration was that for almost the entire month of January I had no water in my house- neither did the rest of town. So leave it to Murphy's Law- things always get worse before they get better- and worse they got: during this time I got what was one of the worst bouts of food-poisoning I had ever gotten during my service (but I guess there's still time for worse)- simultaneous explosive diarrhea and projectile vomiting with no flushing ability that lasted for three days. And then rocking up to the Peace Corps office after an eight hour bus ride and not having showered for over a week (not even wet wipes).

So this what they were talking about when roughing it. Good times.

I kept on thinking to myself, "Barbara, this is the real test- get through this, and you can get through anything."

Well, everything sure got through me all right, and I would like to believe that I have gotten through most, if not all, of the challenges I have been put through the past nineteen months- be that on professional or personal levels, both have pushed me to have a more positive outlook on life. If you can't change a situation, you must change your attitude. No easy feat, but there must always be an alternative outlook.

My last few months here will certainly be filled with challenges (save my holiday- woohoo!)-trying to leave my projects here as completed as possible and figuring out my post-PC life (yikes).

While it would be a complete lie to say I am not excited of what lies beyond in the future, it would also be untrue to say I am not sad to know that my time left here is limited... two years really isn't that long.

Realizing my service is slowly coming to an end, I have found myself trying to take advantage of things I had previously taken for granted- such as hanging out and playing more with the kids on my street, taking more time to chat with the many vendors in the market, and I have found myself becoming increasingly patient as my ladies chat (read: gossip) away in Mam in the artisan store as I wait for one of them to translate for me so I can give them my own two cents, ;-) or just being stopped in the street to say a quick buenos días or buenas tardes by one of my 120 ladies who happen to be in town on any given day, asking when I am going to visit them in their community next.

Heading back to the states will be a challenge in itself- I haven't lived there since December 2007, and while I am entirely sure I will not be returning to Buffalo for the long-term, I am still uncertain as to whether or not I will move somewhere else within the country.

The other option? Take advantage of my dual US - Hungarian (EU) citizenship and search for an opportunity within any of the European Union member states. Since I am fortunate to have access to such, I may as well explore my options on both continents.

So that is exactly what I plan on doing: keep my options open. I have learnt that you can plan things to the T, but sometimes it's better to just take the punches as they come and be spontaneous.

Here's to an uncertain, but certainly exciting, future- both here in Guatemala and where ever the wind blows me to next.

Gone are the days of staying home from secondary school sick, laying in bed with a high fever and watching endless hours of Billy Mays screaming at me, convincing me that my toilet bowl looked like it hadn't been cleaned since 1982, and then further convincing me of why I needed a product that could help me with that problem I never had- but then he would double the amount of OxiClean that would be sent to me, at half the price! Done.

All right, so I never actually watched infomercials (that much), but we have all seen, and skipped past, the pitch for MagneScribe, the pen that not only magnetically attaches to giant, nerd alarm-sounding lanyard (so not only do they convince you that you lose every pen you have ever owned, but that you need a giant digital clock hanging around your neck because you are always running behind). And all this with their "revolutionary magnetic technology." Coulda fooled me.

So then why on earth am I writing about infomercials in Guatemala? I don't own a television, thus ruling out any and all possibility of even having to think about them.

But the camioneta (bus) rides. Oh, the camioneta rides. The sixteen hour round-trip schlep it takes me to get from my site to the Peace Corps office. Whether it's food vendors or beggars, the rides are never quiet or relaxing. But inevitably, on almost every ride comes someone who is Guatemala's version of the Billy Mays-style infomercial (please read above disclaimer for sentence structure).

Step 1: Always wear sunglasses to avoid eye contact so you cannot feel like you are being as deceptive as you really are.

Step 2: Showing some kind of medicinal plant that is actually not in the product will automatically increase the likelihood of sales.

Step 3: Show a few grotesque photos of infections and fungi that none of us have probably ever had (this would be the convincing your audience of having an ailment that they do not actually, nor probably never will, have).

Step 4: Still focusing on keeping the attention of your potential clients, take out the product and perform an over-dramatized product example.

Step 5: After over-dramatized product example, state an overly-exorbitant price that they could get this phenomenal product for in the pharmacy, but hoy en día (today), the price will be slashed to one fifth of the retail value.

I am in the midst of my biggest challenge in my Peace Corps service: trying to implement an actual micro-credit program that would actually remain functioning (hello, sustainability) after I finish my service at the end of this October. Scary (both implementing the micro-credit program and finishing my service).

There are ten groups of artisans who crochet, weave, tailor and embroider products- some groups only specialize in one area, while some of the more advanced groups specialize in more than one area. There are about 130 women all together, most of whom are illiterate / have not had much schooling, so that makes the whole "teaching business concepts" on my end of the deal that much more of a challenge... not to mention the language barrier (because most of the ladies have not gone to school, they have a poor level of Spanish- worse than mine ;-P). But they are all very lovely women who are very good at what they do... but they just don't "get" the business aspect of things.

The way the artisan component of AMMID works: they get funding from an outside organization for specific projects, workshops and outings (for certain groups of women to be able to see what other groups of other organizations from different parts of the country are doing and how they work).

The problem with the funding for the workshops is that the four intermediate groups receive funding (capital) for materials to make products. The idea behind this is that they will practice making specific products and designs, which they will then sell, keep the product for themselves and reinvest the capital (given by the donor organization) to purchase new materials, so they can keep on making products to sell, and continue to reinvest the base capital in new materials each and every time they sell their finished product.

Fíjense que, the women are not doing that- instead of reinvesting, they are keeping the capital (to buy whatever- food, clothing, etc.- they see it as a donation to them, for some reason) and wait for the next workshop to come around for them to get new capital for new materials, and it keeps going through this vicious cycle.

This is a huge error on part of AMMID, which I am trying to rectify. We just had our monthly meeting two weeks ago, and I am working on a micro-credit proposal plan. AMMID's funding will end in December 2011, and currently they are desperately searching for new future funders (which I am also helping them with- creating a blog and Facebook page explaining what AMMID is with Chico, the guy in charge of this project).

The way I see it (and I have told them this), is that if they don't have more control over the capital given by the donor organizations, they they will not receive funding from other future organizations (who will basically view them as being irresponsible with the previous funding).

AMMID's argument has been that if they do implement a micro-credit program, they they will lose a lot of the women in theartisan groups- well, if that's so, then at least the ones who are willing to do it the correct way will be the most successful in the end.

I am really pushing for this because the way it is right now is not sustainable, it's not being handled like a business, nor is it an ethical way they are handling the donor's money. I think they are just afraid they will lose numbers, but are not looking at the long-term affects, which I am trying to showcase.

It's quite a challenging situation, but it really is something that needs to be done if they want to continue on in the years to come. The idea would be to create an administrative change within the organization itself (more control of the donor money), which would need to be approved by the board of directors of AMMID, and then also do charlas, or "talks," to each group of artisans about simple business concepts, i.e., reinvesting, administration, repaying on time, cost of production, etc., for them to see why this would be beneficial for all parties involved, included themselves.

Let the games begin...

Basically, I've been letting my dog (did I mention I have a dog? I guess that calls for another post explaining) sleep in my room on the mat that my site mate, Kelly, had her dog sleep on. Chula has been sleeping in my room for at least two weeks now without incident.

House trained!

Or maybe not.

I have yet to clean up all the "stuff" Kelly left in the spare room, including the "I don't give a s**t" note she taped up on her door a few frustrating months before her completion of service (this very well could have been around the same time her brand new MacBook, hidden under her bed, got flooded under eight inches of mud after her house flooded due to drainage problems that have since been fixed).

I woke up to a funk and wandered into the other room.

What can I say? At least Chula has a sense of humor (and good aim).

More training to come...

Apparently Chula didn't either.

Sorry, I'm too lazy to rewrite this in English. Try Google translate if you're really itching to find out what I wrote- or just learn Hungarian.

Már egy jó ideje nem írtam egy magyar blog beszámolót, többnyire azért, mert mióta itt vagyok Guatemalában, alíg van alkalmom magyarul beszélni- esetleg hetente egyszer vagy kétszer anyukámmal telefonon eldumálunk, de azon kivül nagyon nem... legalább mostanáig.

Amikor először idejöttem november 2008-ban, akkor valahogyan idekerült egy olyan japán önkéntes, aki magyar szakot végzett egy japán egyetemen. Igazából nem tudom, hogy ki jobban lepődött meg azon, hogy másikunk magyarul beszél, de hát jó móka volt.

A srác azért nem csinált túlságosan sokat itt- ahhoz képest, hogy "önkéntes munkát" akart végezni és tanulni akart mezőgazdaságról, egyszer sem fogta magát kertészkedni- hanem inkább a szobájában ült egész nap és spanyolul tanult... egyedül.

Na, szóval az volt az első tapasztalatom egy magyar beszélő emberrel itt Guatemalában, de nem volt sok közös témánk! Hamarosan el is ment... és igazából nem mondhatnám, hogy az itteniek hiányolták!

Most fastforwardoljunk egy kicsikét (még teljesen folyékonyan beszélek mangolul / Hunglish)- egy közös ismerős révén találkoztam egy igazi magyar önkéntessel, Lilla, aki már egy ideje él Antigua, Guatemalában, de nem régen beköltözött egy házban, és meghívott, hogy maradjak náluk és csináljunk gulyás levest és pogácsát a szobatársainak, mivel már hónapok óta igérte, hogy csinálni fogja. Az első magyar tál, mióta Buffalo-ban voltam augusztusban és két héten keresztül tömtem magam az anyukam kosztjával (gondolom legtöbben tudjátok, hogy ez nem egy lehetetlen dolog... sőt!).

Magyarul beszélni, magyar kosztot készíteni, magyar zenét hallgatni egy magyar baratnővel... egy isteni álom volt!

Akkor jöttem rá, hogy mennyire fontos nekem az én magyarságom, amikor ezeket az apró kis dolgokat újra csinálhattam ennyi idő után.

Az elkészítés kép története:

Odaértem, amikor már egy ideje főzött a marha hús.

Csak is magyar paprikával lehet igazi gulyás levest főzni!

Az apróra vágott zöldségek.

Főzni nem lehet zene nélkül.

Jól megszortuk magyarországi paprikával.

Jól megkeverjük...

Házi tejföl a fokhagymás pogácsához.

Na... az történt, hogy valahogyan odaégett a paprika az edény aljára, és hát sajnos ki kellet szűrni az egészet mivel annyira keserű lett a gulyásnak az íze. Közben a Lillának kellett jóga órát tartania, úgyhogy rám maradt a gulyás főzés, pogácsa elkeszítés feladat. Életembe még nem készítettem gulyást, sem pogácsát. Nagy elszántsággal nekiálltam... de azért még előtte felhívtuk anyukámat, ne hogy kétszer rontsuk el. Lilla elindult. Rám maradt a feladat.

Füstölt szalonnát újra sütjük, amíg kijönn belöle a zsír. Kivesszük a szalonnát (és talán megesszük), és hozzáadunk jó sok apróra vágott hagymát, amíg üvegesre párol.

Füstölt szalonna.

Újra megszortam jó sok paprikával.

Frissen vágott fokhagyma a pogihoz.

Fokhagymás pogácsa massza.

Nagyon, nagyon sokáig hagyuk állni, amíg a hús nem fő meg.

Kár, hogy az illatát nem lehet feltölteni a blogspot-ra!

Időben jött a Lilla a pogácsát elkezdeni.

...és nagyon finom volt.

Egy álom valóra vált!

A társaság.

Az első kostolás előtt. Nagy volt az izgalom!

Ilyen pogácsa volt...

...meg olyan is!

Egy kis jó kis csípőssel annál finomabb.

Enélkül nem ment volna!

Holy Week is quite a big deal in Latin America, to say the least. For a Christian-dominated country where religion is the centerpiece of practically any event- be that a casual monthly office meeting or good-bye party- Holy Week is kind of a big deal.

Although last year I thoroughly enjoyed Semana Santa with friends at Guatemala's No. 1 surfing destination, Sipacate, the 8 hour bus trip turned into a 16 hour nightmare- packed buses with people hanging out and riding on top, and two-lane roads turned into five-lane standstills that lasted forever, which left us walking a good stretch to avoid the bus that had turned into a Finnish sauna- minus the cold weather and drinks to look forward to directly afterwards.

So, because of a combination of traveling to the Peace Corps center two weeks in a row, as well as not seeing the festivities in town last year, I opted to stay put and take advantage of my five-day holiday in site. And that's exactly what I did.

There wasn't much going on Wednesday and Thursday, but I was looking forward to the processions and the decorative rugs (made from colored wood shavings) on the streets on Friday. My site mate, Lauren, is involved in the youth group at the Catholic church in town, so I made sure to ask her what time the processions would be so I wouldn't miss them.

The night preceding Good Friday I got a phone call at 315am. Half-asleep and confused, I picked up. It was Lauren. I got a bit of a fright for a second, thinking something may have happened with her. She told me she was outside my door and she needed my hose to help make the rugs on the street.

I hung up and checked the time again. Yup, indeed it was 315am, and she left with my hose.

And Lauren had officially become culturally integrated.

Much to my dismay, when I woke up in the morning I ran straight to the bathroom. It seems like I have been having an on-again, off-again stomach bug since late December, and unfortunately that caused me to miss all of the processions in town. By mid-afternoon, though, I was feeling a bit better so I ventured out into town to see what was going on, but sadly everything had finished up, and all was left were the chalked outlines of the rugs on the pavement.

All photos care of Lauren:

The rug-making commenced at 230am- ¡púchica!

Bittersweet: after 7 hours of hard work, it gets walked on. Así es la vida.

Lauren had mentioned that a group was going to the (newly-filled with fresh water) town pool on Saturday morning. I jumped at the opportunity to do some long-awaited laps and just enjoy a peaceful Saturday morning at the pool.

Or so I thought.

As we approached the pool, there was a sizable crowd gathered along the fencing. We paid our Q1 ($0.12) entrance and made our way in and started off by jumping off the high-dive into the deep end. It was so nice to get back into the water- I didn't realize how much I missed it until suiting up and getting in.

After about an hour or so, they announced that there was going to be a swimming competition. Music to my ears! Lauren, Abby (another PCV from the next town over) and I lined up beneath the diving boards. Three gringas competing against one another in front of what grew to be a crowd of 300+ conservative indigenous spectators.

I never heard cheers so loud.

Although it was fun to compete against Lauren and Abby, I wanted to race some locals. Since the women's competition only consisted of the three foreigners in town, I took it upon myself and entered myself in the men's competition.

Eight indigenous men that do hard manual labor in the fields everyday, one gringa, 50 meters (two laps).

Oh- did I mention I swam for 15 years- competitively?

I just thought it was too good of an opportunity to let slip through my fingers- I mean, when else would I be able to show half the town- men, women and children- that women can excel over men in sports? If that wasn't good enough, I also managed to impress everyone with a reallycrappy flip turn.

One thing I did feel bad about- and did not know- is that there was a monetary prize for competing. I tried to decline, but Q50 (~6.25 USD) for the women's, and Q25 (~3.12 USD) for the men's competition was shoved in my hand, with the promise that I would buy a beer for Elvio, the prize distributor.

The crowd around and inside the pool- this is only about one quarter of the people who were watching.

Some had better views than others from high above.

The diving competition with fully-clothed participants- sneakers included.

Lauren's award-winning dive that won her 1st place in the diving competition. The gringas dominated.

But it wasn't until the next evening that I was basking in my glory. As I was walking down my long cobblestone road into town to get some dinner, I passed by three boys. They asked me when I was going to go swimming next? I asked if they wanted to race me?

Their response? "YES!"

Though I am not the author of this, I thought some parts of it were well-related to some aspects of Guatemala- namely in the bigger cities, such as Xela, Antigua, and Guatemala City, but even better related to Hungary.

The Second World

The defining characteristic of a Second World country is the non-absorbent napkin. From Moscow to Valparaiso, if your café napkin is a square of waxed paper that takes grease from your lips and spreads it to the rest of your face, you can be certain of encountering the whole constellation of other traits common to those industrialized countries where people make less than $20,000 a year (specifically: clean but strong-tasting running water, the Ford Fiesta or its local equivalent, new trains on old tracks, pavement as on ongoing process rather than an accomplished fact, metal buckets on dirty ropes, dogs of uncertain provenance, merchants hosing down their section of sidewalk, manhole covers left open, sixty-eight satellite dishes on one roof, cheap plastic washing machines that fit in a bathtub, paper currency that rapidly gets filthy, a complete absence of vending machines, streets that don't drain, iron fences around suburban homes, good but watery beer, kiosks fulls of cheap plastic toys, sidewalks with little square lakes where tiles are missing, affordable cigarettes, escalators with wooden steps, the cinder block as the unit of construction, toilet attendants who sell grey toilet paper by the square and receive tips in a little plate, train stations and theatres with fifty glass doors but only one of them open, rectangular buses that belch black smoke, elevators with little inner doors that have to be closed by hand, the complete inability to ever make change).

Living in Latin America, for what is now my twentieth month, has allowed me to grow quite a nice, thick layer of skin to ignore comments, and even at times unwelcomed gestures (a firm drive-by glut-groping was my initiation during the second week of training for, what I would later discover, would soon expand to other parts of my body).

It has frustrated and disgusted me the way men treat women- as mere objects that just happen to cook, clean, wash and bear and care for child after child (including the husbands themselves)- and God forbid they open their mouths and express some sort of formed opinion after putting up with ridiculous behavior or bad news bears! Oy vey.

Anywho... for quite some time now I have flirted with the thought of having the roles reversed- that is, what if it were the women who degraded men in both a verbally and physically derogatory manner?

And of all places, in Guatemala?

"Ha, impossible!" you laugh to yourself.

Oh, but I beg to differ.

This morning I left my site at 8:30am (with one hour notification!) to Antigua to attend the swear-in ceremony of the latest training group at Ambassador McFarland's house in Guatemala City (the brownies that are served after the ceremony are to die for which is the real reason I traveled seven hours in an uncomfortable bus).

After switching buses in Xela and getting as comfortable as a 5'10" woman can get in a school bus from 1983 (read: knees up to my chin), I popped in my earphones and start jamming to- what else? 80s classics.

Unfortunately that was under-toned by five rowdy 16-22 year-old girls, who were just plain obnoxious. I though I had escaped them after transferring buses, yet again, the Antigua-direct from Chimaltenango, but they had followed me up on the bus and sat directly in front of me, continuing with their wildly boisterous behavior, peeving off not only me, but the neighboring passengers as well.

And it was not until the ayudante, the dude who collects the fare, came around that my opinion on these girls changed. Completely.

After collecting the money from the back of the bus, where we were seated, he turns around to head back to the front of the bus and the ring leader, bleached blonde hair pulled back into a tight pony-tail, with layers upon layers of make-up caked onto what looked like her face and g-string hanging out of her pants, lifts up her hand and gives a good crackling slap onto his bum.

"Dale, papi, dale!" shouts her friend sitting next to me.

He slithered back up to the front of the bus, tail between his legs; horrified, humiliated, dumbstruck.

Uncomfortable.

The next time he came to the back to collect the fare of new people who came on the bus, he made sure to back up a few steps before turning around.

The humane part in me felt sorry for him- for a hot second.

I suppose it would be unfair in assuming that this guy should be categorized with the majority of men I have met in this country, but let's not kid ourselves either: he probably had it coming to him.

And it was so awesome to witness.

It's funny how people can dish it, but when it is handed right back at them- even in small portions- they run away like frightened 5-year-olds.

"Qué rico te ves!" - these girls kept at it like it was their job.

And it was when and where these girls got off that I realized that it probably was their job. As Canadian ballet dancers of Guatemala.

Nevertheless, they made my day.

For the past 15 years, my town has had the privilege of hosting a group of mainly Canadian (with the odd American) dental organization, Dentistry For All (DFA), based out of Calgary, Alberta for two weeks, with an in-town clinic in the center of town, and a second satellite clinic that moves to a different village each day.

It started off 15 years ago with a single dentist, Dr. Dennis Bedard, who came to just pull teeth (which, according to all the dentists I have spoken to, is not nearly as hard as the saying would make one think), and it has turned into a five-week tour of Guatemala- the main focus being my town, where the dentists stay for two weeks, and the rest of the sites (in the departments of Sacatepéquez, Guatemala and El Petén) get one-week visits.

This, being my second year translating with the group, I can truly say that this organization is phenomenal. Hands down. No questions asked. I mean, dentistry put aside (no offense guys), they would still be #1 in my book for one sole reason: they are the reason why my ladies have had such a success with their kippahs- for a good number of the dentists are Jewish, and when they found out there was a kick-ass amazing artisan group in town, they asked my indigenous Mayan ladies if they would be up to the challenge of crocheting Judaica products- namely, kippahs?

And of course the answer was ax!, or yes in Mam. And truthfully speaking (or writing, I should say- errr, write), it has made me a bit verklempt, as the ladies are one of just two groups in Guatemala (that I know of) that produce and sell their kippahs online to an international market.

Not too shabby, if I do say so myself.

Anywho, back to the dentists... all in all, about 20 dentists, oral surgeons, assistants, hygienists, sterilizers and techies came to town for the two weeks- some of them returning for their umpteenth time, while it was a first-time visit for many of them. The procedures they offer range from simple, such as general cleanings, fillings and extractions, to more complicated- we're talking root canals and wisdom teeth extractions.

As I mentioned in last year's post about the dentists, they have imposed a Q5 (~ 0.63 USD) charge per procedure up to Q20 (even if more than four procedures are done), so that the service will be valued, since Q20 per person can be quite a bit of money for many of the families here in town. The money then goes back to he host organization, AMMID, the local NGO I work with, and it is used for additional projects.

The time, effort and work everyone has put in to make this work year after year, both in Canada and in Guatemala, is incredible. Peace Corps /Guatemala started a (silly) new policy that does not allow PCVs to translate for groups, and I quite honestly was pretty bummed that I was not going to be able to work with DFA this year, but thankfully because of timing, we were given an exception. (FYI- after quite a bit of uproar from the volunteer community, as well as a six-way Skype conference call between the Volunteer Advocacy Council and Peace Corps / Guatemala management, we came to the conclusion that this kind of work is actually pretty legit for all parties involved- however an official decision is yet to be announced).

If you would like to learn more about DFA, or if you are in Canada and would like to buy some awesomely beautiful artisan products that my ladies make, visit either link below (they only ship within Canada).

http://www.dentistryforall.org/

http://www.dentistryforall.secure2cart.com/products.html

Packing up after the last day. This photo does no justice to the amount of work, hauling, unpacking, organizing, repacking and more hauling of hockey bags full of dental equipment and medicines. You guys rock.

The following is a guest entry by my kick-ass friend who used two weeks of her vacation to visit me. I'm sorry we didn't get lost anywhere this time.

By Carolyn Smalkowski, PCV Nicaragua

Guatemala has enough things going for it that my visit there almost made me feel like I was visiting home. Between the heavy tourism and plethora of American comfort food, I was finally able to have what I felt was a real vacation from my Peace Corps service in Nicaragua. But I wasn’t just there to see the beautiful mountains and freeze my ass off (yes, contrary to popular belief, Guatemala is COLD), I was there to spend time with my wonderful and close friend, Barbara Veres. Upon arriving in Comitancillo, San Marcos, after a windy and very uncomfortable eight-hour bus ride from Antigua, I felt like I was entering into a fairy tale. The clouds enveloped the bus as we scaled the mountain filled with a serene forest of pine trees. Entering into Barb’s primarily indigenous community up on a hillside reminded me of what I always thought typical Peace Corps service would be like before I came to Nicaragua. A toilet, hot water, and wireless internet, on the other hand, were not. ;) [Editor’s note: the toilet only flushes when there is water, there is only hot water when there is electricity, and the wireless internet… well, it’s totally affordable on my PC stipend, so why deny myself something that is within my means? You’re just jealous, Carolyn ;-) ]. I appreciated having the opportunity to meet Barb’s famous counterpart, Isa, as well as many of her other well-liked, and not-so-well-liked, coworkers. We sat with the artisans of one community as each of them, with their quiet babies strapped to their backs, crocheted yamacas, 250 of which Barbara would later schlep half-way across the country. I learned about the different types of weaving techniques and all of the hard work that goes into each and every product. It was an experience that later persuaded me into buying two bags, two scarves, and a bed cover from her group and in the towns along Lake Atitlan (or maybe the fact that I was “on vacation” had a little to do with my happy-go-lucky spending).Overall, the experience of being in Barbara’s town gave me a better sense of her day-to-day life and the stresses and successes of her work in Guatemala. Much of it is relatable as I also live and work in Latin America, but the additional challenges of language barriers and a generally conservative indigenous culture make adjusting and integrating into her community that much harder. After visiting Comitancillo, the real Guatemalan vacation, for the both of us, finally began. We spent days in Antigua and Xela gorging ourselves on typical Guatemalan cuisine such as bagels, falafel, curry, and an all-expenses-paid candlelit dinner (with wine) financed by Mr. Ron Veres for Barbara’s 25th birthday (thanks, Barb’s dad!). The locally-grown coffee, too, was excellent, and we treated ourselves to some Guatemalan music at a cute gringo café [Editor’s note: El Cuartito in Xela, also with live Guatemalan music- not too shabby if you just want to kick it for the night]. Yeah…ex-pats have it real hard. The highlight of our trip, though, was by far Semuc Champey. Translated as, “the river that hides under the Earth”, this hidden gem, which took two full days of roundtrip travel, was more beautiful than we had imagined. Barb and I started off our day (after a not so great sleep at a slightly more rustic hostel than we had expected) on a cave tour, illuminated only by the candles with which we held on for dear life in the palms of our hands as we swam through the murky depths. At one point on the tour, we got what we thought would be an exhilarating opportunity to climb up a tall rock and jump down. After all, Carlos, our guide, had been working there for months and had never had any accidents, so what was the danger in that? Well, Carlos had apparently never met Barbara. Being the accident-prone person that she is, [Editor’s note: fair enough, that’s totally true] Barb slipped off the rock, pulling a ligament in her index finger and falling on top of me [Editor’s note: I had nowhere else to fall- she was right behind me!], leaving a hideous (but pretty bad-ass) bruise on my shin. Looking back now, it was actually pretty damn funny. The rest of the day Barb and I spent taking pictures of every twig and bush from all possible angles. We swam in the turquoise, crystal-clear ponds, and hiked up the mountain to get a sweet view of the waterfall and ponds below, fully prepared and decked out in our official hiking gear of flip flops with string tied around the ankles (left over from the caves…maybe that’s why we’re so accident prone?). Although light-years away, Semuc Champey was well worth the trip.

Overall, what can I say? Guatemala’s a pretty freakin’ cool place, and Barbara, as always, was a wonderful guide. If you haven’t yet gotten the chance to visit her, go (and stop by Nicaragua while you’re at it)! I’m looking forward to future travels around Nicaragua, El Salvador, Honduras, and other off-the-beaten-path locals with the now crunchier-than-you’ve-ever-seen Posh Corps Volunteer, Barbara Veres.

For as long as I have been in site, the past 16 months, there has been a countless number of yards of fajas sitting in the display case. From the start, I have been pushing to get gringo-styled belts made out of them, having local carpenters make wooden belt buckles, but the for whatever reason, the local carpenters said the detailed work to make the buckles wouldn't be worth it for the amount they would get compensated... not really sure why, but the point is that they weren't willing to do the job.

Still wanting to keep the work in the community, I looked for other options but found nothing in town. I pretty much gave up, but continued to ask Isa about local carpenters in the communities, with no luck.

Today when I went back to the tienda after making a round in the market ($0.15 avocados are to die for), Isa surprised me with the gorgeous leather-lined belts with the ladies' back strap weaved fajas.

The leather smith, Gabino, is from Chixal, a community that already has an artisan group. He handcrafts the belts from cow and sheep hide. The quality of his work is top-notch... exporting these, along with the kippahs, would be amazing.

So I guess the moral of the story is that if things happen, they happen in "Guate time." I think these were well-worth the wait.

My lovely ladies. And Bobby. Yes, one of them is wearing a kippah. My ladies are not only awesome, but they also have a great sense of humor.

Isa is still figuring out the prices, but the belts will probably range from 7.50 - 10 USD, depending on size.

Gabino, a leather smith with some 20 odd years of experience, has perfected his trade.

When receiving our site assignments, to make sure we have a(n) (supposedly) easier transition integrating into our community, work and general life in our new home for the next two years, Peace Corps designates someone from the organization we are to work for to help us with just that. Peace Corps calls this person, or liaison, our counterpart.

Because life (not Peace Corps, or even Guatemala) always seems to throw surprises out of left field, many PCVs have found themselves counterpart-less just a few months, or even weeks, after getting to site. One of my friends even had the experience of her counterpart defecting to the states one year into our service... yeah, it happens.

And even then, some PCVs have multiple counterparts at once, or somehow find a way to work with groups by themselves after earning the confianza of the group members. It’s a tough adjustment- not only culturally-speaking, but work ethic-wise and of course, personality-wise that can be make or break for the next two-years. Being paired up with someone you will work well with and have the same vision as is not always realistic as much as it may be ideal.

I consider myself one of the lucky few who not only continue to work with my counterpart, but have a great working and personal relationship with her.

Isabel, or Isa, is a 43-year-old indigenous Mam woman, a wife and mother of eight children (all that have survived birth, something she is very proud of). The first thing I noticed about her on counterpart day at the Peace Corps office was her determination and ambition for the artisan project to continue and to grow to, eventually, an international level.

The only teeny tiny problem with this was that Isa didn’t know how to use a computer; after all, she only has a grade six education, but a sharp mind and meticulous disposition at that. Although my first goal was to teach her how to use a computer, she constantly told me how afraid she was about breaking it or doing something wrong. I tried to figure out a way for her to get over this fear.

And then the opportunity arose to go zip-lining at our end of the year office trip, which was my second month in site in December.

I asked Isa if she was also going to go zip-lining.

She told me no, she was afraid.

“Then I’m paying and you’re going,” was my response to her.

She nervously smiled and nodded.

As she changed out of her corte into sweat pants, the other six ladies followed her lead.

Before I knew it, there were seven middle-aged indigenous ladies standing around in sweatpants, giggling like school girls as I took photos of the incredible scene.

And they all went so gracefully down to the other side, barely flinching.

Fast forward to May 2009. Isa still does not know how to use a computer because of a variety of organizational and financial difficulties surrounding our association; namely her not working for the first few months of the year, which turned into me doing much of the administrative and secretarial work for the artisan component of the association’s project, something PCVs generally are not supposed to do because of a little thing called “sustainability.” Usually kind of important when doing development work so it can actually be sustainable. Just a mere detail, really.

However, once she did get back working, the director, Ruben, made it seemingly impossible for her to learn. He came up with excuses such as there not being financial resources for her to learn (uh, HELLO! Peace Corps Volunteer (read: not secretary) at your service), she could not learn during working hours (even though this would help her advance in her work and she lives an hour away…), among other things.

But all the while he unarguably agreed that it was very important for her to learn.

…riiiight.

In mid-May I got to the point where I said “screw it” (though I must say my choice of words were a bit more vulgar), sat Isa down at the computer during work hours in front of Ruben (who didn’t dare say a word), and what was probably the most BORING two weeks of my life thus far in my 25-years of existence on earth were coincidentally the most productive I have ever had.

One of the proudest moments of my Peace Corps service came just a few days after my two-week session with Isa. I was out of town and called her to ask a question.

After asking how she was doing, she responded, Solo aquí practicando en la compu. Just here practicing on the computer.

I felt like what a parent must feel like when their child first learns how to ride a bike without training wheels.

This was the first time she had turned on the computer and worked on it by herself without me at her side.

I was beaming, inside and out.

I had done something sustainable. I had actually accomplished one of my goals, and I wasn’t even a year into my service (at that point, May 2009).

Many more things have happened since then, namely recent events, but since I don’t want to write a novel of an entry (and believe me, I could; I’ve never been known for my short and sweet written responses), the continuation will have to wait a couple more weeks… but stay tuned- this is only the beginning of why Isa kicks some serious indigenous ass.

One of my first proud moments of my Peace Corps service- getting Isa out of her traje and into her ẍnula outfit, complete with güipile and faja. And of course protective gear for zip-lining.

Getting ready to fly across the valley to the other side.

I can't help but get a tear in my eye when I see this photo.

With Isa at the New World Crafts exhibition in Guatemala City in October 2008, one week before I swore-in as a Peace Corps Volunteer.

Meet Bobby, or if you're on head-scratching terms with him, Bobito. Like all other dogs in Guatemala, he is referred to as a chucho (street dog) instead of perro (dog). I bet that if dogs had the same rights as humans, then chucho would probably be considered a derogatory term used against perros... but let's not get political.

Bobby is no ordinary chucho- he is Alpha Alpha male- yes, I used two Alphas with a capital "A", and for good reason: I have seen him kick the you-know-what out of other chuchos who try to show him, and does he ever show them right back. Think of Chuck Norris in form of a dog- that would be Bobby.

But as rough and tough as I make him out to be, Bobby is by far the friendliest chucho I have yet to meet in Guatemala. Most chuchos are known for causing Peace Corps Volunteers quite a great deal of grief- getting chased by one on your way up a mountain to visit a group is not always the best way to start off your day.

However with Bobby, instead of chasing me, many times he escorts me to and from communities that can take up to an hour to hike to, or follows me around town while I run errands. Decorated with battle wounds and machete scars, Bobby fears nothing- not even fear itself.

Bobby has made quite the name for himself in the community. As he accompanies me through town, children will call out his name as if he were a local celebrity... but I guess he kind of is. He almost never barks, but when he does I know it's for good reason: he's chasing away a bolo (drunk) from the street.

Thanks for being such an awesome chucho, Bobito!

Bobby greeting me in the morning.

Taking a siesta in the AMMID office while I get some work done.

Patience is Bobby's middle name- he'll wait for me anywhere- a true gentleman.

Bobby hanging out at the embroidery workshop.

Bobby showing Kelly and Amalia who's boss- maybe it's "dominance" that is his middle name?

As ferocious as he may be at times, Bobby has a soft heart- and a way with the ladies. Chuchas want him, chuchos want to be him.

As if being a 5'10" white woman with a swimmer's build (thanks to 15 years of freestyle and butterfly) in a town where the average height for women is probably 5'2", and for men about 5'5" didn't make me stick out enough, wearing pants make me stick out even more.

Or is it the opposite?

I have never been big on getting dressed up, never mind wearing a skirt or an actual dress - I can count on two fingers the number of times I wore either in 2009. Just simply not my wardrobe of choice.

But in my town, seated on a mountain top in an indigenous Maya-Mam region, it's the only thing almost all women wear, except for the odd gringa and ladina (non-indigenous Guatemalan woman).

Indigenous communities in Guatemala all have a traje, or suit, that is distinct to their town or village. The shirt is usually a sporadically designed blouse, bursting with flowers of any and all colors, or intricately weaved designs that usually cover the entire güipile.

The corte, or skirt, is actually a long piece of thick weaved cloth that is wrapped just under the breast bone, and then held up with a faja, or thick, but narrow, piece of cloth that is wrapped around like a security belt high at the waist.

As beautiful as some of these trajes are, the history behind them are less than impressive. When the Spanish came to what is now Guatemala, they wanted to control the movement of the indigenous population, so they made each town and village their own distinct traje (one for men, one for women). This way if someone were traveling from one town to another, they would be easily identified as from a different area or region.

A bit imperialistic, to say the least, but there are still a number of towns that proudly wear their traditional traje everyday- probably the best known town in Guatemala is Todos Santos Cuchumatantes in the department of Huehuetenango (where I also had a Huehue fun Christmas in 2008), because not only do women wear their traje, but men as well, and it's really quite beautiful.

Imagine never having to worry about what you're going to wear, but knowing that you'll be looking your very sharpest every single day- even though you are wearing the same thing as everyone else- men in their pants, women in their skirts.

But me? In a skirt? Or even a dress?

Instead, I am a woman of the pant.

And quite literally, too.

Although Spanish has its own terms for "white people," the most commonly known being gringo or gringa, Mam has a few different words that locals use to describe any gringos walking around town.

Despite my Mam being limited to a few useful phrases and words, I am still able to pick out when people are casually talking about me on the street, whip myself around at lightening speed and take them by surprise. It's kind of fun, because they're usually amazed that the gringa understands what they are saying, even though it's only a word or two I can pick out that makes me realize that I am being spoken about.

So what are these mythical words I speak about, you ask?

meisha - (Mam) depending on who you ask, this can either mean person with brown hair or whitey. Pretty much all indigenous people have jet black hair- and unfortunately due to the high rate of malnutrition in Guatemala, some indigenous people have a reddish/orange-ish tint to their hair, which is a prominent sign of chronic malnutrition)

ẍnula - (Mam) [rough pronunciation: shnoo-la] literally meaning woman of the pant

k'ẍtyan - (Mam) [rough pronunciation: ki-kshtian] literally meaning man of the woman of the pant

I don't take offense to these, as long as they're not used by complete strangers to try to talk behind my back in Mam without them realizing I in fact do understand they are speaking about me, in the very least. But even then I suppose it doesn't offend me as much as it gives me satisfaction in knowing that I can outsmart someone in their own language that I know close to nothing of.

But do I take offense to gringo?

Absolutely. It's gringA!

Unfortunately you cannot see, but I am holding true to my ẍnula label- complete with pants.

Kelly and me dressed in corte and a güipile with our good friend, Juanita, and her two children Brenda and Marcos.

When I got my invitation to serve in Guatemala in July 2008, my title was "Sustainable Agriculture Marketing Facilitator." The only marketing experience I really had was a two month internship I had two years earlier, and as for agriculture... well... does playing in the dirt when you're a kid count for anything? I didn't think so. And let's be honest: if Peace Corps had known how many plants had died as a result of me not watering them while my parents would be away for extended periods of time while I was in high school, then agriculture probably would not have been the area of choice for my placement officer.

During PST (Pre-Service Training), it was made aware to us what kind projects were going to be in our near future, and surprisingly enough, one of those projects had NOTHING to do with agriculture at all: artisan handcraft marketing. Of the eight people in the marketing training group, three of us were girls, so we were certain that it would be one of the three of us, due to the nature of the work it would entail (working with 10 women's groups- much easier to build confianza if you're a woman).

The day we found out our sites, pretty much everyone was shocked to learn that I had gotten the site with the artisan group- my other friend, Sara, has a strong art and design background, but because Peace Corps says they really try to match up sites with people's personalities, I suppose something about me must have screamed "ARTISAN!" Maybe. I didn't think so, but something did...

When I went out for my site visit, a grueling eight hour bus trip, which I still make almost once a month for some kind of Peace Corps activity or another, I got the chance to get to know some of the ladies and the products they make.

One product in particular that they make are... ready for this? Yarmulkes. Kippahs. Yamakahs. Yes, my little indigenous Mayan ladies make Judaica products. Crocheted to perfection.

As a marketing volunteer, my main goal was to of course increase the sales of the women's products- but how? Online sales seemed like the most logical way, but there was one slight problem: none of the ladies knew how to use a computer.

I tackled this, and my counterpart, Isa (who has a grade six education), now can do simple word processing, create documents, etc, but this still isn't sufficient, and I honestly couldn't expect her to learn all the intricacies of the internet within another year. So how would I make this idea a sustainable reality?

Luckily there are a number of artisan organizations that have helped out the ladies in the past, and continue to do so- training them in the process so they not only continue to have work, but expand their knowledge of techniques and designs, as well.

One particular organization, Mayan Hands, had been selling our kippahs in the US for a couple of years, but has recently launched their online store. When I found this out, I got the opportunity to speak with the director of Mayan Hands and talk to her about the pricing for the kippahs, and in order to make it more competitive to the other kippah-crocheting Mayan ladies (yes, we have competition IN Guatemala, believe it or not!), we talked about where costs could be cut... and voila. It seemed all too easy, but I guess sometimes that how things work out!

So, my friends, readers, followers, etc., please take a minute of your time to look at the beautiful products my ladies make on the Mayan Hands website.

These are probably the best selling products the ladies have; in terms of profit, it's the best percentage of money they make from any product, and it has one of the quickest turnover rates in terms of production, so rest assured that the ladies are getting a very fair price for their work.

The main goal behind the artisan project for the ladies is to provide food security for their families. San Marcos has one of the highest rates of malnutrition in Guatemala, and my town has one of the highest rates in the department of San Marcos. In addition to artisanal training, many of the ladies are also apart of the association's agriculture groups, where they learn how about nutrition (cooking classes), compost piling, building family gardens, etc., so they can utilize their money they have earned through their artisan work to provide better food security for their families.

Many of the women are single mothers, so this also provides a job opportunity for them that is near by their house. Many rural Guatemalans find themselves taking jobs down on the coast at coffee, banana and sugar cane plantations, thus forcing them to leave their families, towns, sell all of their animals and work in less than acceptable conditions.

This art gives many of the single mothers an opportunity to stay in their communities with their families and still be able to earn a living by themselves, give education opportunities to their daughters, build their self-esteem by them making financial decisions on their own, and in the process, empowering them.

The colors of the department of San Marcos (red, green, yellow and black). But because they look like rasta colors, I like to call these kippahs "rastakahs."

Doña Aida, Doña Isa (my counterpart), Doña Olindia and Doña Wilma with an assortment of products (including wine bags, yoga bags, scarves and coin purses) the ladies from 10 communities have made.

The first time I was in South Africa doing an internship from June - August 2006 (South Africa's winter months) with Rich Products in Johannesburg, South Africa, everyone in the office was enamored by the snow that melted by the time it slowly made its way down to the pavement. It was the first snowfall in 25 years. I laughed at their child-like amazement- I mean, sure, snow was (and still is) pretty rare in Johannesburg, sitting at approximately 1,700 m. (just over 1 mile) in altitude, but let's be realistic: you put a girl from Buffalo ANYWHERE with snow, and nothing can really surprise her. Nevertheless, I will admit it was pretty cool to be there at the time.

Fast forward to July of 2007. This time, I am in Buenos Aires, Argentina, taking a Spanish course for during my summer break. It was getting so frigid that I would wear my Buffalo winter jacket outside just to walk around. Before I knew it, I was looking at a light snowfall, that suddenly turned into full-on heavy snow falling, compact enough to build snowmen. This was the first time Buenos Aires had a snowfall since 1918- almost 90 years. Once again, I was there to witness it.

Now here we are, 22 December 2009, in the Western Highlands of Guatemala in the department of San Marcos. Not only am I lucky enough to have a stunning view of Tajumulco (Central America's highest volcanic point at 4220 m.) from my town, but from my front door step.

This morning I woke up at 6am for two meetings I had - one at 8am at the office, and then another one in a village about an hour's drive away for an inauguration of a school. Once I woke up, I decided to take a look out at the valley to take a guess and see how the weather may be, as it has been raining unseasonable for the past few days- extremely unusual, as it is now the second month of the dry season and should not be raining at all...

As I open my door, I'm shocked to see something I've never seen in over a year of being in my town: a snow-capped view of Tajumulco.

The news even made the front page of Guatemala's national paper, the Prensa Libre, and a YouTube video can also be found about the rare snowfall.

Snow in South Africa, Argentina, and now Guatemala. Trust me- if it were up to me, I'd totally just have everything go as normal (if there is such a thing). I'm not the biggest fan of snow, especially when it's in a place where it's not normally supposed to be. But, like they say, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. I'm not sure where my next "big" trip will be, but we'll see if the snow follows the girl from Buffalo there as well...

But Ice Queen? I hardly think so. I'd just like to think of it as me ensuring that Guatemalans in San Marcos can also enjoy a White Christmas.

The view from my house at about 730am.

Taken from a caserio (basically a village of a village) about 45 minutes away from town.

12 itchy flea bites,

11 ayudantes grabbing,

10 lips a pointing,

9 awkward parties,

8 colleagues tardy,

7 fijese ques,

6 cups of sugar with coffee,

5 days of runs,

4 men ch-ch-ing,

3 days without water

2 hours waiting,

And a camioneta packed beyond its limit!

10. Being called "bien gordita" (fat) is a compliment.

9. It's perfectly acceptable to own your own machete and walk around town with it hanging around your belt.

8. Procrastinate much? No tenga pena! Showing up 30 minutes late to a meeting will just give you some points for culturally integrating - and save you from waiting around for 30 minutes.

7. The first and most widely debated topic of any meeting is what the "refracción" (snack) will be. Can take up to 15 minutes (after waiting 30 minutes for the meeting to start).

6. After getting asked where in the US you are from, 1 out of 2 Guatemalans will say they have either been there or currently have a relative in the state.

5. Two words: Street food. Cheap, yet delicious. Stool test not included.

4. After being here for a while, you sit impatiently waiting for tortillas while your food gets cold because you can't eat without them.

3. You thought the first time you stepped up on that shiny yellow school bus in kindergarten was going to be cool- little did you know you would be on that very same bus 18 years later, in a different country and totally pimped out blasting anything from Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On" to Nigga's "Te Amo Tanto" - AND have to pay your fare to a guy who works as a self-proclaimed Spider Man while the bus barrels down the Inter-American highway at top speeds, securing your luggage on top of the bus.

2. Catching a ride in the back of a truck when the bus hasn't come by for hours is just doing what you need to do- even if it's with livestock.

and the No. 1 reason why Guatemala is awesome . . .

1. "Fíjese que . . ." can be used as an excuse for pretty much ANYTHING.

Since I've been in Guatemala the past fifteen plus months, not one day has gone by that I have not come upon a new realization, an epiphany, of the lives people live here - in the real world- or, on the contrary, the life I have been living in the Western world - our fantasy land.

Being a woman in Central America has made me something I never thought I would say about myself - please excuse my French - a feminist. There. I said it. Now excuse me as I wash my mouth out with soap...

No, I haven't burnt any bras down here (they're too nice, comparatively), but the feeling of lashing out at male - or passive female- colleagues at times overcomes my emotions so much that, just for the sake of keeping peace and my reputation as a calm, collective woman, I "take a phone call" (read: make a phone call to someone to blow off some steam); or, in typical Barbara-fashion, bluntly ask the reasoning for whatever "solution" they have found to make the men dominant in whatever given situation.

It usually takes them by surprise, as they're not used to being questioned... especially by a woman.

The first time I truly felt affected by this was in my second month in site. There was a problem with managing the money of the artisan store in town- namely, there was no setting aside a small percentage of the profits to build up over time, so that would allow to serve as a cushion for when payments weren't received immediately. This way, the ladies could get paid right away and not have to wait for the payment to arrive.

I suggested this to the director of the organization, as well as two other male colleagues. No one said anything. They continued to argue over possible solutions when the director repeated my exact words (though in better Spanish). Immediately the two male colleagues praised him for such a stellar and ingenious idea.

I was dumbfounded.

It was then I realized that it does not matter what you say- what matters is who says it.

As frustrating as those situations still are, the fact of the matter is that being a Western woman in an indigenous community allows me to get away with far more than I could ever dream of if I were a local woman.

For example, I live alone. People don't understand why.

"What about your children?" they ask me.

"I don't have any," I tell them.

"Well, did your husband give you permission to leave?"

"No, I don't have one. But if I did, then I wouldn't need to ask him for permission... he would need to ask me for permission to do anything," I explain.

They laugh, but probably think my situation is just as ridiculous as I think what they are asking me.

So we're 1 for 1, I guess.

Another thing I managed to get away with here is having the freedom of carrying a backpack as full or as empty as I want at the age of 24.

If I were a 24 year-old indigenous woman in my town, I would probably have my third surviving baby strapped to my back, one child in each hand and be balancing a basket full of chickens on my head, walking one and a half hours to market at 7 in the morning.

And if I'm lucky, my husband would be walking next to me, empty handed- sober.

The freedom of choice is something I have never realized so much before as I do now. And I am not talking about the choice of abortion- I'm talking about being fortunate enough to have been educated to make clear, conscious decisions... knowing the possibilities that lay ahead, and knowing the possible outcomes- being able to make decisions based on choice, rather than accepting to live life the same way everyone else has and is, because that's how it is "supposed" to be.

Being one of two gringas in town allows for many exceptions; however, it also allows for many opportunities.

Earlier this evening, as I was doing some Peace Corps work in my kitchen, I heard a knock on my door. Not expecting anyone, I opened the window and peeked out to see who it was. I saw a teenager with a baby strapped to her back and her friend, both whom I had passed in the street earlier in the day.

After greeting them, the friend of the mother started explaining how they would like help with their baby. A million thoughts were whizzing through my head... they probably want money, or food, or clothes... or me to take the mother and baby to the states? Absurd, but not that far-fetched, I have learnt after being in site for over one year.

Finally, after asking them how I could help them, the friend managed to say that they wanted help naming the week-old infant, and would like me to write down a list of names for them. I ran into the kitchen to fetch a pen and paper and went outside.

A bit frightened that they were going to name the baby after me, I asked what the sex was.

"Male," they replied.

I was secretly relieved.

I then asked what kind of name they wanted?

"Something that is uncommon around here," answered Aurelia, the 17 year-old mother.

So I started naming a random, assorted list of names off the top of my head, mainly of male Peace Corps friends in the region, as well as some more bizarre names I thought they may like- I mean, there are a handful of men named Wagner, Nixon (mainly in their 30's) and Jackson in my town, so I was just trying to fit the mold.

I left them with the list of names, which they told me they would look over with their family, and then let me know of the outcome. I can honestly say this is the most thought I have ever put into naming a child- even more than my future ones. ;)

I won't lie- I had to throw in a Hungarian name- so if a little indigenous Zoltán is running around in a couple years, you'll all know who to blame...

When joining Peace Corps, I knew many challenges and difficulties would come along the way, but of course, I didn’t quite know what those challenges and difficulties would be. Almost a year into service, I can now say I have a reasonably good idea of what to expect most of the time- but that certainly does not rule out a surprise every-so-often. Being a marketing volunteer for an artisan co-op has been an awesome experience so far - I absolutely love my job. I get to help out the ladies with color combinations, designs, and even help create and improve new and existing products. I consider myself a fairly creative person, but never in my life did I think I would be designing products people would actually wear… seriously. Though it’s fun to get creative on my own, the whole idea of me being here is to teach the women how to be creative themselves, how to think outside of the box. You must be thinking “Well, geez, they’re artisans, they must be creative!” And they are, but not the same way we have learnt to be creative. Hugh MacLeod once said, “Everyone is born creative; everyone is given a box of crayons in kindergarten.” Well, Hugh, you could not be more wrong. It’s probably safe to say that about half of the 130 women I work with have never gone to school. Not for one day. Those women, by default, are illiterate. Another 25% of the women have had some education, perhaps two or three years. The remaining 25% have a few more years of education, but only one of two of the 130 artisans have actually received their high school diploma. Receiving your high school diploma in Guatemala is equivalent to receiving your university degree in the US, Canada, Europe, etc. While doing a product improvement workshop in one of the more advanced communities, I showed them a shoulder bag that I had bought from another artisan co-op. The bag is similar to a product they make, but to avoid singling out the artisan herself and using a product from our group, I opted to use a product from a different co-op to get the ladies to see the flaws and suggest improvements without having to criticize one of their own. I started by passing around the bag for them to see it in their own hands, examining it closely. Doña Victoria said it was a good bag, she wouldn’t change anything. I told her to give me three things she would change. After some thought, she said she would put a zipper on the outside, one in the inside, and make the strap adjustable, since some people are taller than others. After Doña Victoria, the bag was passed to another 15 women, and they all made the same suggestions- two more zippers and an adjustable strap. Though I encouraged the women to propose different improvements to be made to the bag, they stuck with Doña Victoria’s three ideas. Once I got the bag back, I presented my two suggestions. The first was for a better-quality zipper to replace the original one that closes the bag. The second was better tailoring work- I showed this to the ladies by showing the two inch hole in the side of the bag that none of them had mentioned, for some reason. They were all surprised when I showed them this. I must say that kind of baffled me at first – of 16 women, not one picked up on the most obvious error. But after thinking it through, I realized that Doña Victoria was the first to point out her suggestions, and the rest followed. They either didn’t want to say anything different to what she had already said, or they really didn’t know what else to say, so they felt safe by repeating her over and over again. I tried giving them the analogy of when they buy a new güipil (traditional embroidered shirt- what fashion is for indigenous Guatemalan women) for themselves. They try it on, make sure it’s sewn together properly and that it’s of good quality. Gringos do the same thing, I told them- if they are paying for something, they want to make sure it is a quality product. Although the workshop didn’t go quite the way I had imagined it to go, it made me realize two things: Creating analogies is probably the best way to get the ladies to understand a lot of concepts that are so foreign to them. They certainly are not stupid, they just need alternative ways of looking at things to make them see and understand a point more clearly. As much as I thought learning how to “critically think” was so dumb when I was in grade school (I thought, “Everyone knows how to think, duh!”), I cannot express how much I realize now that it is such a vital part of our education. Just by working with the ladies, who are wonderful in so many different ways, I see how not having an education has hindered them from being so much more than they already are. It really makes me wonder sometimes what some of them could have become had they been given the chance to complete their studies. Teaching business concepts to illiterate women is something that did not really cross my mind when I found out I was going to be a business advisor in Guatemala. We are so used to the “general knowledge” we have been gifted in our first world countries that we take for granted the littlest things that make the biggest difference. That is why it is so humbling when the ladies, many of whom are single mothers to families of 6+ children that cook, clean and manage the house, still come to workshops and make an effort to understand what is being presented to them and take part in dialogue with their colleagues, because the one thing they do understand is that they want to improve their quality of life.

The following is based on two interviews undertaken with two local indigenous community leaders, Isabel Miranda and Juana Jiménez. All stated facts, unless otherwise noted, are information retrieved from the aforementioned women, based on both their personal experiences and trainings on Guatemalan Constitutional and Human Rights laws. In case you can't tell from the article, understand this: these women rock.

Almost 13 years after the Peace Accords were signed in Guatemala City’s Central Plaza in 1996, discrimination and marginalization among the indigenous Mayan population continues at an alarming level today. Under-educated and many times uneducated indigenous Mayans are uninformed of their rights through no fault of their own, a problem that seriously hinders the progress in the development of Guatemala’s indigenous communities. In 2007, Guatemala was cited with having the highest percentage of chronically malnourished boys and girls in Latin America, and the fourth highest in the world. The Evangelical and Catholic churches have created a stronghold in more rural communities that discourages families to use any form of contraception, while organizations that promote family planning collide with those moral barriers. Women in the rural communities are fortunate if they have a second grade education- few of them can read, write, or even have a strong command of Spanish. Through the local association AMMID (Asociación Maya-Mam de Investigación y Desarrollo, Maya-Mam Association of Research and Development), many of the participating women have recently learnt that they have equal rights to their husbands, brothers, fathers and sons, which are outlined in the Guatemalan Constitution. “But this is not common,” says Juana Jiménez, a local indigenous women’s rights activist and regional presenter. “If you walked up to anyone on the street and asked them what their rights are, the majority of them would not know how to respond.” She continues to elaborate that the Guatemalan Constitution not only states that men and women are equals, but that children, boys and girls, must be treated in an equal manner by their parents. The ancient Mayans believed in a variety of equilibriums that made their life on Mother Earth possible. Balancing one another are the sun and the earth, the day and the night, the heat and the cold, and men and women, who stabilize one another. The ancestors of the current indigenous population highly respected these beliefs, and it was not until the arrival of the Spanish that their customs began to change. Many people lost their native Mayan tongues to the imperialistic Spanish, while many indigenous women were raped, which according to Juana, brought a change of machismo culture into the Mayan world. “Women are only to cook, clean, look after the animals, and bear children- preferably males,” Isabel Miranda explains what her father told her when she suggested she study beyond the second grade. “We don’t have the opportunity to leave home to look for a job, such as being part of a community committee- just to get married.” At just 12 years old, her father told her that she was now a woman; her place was at home- not in school- and it was her job to tend to the animals, the kitchen, and to find a husband.

“I cried and cried to my mother; I just wanted to study, but my father would not let me.” Isabel made an agreement with her mother. She would work hard at home with additional responsibilities, and her mother would give her the opportunity and pay for two more years of schooling, which she says she took advantage of by taking her studies in school and work at home seriously so her mother would continue supporting her. She completed her studies at the fourth grade level when she was 14 years-old. At the age of 16, she married and had her first child. After she had her fourth child, she became an active member of the local artisan group in her home village of Taltimiche, where she advanced her weaving and crocheting skills. Through AMMID, which she helped establish in 1992, she was able to complete an additional two years of study through a government literacy program, Conalfa, and is now the head artisan with a sixth grade education- the second highest education of 130 women in the artisan group spanning 10 villages. Unfortunately, this is not a common story among indigenous women. The vast majority, especially those in rural villages, grows up with the belief that they are inferior and must act subservient to their fathers, brothers, eventually their husbands and all other males. This problem not only stems from the lack of attention women get from their fathers growing up, but from their mothers as well. “Mothers also contribute to the machismo culture,” says Juana. “Many times, they will serve better or more food to their sons because they are raised with the mentality that men are superior to women and deserve better opportunities.” “This mentality,” explains Isabel “is because once a girl is married off, it remains the son’s responsibility to care for their parents when they get older and can no longer work for themselves.” For that reason, daughters also are discriminated against when their parents give them land. “I have three brothers,” explains Isabel. “They each received fourteen, ten and seven acres; my sister and I received two acres each.” Her father has passed away, but her mother, a frail 84 year-old woman, depends on the assistance of her two daughters, even though her three sons also live in the neighboring fields. Although only the two daughters continue to help their mother financially and with domestic duties, Isabel says that the remaining land her mother has will be given to her brothers, who have neglected their duties to their ailing mother. Fidelio, Isabel’s husband, thinks it is a bit worrisome what her parents did to her and her sister. Isabel and Fidelio do not differentiate between their eight sons and daughters; they have provided them with the same kinds of opportunities concerning food, clothing, and education. Two of their three daughters have their teaching degree, while one of their sons will graduate with his teaching degree at the end of this year. Both parents who give equal opportunities to both their sons and daughters have a tremendous affect on the future generation. “Mothers especially should boost the self-esteem of their daughters by showing them they are loved and valued,” says Juana. “Instead, many mothers tell their daughters to aguántate, or tolerate, the way they are treated by their male family members, particularly their fathers.” Consequently, many adolescent girls attempt to fill the void of affection they could not find in their fathers by seeking it in young men, to whom they marry at a young age. As a result, the vast majority of women have identical or comparable problems as their mothers in their marriages. Some women know enough about their rights that they take their husband to court on account of abuse in front of a judge; however, the problem with this justice system is that most judges are male who are biased towards the wife.

“Many judges will accuse the wife of being an instigator to the problems she alleges against her husband,” tells Juana. “And instead of listening to both sides, the judge will usually rule in favor of the husband and not apply the law the way he should.” Injustices like these reaffirm the wife as being inferior to her husband, which pushes her into a corner. At this point, most women accept that they must respect their husband’s demands- whether she must ask permission to leave the house for normal domestic duties, do only what she is told, “…and even subside to sex against her will,” says Juana “because many women are frightened that if they don’t, their husbands will either leave them for another woman or physically abuse them.” Sex, in this instance, becomes just another obligation that must be performed by women, not an act of affection between husband and wife. When Isabel and Fidelio married, Fidelio’s father told him that Isabel should be free to work and help support and develop their family. “He understands that women’s active participation in the community and supporting the family is important, and I am very grateful for the support he has given me, and for the values he has instilled in my husband.” Though she does not have an advanced education, she finds it important for women in her community to involve themselves in municipal activities and let their voices be heard. “If you want things to improve, you must have the will power and the want for change.” Juana, on the other hand, makes a point to teach her son, Marcos, normal domestic duties that women in Guatemala take on every day, such as making tortillas and tamales, cleaning, and even washing his older sister Brenda’s clothes. “Women need to take the initiative to involve their husbands, and especially their sons, so that they will be able to set the example in the future. Women learn everything they need to, so why can’t men?” The signing of the Peace Accords in December of 1996 ended 36 years of armed conflict that left some 150,000 - 200,000 dead or “disappeared,” victims who were mainly indigenous men. It has also shed new light on not only indigenous rights, but also women’s rights. Many indigenous communities continue to be unaware of the rights they have been guaranteed with the signing of the Peace Accords The current constitution of Guatemala cites that the all citizens have the right to life, liberty and equality for both men and women; furthermore, both share the rights to equal opportunities and responsibilities. It also states it is the duty of the State to guarantee inhabitants of the Republic to life, liberty, justice, security, peace and development of the individual. Although these laws already existed during the armed conflict, the main objective of the Peace Accords was to put the civil war to an end and pave the way for the transformation of the cultural, economic, social and political structures of the country. While laws that protect the rights of all inhabitants, including the indigenous population, exist, it is now a matter of educating people in indigenous communities, particularly girls from an early age on, about what their rights are as citizens of their country and how they can exercise them without being discriminated against.

Welcome back to my Guatemalan life. Other than pure laziness, I have no valid excuse for not writing for the past…. uh, four months. Sorry. I don’t think a “fíjense que” can get me out of this one.

Where to start…? I suppose from where I left off. To give a quick rundown of the last four plus months, I suppose the best place to begin is, or was, should rather say, a very important milestone in my Peace Corps experience: my parents’ visit.

My parents came for just over a week towards the end of April, which included a brief visit of Antigua, where they experiences everything a Western tourist could want in the third world: beautiful landscape, cobblestone streets, and… let’s be honest: cheap beer. Because there’s truly not an awful lot to see in Antigua, other than the decadent Semana Santa (Holy Week) processions they have (which are truly quite stunning), we headed out to the Western Highlands to visit my site, my Guatemalan reality.

Since we rented a 4 x 4, it was a much more comfortable ride, though I must say my Dad was quite perplexed when I said that we would be getting there faster had we taken a bus. After a handful of chicken buses cut us off on the two-land, two-way highway, he understood why we would have gotten there faster.

Albeit the rough traffic and rough roads, we made it to my site in one piece. We spent two days in my town, during which there was a ridiculous amount of noise being played at ridiculous hours, the water was inconsistent, and electricity kept on going off. It was perfect- I mean, I don’t think I could have planned it better myself had I tried. My parents truly got the feeling of what it is like to live here- even if they only got to experience it for just two days- it was great.

They also got to meet a few of the ladies who I work with, which meant a lot- both for the ladies and my parents. I think it gives a better idea for the both of them as to where I come from, from the ladies’ point of view, and what I am actually doing, in my parents’ point of view. That was probably the most important part of their trip for me, and I’m for them as well.

After spending some time in my site, I made sure to take my parents to Xela, about a three-hour trip away, where we soaked ourselves in Fuentes Georginas, and then headed to the lake for a serene three nights, which was a fantastic holiday for both them and me!

About a month after they came and visited, I went back home for quite a short visit- five nights to be exact. I barely had time for anything, but the real reason I went was to be at my second cousin Tony’s wedding. My family might be small, but there is definitely a lot going on. Tony, Lebanese-Hungarian, married Sonia, Japanese-Peruvian. The wedding was a blast, and totally worth going home for, especially since I saw many relatives whom I hadn’t seen for over 10 years, or baby cousins whom I had just first met then.

For the majority of June and July, there were two engineering students from University of Dayton, Ohio, who came for a summer internship to do community service type of work. Not quite knowing what they were going to be doing, they ended up building stoves, with one of the appropriate technology PCVs (who finished his service about two months ago in July). Also wanting to get in to this, I helped with some of the coordination between the office, who was helped choose the community and families that were to receive the stoves, purchasing of the materials, and of course, the actual building of the stoves. But before building was started, the families had to attend a workshop where it was explained to them why they were receiving these stoves, what the health benefits are (these stoves are smoke-safe wood burning stoves, which use less wood than open fires, and have a significantly less amount of smoke that enters the cooking area), and why these health benefits are important, how they will be positively impacted by this.

In addition to the stove project, I also got to participate in an HIV/AIDS workshop, which was given by a PCV who has done an impressive amount of these workshops. Though I only got to participate in one, so far, I’m really looking forward to starting to get a little more involved with the health side of things.

On the artisan side of things, I have been making a lot of progress with my counterpart’s computer literacy. It’s really refreshing and rewarding when you can actually see someone using the knowledge you have shared with them, having them ask you questions, wanting to learn, and you not feeling like you are forcing yourself on someone to try to help them- they want to help themselves. That is one of many things I have learnt about being here; you can have all the enthusiasm, knowledge and will-power in the world about helping people, but what it really comes down to is whether or not they want the same for themselves.

August was a pretty uneventful month- the first week I spent doing a lot a research on administration workshops, among others, and trying to put some material together before I left for the states for 15 days. As long as that may sound, I felt like I was running around the entire time! I saw a lot of people, but did not get the chance to spend as much time with everyone as I would have possibly have wanted to… but I suppose that’s how it goes. Nonetheless, it was absolutely wonderful to see everyone, and I am really happy I got the chance to go back for a longer break this time around.

Right now I don’t believe I’ll be going back before I finish my service at the end of next October- a few friends have said that want to visit, and I also would like to visit one of my best friends, who is also a Peace Corps Volunteer in Nicaragua, so I will have to start using my vacation days wisely and try to plan out everything.

As for the month of September- B-U-S-Y. I am giving a workshop on administration almost every day these upcoming weeks, and I will also be shadowing my site mate as she gives her health and nutritional workshops to the artisan groups. She will sadly be leaving in November, so I want to get a feel of what and how she does her work, so that I can help orient the new PCV, who will replace her, as well as give some of my own health and nutrition talks to the artisans.

Well, that was a hastily written update, but I hope that it gives you all a better idea of what I have been up to these past few months. I have definitely been busy, and it seems to be getting even more so as time moves on… things with my primary project (artisanal work) has really started to pick up, which I am over the moon about. There are still problems with the administration of my organization, but I am doing my best to work around that. I butt heads a fair bit with my director, because I see things should be done differently, both administratively and what I give workshops on in the communities… but time will tell. I’m trying to stay positive about it, which is the only thing I can really do. Thankfully, though, this is the worst. I feel fortunate to have such a great counterpart to work with.

I hope all is well with everyone. My apologies for such a delayed, and now as a result of that, LONG blog entry… but I will make an effort to keep a better tab on my blog entries!

I have been meaning to make a list like this for a while, but finally got the well-needed "shove" from my wonderful friend, Carolyn, who is also a Peace Corps Volunteer in Nicaragua. Coincidentally, she started her training just three weeks after I did, so we're practically at the same time in our service- we also write back and forth to one another (I'm talking snail mail!), which is such a great thing to get, real mail from a *real* person. It's really gotten very under-rated.

Anyway, sigamos adelante! I've always loved Top 10 lists, so I may as well start one now...

The Top 10 Reasons Why Guatemala is Awesome

10. Being called "bien gordita" (fat) is a compliment.

9. It's perfectly acceptable to own your own machete and to walk around town with it hanging around your belt.

8. You get all you can eat tortillas or tamales with every meal (but I suppose this could also be a bad thing if you're not into either)

7. Fruit and veggie markets- never will I have such fresh produce in my life as I do now

6. Volcanoes, mountains, lakes, ocean, tropical forest...what else could you ask for?

5. That song you hated two weeks ago? You now love it. Because it's playing all the time everywhere you go.

4. You never thought you'd look forward to having eggs, beans and fried plantains twice a day.

3. You thought the first time you stepped up on that shiny yellow school bus in kindergarten was going to be cool- little did you know you would be on that very same bus 18 years later, in a different country and totally pimped out- AND have to pay your fare to a guy who is probably better qualified for acrobatics than professionals.

2. Catching a ride in the back of a truck when the bus hasn't come by for hours is just doing what you need to do- even if it's with livestock.

and the number 1 reason why Guatemala is awesome......

1. "Fijese que..." can be used as an excuse for pretty much ANYTHING.

Semana Santa, or Holy Week, is arguably one of the biggest holidays here in Guatemala; Holy Thursday and Good Friday are even recognised by the Government as Guatemala as official Guatemalan holidays, making a four day long weekend to people of any creed, even though about 60% of the population is Catholic, and about 40% Evangelical Protestant, and approximately only 1% still follow traditional Mayan beliefs.

With a country with such a strong Evangelical population, Semana Santa is basically a huge celebration for the Catholics of the country (and let's not forget the tourists), but for the Evangelicals it seemed like life just went on as normal, in an effort to differentiate themselves from Catholics. Sunday service, or daily service, for that matter, is a norm for many, but the celebration of the resurrection of Jesus Christ are not viewed the same by Evangelicals as Catholics.

I had been in Guatemala for just three full days when I got placed with my host family for the duration of training. They were very open, friendly and talkative, which made what are usually quite awkward moments, especially when trying to get to know new people in a language you speak at the level of a five year-old, much, much easier.

We chatted about family and then moved on to what I thought were hobbies... little did I know.

My host mom: "¿Te gusta bailar?"

"Do you like to dance?"

Me: "Claro, pero no puedo muy bien, pero si, me gusta mucho... ¿y a Usted le gusta bailar también?"

"Sure I do, I can´t dance well, but yeah, I like dancing a lot. And do you like to dance as well?"

My host mom: "No. Somos Cristianos."

"No. We're Christian."

Ouch. I halfway thought about saying... you know that thing I said about dancing...? Only after she put me on the spot like that did she directly ask if I am Catholic. The next morning she invited me to the Evangelical service, to which I said "but I'm not Evangelical," but she encouraged me to go anyway, saying that "it's the same God." It was a very pleasant view on what I'd like to believe was her progressiveness, and not necessarily judging me because I am apart of the religion she has been taught to "practice against what Catholics do" (besides not being able to dance, Evangelicals are supposed to lead a straight-edge life, no drinking or smoking either; it seems like basically whatever Catholics are allowed to do, they aren't).

The service the next day was an experience itself. It lasted about four hours, and from my observation, Evangelical service is where most people are able to "shake it" and get it out of the system to the word of God and Jesus. Truly a unique experience. Such a unique experience, I felt that I should just keep it to that one time I shared with my host parents.

So moving back to Semana Santa, PCVs were granted a long weekend, meaning that we got Holy Thursday and Good Friday as official PC Holidays, which meant that we could either spend it in our sites, appreciating and for some, taking part, in the local traditions, or for others, such as myself, taking advantage of the long weekend and traveling to a new part of the country.

Already planned for quite a while, quite a number of us had the beach written into our planners for months, with the long weekend in anticipation. As the week came closer, a few people pulled out, more joined, and then some others pulled out last minute. In the end, we were a group of 10 beach-goers, eight PCVs and two friends, ready for whatever lay ahead on the road...

To get to the beach, I first had to travel to the city of Xela (Quetzaltenango City), which is about a three hour bus ride from my site, depending on bus schedules, among other things. From Xela we broke up the trip instead of going straight through with one bus. This came as a recommendation from others who had traveled the same route just a few months before, and ended up having to wait in some bus terminals for 1.5 hours, because the ayudante (the guy who collects the money) wouldn't give them the difference of their fare back so they could save time and catch the first bus that was leaving, while they were only the fourth bus in line.

So taking their advice, we did exactly as they told us. Problem was, it was Semana Santa. And by the time we got down to Mazatenango, the buses were P-A-C-K-E-D. We debated on waiting for the next one, but we were told that all buses would be the same. So we all took a deep breath and squeezed ourselves in.

To give you a picture of what it was like, imagine a school bus with three grown-ups in each seat, and every now and then a family of three or four kids in one seat. The aisle already has about 10 people standing in it, leaning on seats in an effort to not get tossed around around like Shake 'n Bake chicken. Now add 10 more gringos to the picture, putting them in the aisles. The bus moves out of the town and picks up even more people. The ayudante asks us to move further back so more people can fit in. Move where? One of the girls got offered to sit on a woman's lap, so she took up the offer. More people crowded the bus, and by this time passengers, as well as the ayudante were hanging out the open door, holding on for dear life. While the bus barrels down the Pacific Highway at about 130 kph (~80 mph), the ayudante climbs up to the roof of the bus and back down the ladder of the bus, opens the door and finagles his way through the aisle to collect the bus fare.

Once we got to our almost-final-destination, we got off our bus and immediately were surrounded by tuk-tuk (rick-shaw) drivers, as if they knew we were coming ahead of time. We got a flat rate to the port, packed in our belongings and took a 15 minute ride to the boats, racing against one another. My tuk-tuk won. ;) Once we got to the port, we got ourselves a boat, which took us through the mangrove forest to the island where we hopped off the boat, grabbed our belongings and then walked down the sand roads to the surf camp.

The place itself is small, but comfy. The 10 of us filled the 10 beds available, although some nights were so unbearably hot that some people opted to sleep out in the hammocks- the idea lured me, but the thought of getting eaten up by mosquitoes left me in bed under my mosquito net instead.

Other than just going to the beach, the main reason (for me, at least) we went there was to learn how to surf. One of the PCVs offered to teach us, and she kept true to her word. The board we had was... well, not quite the best, but somehow us beginners even managed, albeit the board slipped out underneath us or we slipped off it too many times to count! It was very encouraging though the few times we did manage to get up- even for just one or two seconds- gave me the reason to stay out that much longer to try a little harder.

I am not one to deny myself sleep, but the pure thought of being at the ocean- unfortunately not something I can allow myself to do every weekend, not even every month- and not seeing the sunrise and taking "long walks down the beach" (hehehe) every morning would have been a waste. So up I was at 5:45am every morning and ran part of the stretch, then walked the rest on the way back. I had an early breakfast, and as soon as that was finished I was in the water till about 9am with our personal surf instructor, learning the ropes of the waves.

Those few days were absolutely wonderful and much-needed. I've decided that after my Peace Corp service, I will live near or at the ocean within a year. I'm not sure which country, nor which continent, but the ocean is surely a must.

The trip back was much more eventful than the trip there. My friend and I were the only ones headed to Xela, the rest were headed directly north to Guatemala City. Little did we know the amount of traffic we were going to hit. As we hopped onto a completely empty bus, we were a bit concerned at first, but it turned out to be an "express" bus going in the opposite direction all of the traffic was going in, to later turn around and take advantage of the loads of people heading back to Guate.

As it turned out, there were to be only six of us on the bus- the driver, the two ayudantes, another passengers, my friend and I. It was Guatemalan transportation heaven. We were stuck in traffic congestion comparable to LA jams, except this was on a two-lane highway-turned up to five lanes at some points. Three to four lanes was traffic flowing against us, and then our small lane tried to finagle its way onto the side of the highway it rightfully had, but in vain.

There wasn't even an accident that caused the backup; so many people were headed in the same direction, and everyone tried passing one another that it turned into a huge mess. It got worse when people still tried passing one another, which made the backup even longer and more complicated. At one point the police managed to clear out one lane, only for the cars to go right back in once the police were out of sight.

Elodie, my friend, and I, got so sick of sitting on the bus in the traffic that we decided to walk along the traffic to at least move a little bit instead of laying across two seats the entire afternoon on the bus, as we had already done all morning. We hopped off the bus and walked against the traffic for 5 km. I had packed pretty lightly, so I only have my small backpack and a costál, or durable weaved plastic bag, the latter which I actually managed to balance on my head for most of the 5km we walked, with absolutely no hand support. My ladies would have been so proud of me.

By the time we reached the end of the line, our bus managed to get out of the jam and we hopped right back on. After one more transfer and 12 hours, we finally made it back to Xela, only in twice the amount of time as it took us to get there.

So there you have it. My Semana Santa adventure. I got back to my site in one piece, thankfully, and am enjoying being back and planning out some business discussions with my ladies and helping out in the artisan tienda (store) each market day, Wednesday and Sunday.

I hope you all had a great Easter, Passover and time off in general with family and / or friends, where ever you may have spent it!

The past three weeks have been a whirl wind- the first of the two weeks I translated for a group of dentists, assistants, hygienists and general helpers (18 in total) that came to my village to do dental work for two weeks. It was amazing to see all the work they did- they worked Monday through Thursday for two weeks, and in eight days they saw more than 500 people. One group stayed in town, and the other group traveled to a different village each day. Unfortunately we had to turn down some people, but it was really amazing to see both the gratitude the Guatemalans had here toward the dentists, as well as the humbling the work had done for the dentists.

One thing I really commended the dentists for was the fact that they charged people to get work done- not anything significant, but just a small amount so that they would be able to value the service and not "expect" gringos coming in to do work like this for free. Each procedure was charged at Q5 ($0.63) and up to Q20 ($2.50), even if more than four procedures were done. Unfortunately extractions were in abundance, as many people here don't brush their teeth, because they don't have the health education, nor can they afford tooth paste and tooth brushed for each family member. Potable water is not safe to drink (unless boiled for at least 5 minutes), and doesn't have fluoride in it like it does in the US, Canada, and even South Africa. It's something so simple that could really change the lives of many who are fortunate enough to have potable water in their houses or close by, yet some communities's main water source is a river, which many times is polluted with rubbish.

The last week I spent in the small city of Antigua, Guatemala (not to be confused with the island in the Caribbean) for "Reconnect," which is two days of getting general country updates, discussing problems / difficulties we're having in site and solutions to those problems we've found, several presentations on reporting systems and some committees made informative presentations as well. It was a bit of a reunion for everyone, since we are now in our sixth month of Peace Corps service- pretty amazing if you ask me! The rest of the week we had Spanish classes, which was great for me, especially since I speak a lot better Spanish than many people in my site- it's 99% indigenous, which is a great cultural opportunity, but in terms of learning grammatically-correct Spanish, not so much unfortunately.

With Semana Santa, or Holy Week coming up, we are fortunate enough to have an extended four day weekend, as Thursday and Friday are official Guatemalan holidays, and as Peace Corps Volunteers in Guatemala, we get all official Guatemalan holidays off as well as 4th of July and Thanksgiving off as official PC holidays, during which we can either take advantage of the happenings in our host community, or we can travel around the country to see more of Guatemala.

Being accustomed to quite a fortunate lifestyle of travel, eight months in Guatemala is quite the feat for me! With that said, I am taking advantage of the long weekend we have and hitting the beach with a few other PCVs and will attempt to surf. Luckily two of the people going are excellent surfers, and one of them even a seasoned surf instructor. With over 15 years of swimming under my belt and a good instructor, I'm crossing my fingers I'll be able to get up at least once! More to follow on this once the mission has been accomplished. Hopefully.

As for the project work, the ladies were extremely busy the past couple months. They managed to crochet 800, count 'em, eight hundred kippahs! They also completed half of the 500 wine bags, as well as various other products that the dental delegation had ordered. Now my work is really going to come- trying to find something to keep them busy until next year's dental trip! It seemed like it really did motivate quite a few of the women whose groups were advanced enough to be able to handle the order and finish it in time before the dentists left.

As for funding for the organizations, things are still not 100% clear as to what will happen. Tuesday we have our monthly meeting, so I'm hoping that at least some good news will come out of it.

I hope everyone has a wonderful spring break, Easter, Passover, or whatever it is you may be celebrating!

The past month and a half has been a bit of a battle- I've questioned myself what I am really here to do, what my goals are and how I am able to achieve those amid the challenges my host country agency faces as funding has become much more difficult to come by. Many community members, who have contributed an immense the last three years our agency received funding were unable to come back because of the financial difficulties our agency is facing. Our funder basically told us that they are being more picky about what projects they are funding as well as who they will give funding to. The crisis has hit here in Guatemala's small villages, too.

On 11 February I celebrated my 24th birthday in my village. My APCD (Assiciate Peace Corps Director- basically our program coordinator), came out here to check up on things, how my projects are doing, where I'm living and speak to the my counterpart, Isa, and see how the work is going, what could be improved on and give suggestions in general. The site visit went quite well. After lunch we even returned to the office to celebrate my birthday- my APCD was kind enough to buy some goodies at one of the bakeries to share with the others who were there and then my counterpart started talking about me and as Guatemalan tradition goes, everyone went around in a circle and basically said why they liked me. A bit corny, but really sweet. At the end, they presented me with a beautiful crocheted bag with a very intricately woven strap- one of the many products made by the ladies.

The day after my birthday I was awaken at 11:45 from deep sleep by a phone call from my parents. A plane had crashed into a house just minutes away from our's. All 49 people on board and one person on the ground had died. A bit confused I went back to bed and woke up again the next morning not knowing whether or not it had just been a bad dream. I check my incoming calls and sure enough I had picked up a call at about 11:45 the previous evening.

I later found out that the flight was en route from Newark to Buffalo and on board was a girl I had graduated high school with in 2003. The house that it had crashed into was yet another girl I had graduated high school with. Her sister was blown out of the house and her mother managed to escape. Both survived. Their father died.

I've flown that flight in bad weather before, and the mere thought that had it been in air 15 seconds longer it very well could have been our house. Of course it wasn't, and my heart goes out to the Wielinski family, the Kausners and all others directly affected by the flight 3407 tragedy in Clarence, New York.

On a lighter note, with the beginning of February came a new beginning of water. After four weeks of a dry tap, words cannot express how happy I was to finally have water once again in my own flat. And not only that- to my pleasant, pleasant surprise, my landlord kept his word and started fixing up my bathroom, tearing out the old, small basin and put in a new, plastic blue pila, or a water deposit with a large washing area. I had been drooling over Kelly's (my site mate) pila since I had moved into my place and had to wash my pots and pans, bigger than my basin, splashing water all over the floor and wall. I now understand why women get all excited about new appliances and kitchen renovations. They change you life forever.

The next two weeks our community has visitors from both Canada and the US- a delegation of dentists have come every year in March the past few years to do dental work on community members free of charge. A lot of teeth pulling goes on, along with cleanings, fillings and other general dental-fixtures. Unfortunately for the community members I don't think that the dentists put in golden stars as a decorative fixture, but who knows, maybe the dentists have been able to adapt their procedures to the community members' taste!

Having the dentists here means a busy two weeks, which I am really pleased about since the last few weeks have been quite uncertain in a lot of respects due to not as many people working at the agency. After the two weeks of the dental delegation, our training group will have a "reunion" to talk about our time out at site thus far, things we've accomplished, problems, solutions and general frustrations and stories that we care to share with one another. Semana Santa (Holy Week) is right after, and then almost two weeks before my parents come and visit. Thankfully it will be quite a busy next month and a half to keep me distracted, and hopefully some things will sort out by then as well. I plan on giving my ladies some lessons on the importance of being on time for meetings, since some other artisan organizations who have come to give lessons are often left waiting for almost two hours before half of the group shows up. I am definitely not the most punctual person in the world (and I'm sure many of you can attest to that!), however when free trainings are being given and the trainers are left around waiting for hours, it is not only embarrassing, but makes me wonder how serious the trainers must think the groups are about actually learning new and different techniques and designs. Start small, and hopefully grow on from there. The ladies have a lot of potential, but most of them don't realize that, unfortunately, nor do they see the business aspect in it.

Overall it's been a very mentally challenging past six weeks. I'm doing it though, I didn't come here to "try it out." I knew the challenges would be there, just not the height of them.

I hope you are all well and would love to hear from you. As I've said many times before and will keep on saying, hearing from any of you has been what has kept me going and puts me in better spirits. Take care and until next time...

To give a better idea of where I’m living, I thought some of this information might be a bit useful to get a better perspective of my life here.

Though I didn’t write all of this up myself, I did make a few minor changes:

The municipality I live in is located in the western highlands of Guatemala, in the Department of San Marcos, at an altitude of 2,280 meters (7,480 feet) above sea level, which makes for warm and sunny days during the day, but can drop to almost freezing in dry season (November – April). The wet season (May – October) is, as you could imagine, wet. It tends to rain around the same time of the day, usually in the afternoon. And when it rains, it pours, as the saying goes. Consequently, it can take days for laundry to dry during the wet season, if it doesn’t mold first.

There are around 60,000 inhabitants in the municipality, 3,000 of which live in the town center itself. It is believed that town was inhabited by the Mayan people well before the Spanish invasion in 1633. The current inhabitants are descended from the reign of the Mames, whose capital is in Zaculeu, Mexico. In Mam, the name means “between rivers”, or “between the houses”.

99% of today’s inhabitants are Maya-Mam, and speak Mam as their first language. About 60% also speak Spanish. Unfortunately, the town has consistently been recognized as one of the poorest municipalities in Guatemala and has one of the highest rates of malnutrition in Central America.

Unfortunately, alcoholism is a growing problem- between both men and increasingly women as well. This problem is being addressed through a couple AA locations that have opened in town; the programs here are intertwined with Evangelicalism, which teaches that forgiveness can be found through God. Whether or not you’re a believer, you have to admit that this is probably one of the better solutions for a problem that leaves many mothers with up to 14 children to take care of themselves. Family planning is yet another issue, as many women don’t realize that they can decide beforehand how many children they want.

Being so close to the Mexican border (two hours), it is not uncommon to hear that someone’s family member (children) or husband (who has consequently left behind a wife with a number of children) has crossed into the US through Mexico to try to find better fortune. Some of the stories I have heard are indescribable. Though I do not advocate illegal immigration, just by living here and seeing how people live day-by-day has made me think completely differently on the immigration problem the US faces. On the other hand, here and where ever you might find yourself in Guatemala, speaking English freely isn’t always the best of ideas, as many people have returned from the states and can understand more than you’d think.

The citizens in my site are the only people in Guatemala to use a distinct hand-gesture as their greeting. The women still wear their traditional Mayan clothing and weave on traditional back-strap looms. The holiday of the Sacred Cross, which appeared as a gift from God in the spot where the Catholic Church currently stands, is 29 April through 3 May.

So there you have it. Despite some of the more serious problems that my site faces, it is moving forward. One example of that is the agency that I work for, which works on teaching families better nutritional practices to solve the malnutrition problem. Additionally, the artisanal groups are a compliment to that- not only does it provide income generation to allow the purchases of healthier (and often more expensive) foodstuffs, but it also encourages and empowers women to have a sustainable income apart from that of their husband’s. Food security, women’s rights and empowerment and income generation, all in one.

I think at any point during their service, any PCV or RPCV can truthfully say that they’ve had moments where they just wanted to kick and scream at the inconveniences, annoyances, and yes, sometimes people- why don’t they care about getting things done to improve their lives? I don’t think it’s all that far-fetched to say that almost all PCVs have had times where they wanted to pack up their things and catch the first flight back to the land of comfort, convenience and service.

Because that would be the easiest thing, no?

But let’s not kid ourselves either. We didn’t sign up to spend 27 months away from home expecting to find the same luxuries, expediencies, and general ease of life as we had back home- but if we have, then we consider ourselves pretty damn lucky.

Anyone who does find (or has found, for that matter) himself or herself on a plane home shortly after arriving in their host country, or shortly after seeing what their site will be like, the place where they would have been living for the next two years probably didn’t have realistic expectations coming into PC, or else it really wasn’t for them, which is fine too, because there isn’t anything that is for everyone. But let’s be honest here: you don’t come to do aid work in a third world country and expect to be living the same lifestyle with the same excitement as you had back home.

Difficulties come in all shapes and sizes, and though I can only speak on behalf of my experience thus far in the Western Highlands of one of Guatemalan’s poorest municipalities (which certainly does no justice to the array of experiences of PCVs worldwide), I can tell you that life for the everyday Guatemalan here is something we would relate to a Swiss Family Robinson lifestyle. Sure there are modern conveniences such as cell phones, internet (though painfully slow at times, but don’t take that as a complaint!), cars and old school buses (which most likely would have failed any state’s exhaust emission test), electricity and running water, all those things cost money.

If she can’t catch a pickup truck on its way into town, then my counterpart, a wife and mother of eight, hikes one hour into town to work all day in an office, or go out to another community to a women’s group. I don’t think any you reading this right now, be that you’re in the US, Canada, Europe, South Africa or Australia, can fathom hiking one hour to work, only to hike one hour to get home. And after that you’ll most likely still have your chores to do if you’re a woman, because that’s just the way things work here.

Two days after I moved into my apartment, I found myself with no water. None. Not a drop has come out of the shower, emptied into the toilet or come out of the basin faucet since 6 January. Unfortunately I don’t have a pila (to store water and wash dishes and clothes in, something which I plan on talking to my landlord about). Fortunately, though, there was a water source from which I was able to haul up water with my new plastic pail I had bought as a rubbish bin, which has proved effective for the time being.

But leave it to Murphy’s Law. Before bad things get better, they always get worse. And worse they got. I thought hiking one mile to take a cold bucket bath was rough. I was most unfortunate to get food poisoning, which if you know what it comes with, does not mix well if you do not have a toilet that does not flush. I’ve come to the point of being here to just accept things, good, bad or ugly for what they are: good, bad and ugly.

A lot of PCVs have a romanticized idea of “changing the world” during their two year service. Though I have realized that this is pretty much unrealistic, you can definitely change some people’s world during the time you spend in your host community.

Cheesiness put aside, you still have a mountain of inconveniences to deal with, whatever kind of work you’re involved in. And it sucks. But everyone else seems to deal with it, so why can’t you? You’re not accustomed to it, it’s frustrating, gets in the way and slows down what you want to accomplish. Why can’t anyone understand that?

I think what’s more important is to embrace all the inconveniences, annoyances, and things that, from time to time, genuinely piss you off. Come on, if everyone else in your community has been living with the same inconveniences, either because they don’t know what exists out there that could be more convenient, or just that they’re used to the unreliability of, say, electricity or running water, what makes you so much more important than them to not be able to flush your toilet with a bucket of water every night? Your only bucket of water for the day?

Now, I have a wide range of music on my MP3 player, from Bob Dylan, The Beatles, Gorillaz, Led Zeppelin, Corben Cassavette, Ozzy Osbourne, Hungarian folk and pop, and yes, all four Classic Disney CDs I had purchased when I was 12 years old. And I still love them.

The song that I can best relate to any PCV’s service is “Enjoy It” with Hayley Mills (just one) and Maurice Chevalier from the movie “The Castaways.”

Why cry about bad weather? Enjoy it!

Each moment is a treasure, enjoy it!

We are travelers on life’s highway, enjoy the trip

Each lovely twist and byway, each bump and dip

If there’s a complication, enjoy it!

You’ve got imagination, employ it!

And you’ll see roses in the snow,

Joie de vivre will make them grow,

Voila, that’s life, enjoy it!

So, here’s to 21 more months to “enjoy it” and embrace the experience, because after this, it’s back to “normal.” Though I do hope the water comes back before I leave.

December, as November, flew by, and I am already in my third month of Peace Corps service. I have learnt a lot and met many people in the past two months, but still am meeting new people, trying to remember old one’s names… it’s tough in a municipality of 60,000 when you are one of two people who are given the automatic “celebrity” status. It can sometimes be overwhelming when you get asked the same questions over and over again, but helpful in building up your Spanish conversational skills and practice your vocabulary, to say the least.

Though this was not my first Christmas away from home, it was my first Christmas I didn’t spend with any relatives or family friends. Since a majority of PCVs stayed in-country (while some decided to go home for a few weeks), most PCVs who stayed back either got together or spent Christmas with a family at their site or went back to their host family from training for the occasion.

I decided to take up at invitation at one of my fellow PCV’s site in the department and close to the city of Huehuetenango. Since my site mate, Kelly, was going back home for Christmas, she trusted me with her hairy beast, her Golden Retriever, Amalia. Since I have no other mode of transportation than the “chicken bus,” Amalia joined me for the 8 hour ride, laying on the floor of the bus, occasionally popping her head up or sneaking to the seat behind and giving the other passengers a fright. On the way to Xela (Quetzaltenango City… Xela is much easier, don’t you think?) a blind man sat next to me. A few minutes later, Amalia popped her head up and her snout touched the man’s hand.

“Is it alive?” he asked me

“I hope so!” I replied

“What is it?” he asked

“A dog, her name is Amalia”

“Oh, I thought it was a chicken.”

Amalia and I arrived in Huehuetenango with two other PCVs and headed to Charlotte’s house, just 30 minutes outside of Huehue. We all had a humble Christmas Eve dinner of cereal then exchanged presents. Instead of doing a “real” gift exchange, we decided to do a Q5 ($0.65) gift exchange of something “interesting” we could find in our local market. Among the gifts were green plastic nails and a chicken “piggy” bank.

Christmas Day we watched a movie and played a game, made a delicious bruschetta for lunch and for dinner made falafels and brownies, accompanied by some “fine” boxed red wine. All of us spoke with family and friends who called us or whom we called, so it was a really nice alternative way to spend the holiday. And for those of you wondering, no snow, but because so many of us are at such high altitudes (2300 m for me), it does get quite chilly here, even during the day!

For New Year’s a few more PCVs met up in Xela to bring in the New Year. We all danced our way into 2009 and headed back to our hostel not to late after; it seems like PC not only gives you a new term for “bedtime” (anywhere from 6-9pm on a normal, day-to-day basis), and two beers has the same effect on you of what 4 beers did just before PC… which, considering our budget, is probably not that bad of a thing.

The past few days I have been bringing all of my belongings into my new apartment. Just before Christmas I bought a bed and a stovetop burner, and just yesterday I bought a kitchen table as well. Today I finally bought my water “tambo” (5 gallon / 18.9 liter filtered water container), got my gas tanked filled and have bought wooden planks and cinder blocks to make “PC shelves,”- cheap, durable, and most importantly, easy to assemble. I bought some shorter wooden boards yesterday and nailed two nails into the wall, tied string around the nail and looped it around the board- an instant shelf. It’s amazing how much two nails can hold, and also the skills, like the abovementioned, I have learnt in just the past couple months.

Tomorrow will be the first day back for everyone at my agency. Everyone is a little nervous, because our funder may not be funding this year, which would mean about half of the office would be out of a job, leaving the other half to pick up slack. Neither my counterpart nor my project would be affected by this, since the funding doesn’t cover the artisanal part, but it would be sad to see everyone leave, and know what the community would be losing. Hopefully I will have good news on this next time…

Other than that I am just trying to keep generally busy, whether it’s with temporary things, such as organizing my apartment, or with my project. A few weeks ago I picked out a different color combinations for scarves, an existing product, but tried to spice it up a little. I actually bought one, and some other PCVs bought some in Xela when I took a handful with me to New Year’s. I’ll probably be doing a round sometime soon to the more touristy cities and see what kind of bite we may have there, also to see what other products we could make with the existing ones in mind.

I hope every one of you had a wonderful Christmas and holiday season and enjoyed the New Year, whichever way you may have celebrated! Best to all for a fun, awesome and successful 2009 and may you all achieve what you strive for.

It has been really wonderful hearing from all of you who write back- whether it’s just a line or a juicy email. Keeping in touch has really kept me going, so whether it’s an email, a text or a call, please remember that it is extremely appreciated and I am and will do my best to reciprocate the gesture!

Quick update to be followed by a more detailed one in a few days. I arrived at my site Sunday evening, just as dusk set in. My first few days have been good- some challenges have already come up, but I know to keep a strong stance on some things (read: not becoming a personal secretary), so I’m not seen as a pushover. The main problem right now is that my counterpart doesn’t know how to use a computer, and this means that she will give me everything of hers to type up. Or so she thinks.

My solution? Teach her how to type. However, since the office is making it seem like she can’t practice on office computers during office hours, I’m going to have her practice typing whatever she wants me to type up with me assisting her. No, I will not become a pushover! And especially not a personal secretary (unless, of course, that were to be my job title :P).

In all seriousness, I don’t see the point in me doing a job that anyone else in the office could do. That’s not my job; my job is to help them with skills the office is lacking, and that is marketing. But if I’ll need to teach my counterpart how to type, then so be it. She’s an incredibly smart woman, I just need to build up her confidence so I can do what I came to get done, which is help the women’s groups promoting their products.

Anyway. More on all of that later. I’m starting to really warm up to my site, despite it being anywhere from 2.5 to 4.5 hours away (depending on the time of day and state of the roads) from what I would have considered the “real world” back in the beginning of August. My temporary housing situation is great, I just need to start looking for something more permanent before time runs out. The past 2.5 months of training went by fast. Of course there were slow times, but looking back, I have trouble figuring out where all the time went!

Now for a little lesson in Guatemalan culture. Since Peace Corps Volunteers aren’t allowed to drive cars or ride on motorcycles, and unless we can get a ride with a friend in their car, we have but one option: the chicken bus.

Probably the most noticeable person on chicken buses is not the driver, other passengers, or even the real chickens clucking as the bus jumps over an ignored speed bump. The guy collecting the money, the same one who threw your 80lbs bag on his shoulders before running up the ladder of the back of the vehicle to load it on the roof of the bus. This immortal-like person is the ayudante.

The Ayudante: A Romantic Goldmine

by Miriam Pope

As seen in the Xela Who – Quetzaltenango’s leading culture & nightlife magazine

Ladies: if you’re looking for some sweet lovin’ while in Guatemala, we would like to direct your attention to a generally overlooked man-hunting hotspot: the chicken bus.

Even before entering the chicken bus, listen for that striking voice that hollers the bus’s destination 27 times in 2 minutes. Then observe as t hat same gentleman grabs you and practically shoves you inside the bus. Once aboard, monitor this Indiana Jones of Guatemalan transport as he risks his life to scale up the moving vehicle, grab your stuff, and be waiting at the door, backpack in hand- all before the bus stops.

Because it’s this hunk- the ayudante- that makes the chicken bus a haven for potential Latin love! Derived from the Spanish verb ayudar- to help, the ayudante assists travelers, and so much more. You owe it to yourself to take another glance at these grand helpers. Here’s why:

• If you’re already impressed by the performance of an ayudante on the bus, imagine him off the bus! Consider the way in which an ayudante finagles his body through the masses in order to collect bus fare. Imagine that ability on the dance floor, or even in the bedroom!

• Recall those life-threatening moments when the ayudante keeps his cool, no matter that the bus is going 87 MPH, around blind corners, in the dark, on a dirt road/cliff. The ayudante is a guaranteed low-drama boyfriend.

• He is damn smart. At a bus stop, say 13 people get on, 6 get off, 8.5 (.5 = baby on back) switch seats, all simultaneously. An ayundante isn’t confused by this. He can instantly recall who paid, who didn’t pay, and who still needs change for their 100Q bill. With that memory, he is sure not to forget your birthday!

• Ayudantes are not typically applauded for their fashion sense. But we beg to differ in this sentiment. Confidence is in these days, and as such, ayudantes are like fashion gods. Imagine being a man confident enough to flaunt his chest hair in an unbuttoned, plaid shirt, tennis shoes and rad 70s glasses. Top that off with over-gelled hair and starred teeth- a sure way to get you rolling your rrrrrs.

So ladies, jump on a bus today to find your Guatemalan romance. Ayudantes are sure to help you out; both on and off the chicken bus.

As you all know by now, I have been assigned to my post for the next two years in the department of San Marcos in western Guatemala. It's beautifully scenic, though it takes 1.5 hours to get to the nearest big city, San Marcos, and the second biggest Guatemalan city, Xela, is about 2.5 hour bus ride, which is managable on weekend getaways when I'll just want to spend some time in the city and escape my Guatemalan reality for a couple days.

I met up with a women's group and got a chance to see them in action. While they were replicating a meal that another volunteer gave at a nutritional meeting a few weeks before, some of the women were crocheting yarmulkes (yes, yamakahs)- they're a great seller in Canada (again, go figure) and so I'm going to try to look into further markets to export them, because they are quite fantastic little things!

The trip there was 7.5 hours- apparently not that bad. I got in with my counterpart by 7pm, and let me tell you, the bus drivers had no remorse for any of in the bus. I took anti-nausea medication for the way back.

Right now we have just over a week of training left. We're all focusing on our individual projects now and are finishing up training things, swearing in on 31 October and headed out to our sites that weekend!

I hope you are all well and to hear from you!

Barbara

The past few weeks have been jam-packed with activities, from one-day tech trips to the near by department of Chimaltenango, and also a site visit to a current PCV who has already completed one-year of their service in the same program (Sustainable Agriculture Marketing). Rachel (from the other marketing training town) and I were sent to the same PCV in Chimaltenango, so luckily we didn't have to travel too far. We visited Mackenzie, who works in a coffee cooperative and also is involved in a few woman's groups in the area.

The first full day we sat in for the monthly meeting, which was scheduled for 8:30am, in chapín time (that is, Guatemalan time), started just after 9:30. Patience is a key factor here! The meeting consisted of the guys in the group talking mainly about the goals, and they all seemed to repeat one another, probably because they all felt they needed to bring something to the table, even if it was already said, so they wouldn't be looked upon by their peers as not giving something. Mackenzie has been doing a great job with the group, and has also said she's talked to them before about repeating what others have said is not an efficient way to run a meeting. They seem to be embracing it slowly, which is a huge stride. It's a difficult thing, I've been learning, to change people's approaches to things when it seems like something that is so natural to you that change could be beneficial, but that same thing in their culture could be looked on as culturally inappropriate, or it may mean that you don't know something because you haven't said something. Enough of philosophising...

Rachel and I went to one of Mackenzie's woman's groups to make pineapple carrot jam, which turned out great, but we didn't have enough gelatin. Because Mackenzie wasn't able to be there the next day and the women wanted to make more jam, Rachel and I took the opportunity to go their on our own and spent about 3 hours with the women the next morning making a good 10 jars of pineapple carrot jam. On our way back into town, we wanted to make a short trip to the city, and so we hopped on the bus and away we went. When the ayudante, or the bus fair collector, came to us, I told him our destination. He looked at me, smiled, put his hand up and pointing his pointing finger waving it back and forth said "no no no," laughing, and told us that the bus wasn't going to the city, but the aldeas, that is, the small villages out in the country. By that point we had been on the bus for 20 minutes and were in a bit of a state of panic as to what we were going to do, because that was the only bus going to and from the aldeas, and it would only leave an hour after arriving to the final destinations, miles and miles away from where we wanted to be.

After the entire camioneta (read: bus) finished laughing at us, the ayudante was nice enough not to make us pay (he probably just felt bad for us) and actually stopped the bus when he saw a jalón (pickup truck) going back into town. So we hopped off the bus and hopped into the back of the truck and rode with another Guatemalan for the 20 minute ride back. We made it back safely and instead of going into the city, we decided to just go back to Mackenzie's place and relaja, or relax, after we'd been 40 minutes back and forth down a bumpy dirt road, first in an old American school bus and then sitting uncomfortably in the back of a pickup truck, black tarp covering and all.

Fast forward to yesterday: the day all us trainees had been waiting for. We finally got our site assignments, and mine came to a bit of a surprise, even to my current sitemates. My main assignment will be working with a woman's group of artesans in the department of San Marcos, about 300 km from here, but with the state of the roads it takes at least 7 hours to get there!

The assignment wasn´t quite what I was expecting, but it seems like it´s a good organization, fairly organized, and the women are hard'working with goals, so that is already a promising start. I´ll be helping them find markets within Guatemala to sell their products, as well as help them to try exporting to North America and Europe, if all goes well. Additionally, I´ll also have a chance to work with agriculture, as my title suggests, which will be considered secondary projects. I´m really excited for this experience and will update you all once I´ve arrived back from my site visit to tell you all about it!

Hope everyone is well and to hear from you all!

Since I haven’t written for an entire month before just a few days ago, I thought I’d bring everyone up to speed with a more informative update.

A bit about my host family: they’re wonderful people, I really couldn’t have asked for better-hearted and kinder people to live with my two and a half month initiation into my two year living stint in Guatemala. My Guatemalan Dad, Don Gabriel, owns a construction company and my Guatemalan Mom, Doña Lubia, runs two corner stores, one in our town and another the next town over.

By Guatemalan standards they are quite well off, which means by Peace Corps standards I’m quite spoiled. Unlike some of my site mates, I have the luxury of running water in our house (with only occasional interruptions), warm showers every morning from what I like to call a “suicide shower;” because there is no heated water, the heater that is attached to the shower is connected to about 4-5 wires right above your head; but instead of being frightened by it, seeing wires in my shower have become a pleasure. Despite my current living situation, though, my site for the next two years could very well have no running water at all, so I’m trying not to get too comfortable.

I have two host siblings, but they’re both married and have families of their own. Eddy is 30 and lives just down the street with his wife, two children, 6 and 3, and have one on the way. Gaby just got married this April to Eduardo and they live in the next town over. They have also been extremely welcoming, friendly and great to get along with. Maria-Reina, Eddy’s daughter, is very charming; though she took me by surprised when one of her first questions to me when I first met her was “do I have an iPod?” Very cute and once in a while I help her practice her English since she has English class every Saturday in Guate (short for Guatemala City).

My family is wonderful though. They’re extremely talkative, so making an effort to talk comes second nature to them. They’ve taken me out to a few places to show me different places around the area, and have also taken me to relative’s houses to have dinner. My second week here Doña Lubia said I should invite my friends over for lunch/dinner. Since then some of my site mates have come over a few times and every time Don Gabriel says “esta es tu casa” (this is your home). They can talk up a storm and I can still understand them!

It is pretty much an unwritten rule that at some point during Peace Corps Service, PCVs will get some kind of “stomach-related” irritation; but let’s not beat around the bush here: diarrhea will probably get the best of any PCV. Hell, we had an entire medical session dedicated to it, which gave a whole new meaning to “D-Day” Though I haven’t had any “major” disturbances, I’ve had some up and down days, and Doña Lubia has been extremely helpful. Because our host families are not allowed to give us any OTC or especially prescription medication, Doña Lubia has given me a bit of herbal teas from leaves she picks from the garden outside in the yard, which is just one more reason my host family is awesome.

My Spanish is getting better every day, it seems. I still understand a lot better than I can speak, but my comprehension is improving immensely, and my conversation skills are also getting better, thanks to my family. We will be sadly be switching Spanish teachers, which means Mirsa, our teacher since our first week of training, will no longer be teaching us. To ensure that we hear a variety of Spanish, PC Guatemala switches teachers once throughout training.

From Thursday morning till Friday evening we had non-stop rain. Saturday was so heavy that all the streets in town started flooding about mid-calf. I was still at Sara’s house when I decided I should get home and drop off some of my stuff before heading to Antigua to work on a project with Scott, from Alotenango. When I reached the street I realized I should have left a bit earlier. The streets had turned into brown rivers, streaming downwards towards the valley. I walked on as much sidewalk as I could until there was no more.

I stood there looking at the water flowing for about 10 seconds deciding on whether or not I should just turn back to Sara’s and wait it out, but knowing that this could very well last a good day, I did what is considered a bit taboo here otherwise: I took off my socks and shoes and walked barefoot through the flooded streets I tried not to let my imagination take over when I felt soft, mushy substance between my toes and concentrated on not dropping my shoes into the brown water.

After getting home and changing into more weather-appropriate clothes, I left the house with Tevas and capris. I have yet to purchase my rain boots, which would have come in quite useful many times now, and could have possibly saved me from this cold I have now gotten. Tomorrow we leave for field-based training in Sololá, on Lake Atitlán, about 3 hours west of our training site. There we will meet some more current volunteers and have about three and a half days of site visits and activities. This past week the Marketing volunteers and Food Security trainees have been preparing “charlas,” or presentations, on better practices, usually to groups of farmers or entreprneurs. It’s all based on Adult Experiential learning and is really

a great way to teach adults in a non-conventional way.

That’s pretty much it for now. I’m getting used to the food (mainly black beans, fresh tortillas, cream and fried plantains is a staple dinner) and freshly squeezed lime-onade or instant (yes, instant) coffee. You’d that a country, such as Guatemala, that is known for its’ coffee would have great coffee readily available at an affordable price. Unfortunately for me (other PCVs and all Guatemalans who appreciate good coffee), the export price for coffee is much more worth the coffee farmer’s while to sell to foreign markets than to sell in-country, which just adds to the list of sacrifices being made while here. But believe you me, the benefits far out weight the sacrifices.

The music is cranked up, fireworks go off sporadically, men laugh and talk loudly as the dogs bark and play relentlessly and the cocks crow to compete with one another from opposite ends of the village. It seems like the perfect party, albeit the missing women and children. That’s because they, as I, are still in bed trying to get the last minutes of precious sleep before the long day begins. It’s about 4:45am and I roll around in bed, trying to savior my last hour of sleep that I can get if the neighbors finally leave to Guatemala City; maybe the music will suddenly turn off and I can wake up to my $20 Nokia phone beeping annoyingly and not the neighbor’s music cranked up like there’s a Latin disco with Mexican marimba music playing right next door. But if it’s not the music, the “chuchos,” or street dogs, are fighting off one another from each other’s territory, howling, barking or just playing with one another while all the roosters in town decide it is indeed the best time to see who can crow the loudest. The old American school buses, now used for day-to-day public transportation Guatemala, honk uncompromisingly on the main road outside of the house just before they reach a corner, as to avoid a run-in with another “camioneta” trudging down the other end of the road; in an hour and a half or so, people will be soon hanging out the emergency exit door of the camionetas and hopping on while it’s still going slow enough to jump on from behind. It’s stuffed with people, but the more people, the better! Just as the noise comes to a dull roar and I start falling back asleep, I hear gun shots- short and quick, one after the other. As if trained for a gun raid, I automatically duck lower into my bed covering my head with my arms, as if it would provide me any more protection from any stray bullets. As I cover my head, I hear the gun shots getting faster, like popcorn, and sink further into bed with a sigh in relief. Independence Day is just around the corner and the sound of “bombas,” or fireworks are not uncommon to hear; the closer it gets to Independence Day, the more rehearsed I am for covering myself in a fire out. But if it’s not a national holiday, it’s someone’s birthday, which in this town, seems to be everyday of the week. And so, my day starts. I turn my MP3 player on to listen to some Led Zeppelin, Soundgarden, Guns ‘n Roses and whatever comes on and start off my day. One of my three site mates, Sara, and I, go on our morning run (which really turns into an elongated walk) around town at 6am. As if perfectly rehearsed every day, we see the town drunk eating his sweet bread at the corner near the park, sitting on the side of a building and mumbling to himself; a few minutes later, we see the guy in town we have dubbed Rambo, or Genghis Khan, as I like to call him, due to his very “distinct” haircut. Machete in hand and work boots on ready for a day of hard labor, he walks confidently, smiles, and greets us as we walk past one another. As we walk on, we are greeted by two pet parrots perched on the tin door of the entrance to their owner’s home. We pass numerous people and greet them all, and they greet us back smiling back in delight that the “gringas” have spoken to them. At home, we get ourselves ready, eat breakfast with our families and then meet in the park at 7:30am to walk to the training center, a 30-minute walk from our training town. Just as we get outside of town, heaps of schoolchildren greet us. “Hello lady, how are you?,” “Good morning!” and even “Hello, love” are called out to us by prepubescent boys whose eyes light up in disbelief as we smile and greet them back in Spanish. Further on, before we reach the Pan-American Highway (which runs from Panama to Alaska), I hear a motorcycle drive up close to me; thinking it’s going to run into me I start to turn around to see what’s going on, but before I can move, or do anything, I feel a hand on my toosh, a firm squeeze and then the mystery man on the motorcycle disappears off into the dust. I stand in place for about five seconds to process what has just happened and Sara bursts out laughing at what she has just witnessed. It’s something that is bound to happen to almost every woman in Guatemala, foreign or not, and although I told myself I would confront it when it happened to me, I was violated in such a way I didn’t know what to do in the moment.. No one ever told me about drive-by groping, and as I would find out later, the PC Training Staff had never heard about it before, either. As we reach the Pan-Am highway, we look to make sure when it’s safe to cross, and when it is, we bolt across to the other side, as if making a run for it from Mexico across the border to the US. We reach the PC Training Office and start our day: two hours of technical training, two hours of health training, and then lunch. Training in general is quite interesting. We are learning an immense amount of information, cultural and technical skills, as well as people skills, but in many ways it feels like we have been placed back into middle school, never allowed to stay overnight at a friend’s house, no partying since it’s not safe to be out after 6pm, lots of homework and studying, and of course trying to communicate with our host families, to whom we must sound like a 5-year-old child to when we open our mouths and try to explain to them the complexities of our lives back home in the US and the cross-cultural ordeals. At lunch, we meticulously compare what our host moms have packed for us in our hand-weaved lunch baskets that we carry on the “Guatemalanised” school buses-turned public transportation. Almost everyone has at least five tortillas back in their lunch, regardless of the main course, which could be black beans, beef, chicken or even spaghetti. As much as I got frustrated with the bland corn tortillas when I first arrived, I have acquired a taste for them, especially when fresh from the tortilleria, the store where the women “tortilla” all day long. In Guatemala, they have created a verb, “tortillar,” which plainly means “to tortilla.” As we sit outside eating our lunch on the picnic tables, Doña Rafaela sits with her homemade jams placed out, ready for sale. She is one of many successful Peace Corps projects, now with her own small business of selling jams and carrot cakes in the market, and coming in every Monday to the Peace Corps office to take advantage of the trainees. The rest of the day goes on with more training geared towards cultural sensitivity and awareness, and at 5pm, we are finished for the weekly Monday common training session. Training is close to half over, which in many ways is quite frightening, but also very exciting. We still do not know where our future sites will be for our 2-year service, but we should know those by the second week of October. Until then, all we can do is learn Spanish better, learn as much as possible about our assignment/duties, and form closer friendships with one another before we get split up and sent off to our respective communities, which could very well be 12 hours from each other. So far it’s been very exciting, and I know from here on in it the speed will just accelerate faster and faster each day. There are many things that we are doing in training, but as David, the Agriculture Marketing training says, it’s not what you do, but how you do it. For development work, this is especially true. People see and copy things they see as successful, and if that happens, it will spread like the plague through a village, and hopefully people will be able to see the benefits of doing something in a “different” way than they are normally accustomed to. This being just the beginning of my two-year experience here in Guatemala is making me look forward even more as each day approaches. The people are warm, kind and have the biggest hearts, so I am really looking forward to getting to my site, my new home for the next two years.

Those three words pretty much sum up the health and safety training that we got for two and a half days once we arrived in Santa Lucía Milpas Altas after a short 2.5 hour plane trip from Miami to Guatemala City. A handful of people from the training staff met us just as we passed through immigration to help us with our bags, and then out we went from the airport in a 1980s American school bus.

Everyone from the PC staff is truly fantastic- there's no beating around the bush with anything they tell us, which, as most of you could imagine, is really important here since they have to keep their eyes on about 180 or so volunteers/trainees throughout the country.

The first three days basically consisted of the main health and safety things we need to keep in mind and abide to while we're here with PC. Almost the first three things we were told to keep in mind were: fireworks, dogs and earthquakes. Craig, one of the fantastic trainers, said that in the past the staff forgot to mention the fireworks to PCTs (PC Trainees) and they were scared out of their you-know-what in the morning when they woke up to what they thought were gun shots. To celebrate someone's birthday, Guatemalans tend to go all out and fire off fireworks from 5am. Dogs here are extremely abundant, and also uncared for. Anywhere you walk you will see a dog, and of course there is a small chance that it may bite you (of course if you threaten it or make it feel threatened then you just multiply you chances of this happening). Because of this we are required to get a rabies vaccine (among quite a few others), and per chance that we do get bitten by a dog, or any kind of mammal for that matter, we are still required to let the nurse know so she can make the appropriate decision.

And finally, Guatemala is in a major earthquake zone; in fact, apparently we had a minor earthquake since we've all been here, but not all of us felt it.

There are also two active volcanos, and a town between them where one of the training groups got placed. So there you have it, fireworks, dogs, earthquakes and volcanos.

Bienvenidos a Guatemala!

I arrived to JFK in NYC on Thursday afternoon. The entire plane waited around for our luggage for a good half an hour, but luckily the customs officials just waved us through. My Dad picked me up from the airport and because I ended up watching three movies on the plane instead of sleeping, I was passed out for the entire way back home, hallucinating when woken up as my Dad slowed down and had no idea what was going on.

The past five weeks were incredible. I wasn't bored for a single second; how could I have been after seeing all my friends for the first time in four years? The wedding was fantastic, as was the train ride there. The only disappointing thing is that we weren't able to spend more time together. Be that as it may, it was absolutely fantastic to be able to see everyone and be together after such a long time- especially as close as we are, it's hard for us to get together for a weekend when everyone lives in places such as Australia, Italy, Canada, the US, Hungary... and now, Guatemala!

The next week and a half is going to be full of getting things organised, make sure I have everything I need, and get myself mentally ready for the next 2 years, 3 months in a completely different country and culture than what I have been to exposed to.

After a long wait and much anticipation, I'm finally happy to be able to tell you all that I will be going to Guatemala on August 13th. I will be leaving for Washington on August 11th for two days of pre-training staging; we are given an official introduction to the Peace Corps, it's mission, expectations, realities, etc.

My official title is "Sustainable Agriculture Marketing Facilitator." Pretty fancy, I know, but I suppose it has a lot of potential, especially because of the food shortage it is a realistic (or so I think?) project that has great potential in Guatemala since 25% of the GNP is agriculture and it provides employment for 55% of the population.

A short description:

Sustainable Agriculture Marketing Facilitator

Provide training and technical assistance with efficient practices and functions in agricultural marketing, as well as provide technical assistance about adding value to farm products in harmony with the environment.

The main focus of the marketing component is to show small and medium farmers how to earn more money from their farms by either diversifying their crops or to increase the sustainability of market prices of vegetables, fruits, meats, dairy products and eggs.

To read more information on Guatemala and the programs there, please refer to the following link:

http://www.peacecorps.gov/welcomebooks/gtwb520.pdf

After saying good bye to my parents at Terminal 2 at JFK, I got dropped off at Terminal 4. Because I still had a considerable amount of time before my plane was to depart (we're talking about eight hours), I opted to stay inside the airport for the day instead of venturing out into the city once again for the second time that day. I was tired and didn't feel like cashing out the money to take the train in, nor was I prepared to haul all of my carry-on luggage around NYC alone, my laptop, cameras, passports, etc. As for my checked luggage, I still had a four hour wait before I could even check in, and instead of carrying two huge duffle bags around the terminal with me, I checked those in to airport storage- it cost me less than it would have for me to go around the city, and it freed me of my bags for the five hours while I waited before I could actually check in, so it seemed rational to me.

I hand the guy at the luggage storage my passport to show some identification. He looks at it and says:

"¡Qué Bárbara!"

Which in Spanish means something to the effect of "how great." The first time I heard this was at the dodgy Mexican restaurant I worked at for less than three weeks before it closed due to "immigration problems," but working with Mexicans proved to be good for my Spanish, in the least.

Mr. Luggage Storage went on to speak Spanish with me, Spanishized the pronunciation of my surname until I told him I was not Spanish, but Hungarian. He continued to speak Spanish to me anyway, albeit my not-so-fluent form; it felt great to just randomly speak Spanish to someone, and I suppose in NYC you can't really miss that opportunity much.

After checking in, I waited for what seemed like forever at the gate. Our plane left a bit late, and when we landed at 11:20, I checked my boarding card for my transfer flight and noticed that it was boarding at- well whaddya know, 11:20. I jetted out of the plane, and I'm fairly certain that I walked from one end of the Amsterdam airport to the other, and when I came upon a queue that led up to the passport control, I thought that I would for certain miss my flight.

I managed to push my way to the front of the line, get through the passport check and once again go through security. I took off all of my items I knew which would set off the beeper, and lo and behold, it set it off anyway, which awarded me a no-privacy, spread eagle frisk right there and then. Apparently it was a random check... ja.

After meeting my friend Tünde at Ferihegy airport, we took the lovely BKV back to downtown Budapest to the flat. I unpacked, did some light grocery shopping to prepare me for the next travel day, and took a nap. The next morning I left for the train station, Keleti Train Station with a good 45 minutes to spare, you know, just in case something goes wrong. Good planning, Barbara.

If waking up at 5:45 in the morning wasn't a big enough achievement the day after arriving from half way across the globe and having no sleep on a 12 hour flight, I think going head first and buying a train ticket at Keleti Train Station in Budapest was the icing on the cake.

Because of the renovations going on at the train station, I wasn't quite sure of where to go to buy my tickets, so as any normal person would do, I asked someone who worked there. The lady was kind, helpful and quickly explained the way to get to the international ticket counter; walk to the other side of the train station, out the hallway into the street, around the building and in the back. Simple enough, and thankfully it was. And that's just about where all the simplicity ended.

I got the the counter, one person standing in front of me, and no one else in the huge hall. Once the man in front of me finished, I went up, greeted the lady and explained to her that I wanted to go to Csap on the 7:35 train this morning. But before I could finish, she asked me for my ticket. Dating back from what seems like communist time, every bank, post office or any other government office with public services has about a list of 20 different items to choose from. Of the 20, about 19 of them are the same, but you still must get your number and patiently wait.

Annoyed as there still was no one else in sight in the hall but myself, I went to the ticketer, got my number, handed it to her, and continued to explain where I wanted to go.

"Oh goodness, excuse me! You have to go to the national ticket sales to buy your ticket, please forgive me."

Confused and even more annoyed, because Csap is in Ukraine, I naively went to the national ticket sales counter which was in the train station in the underpath, waited in line (no ticket this time!) and asked the young lady for a ticket to Csap.

Looking at me like I'm stupid, she tells me that Csap is in Ukraine.

"Yes, I'm aware of that, but the lady at the international ticket counter told me that I need to buy it here."

She went back to speak with her manager twice until she told me she couldn't help me.

So, back I went to the international ticket counter even more ticked about the whole situation. I got my ticket from a different woman, but before you think "well that was easy enough" I still had to get a seat ticket from a DIFFERENT ticket office. I went to about three different places until I figured out that the one where I was supposed to go only opened at 8:00, and of course my train was scheduled to leave at 7:35. There was a lady in the office with some construction workers, and she was quite unhelpful, to say the least. As my luck would have it, the ticket counter right besides the office opened and I managed to buy my ticket, costing less than $1, and ran to catch my train, which left one minute after I got on.

Unfortunately the drama did not stop there. I had two connections, and although my first train left on time, it got to the next station over half an hour late. This made me miss my connectiong train, thus making me miss my second and last connection which would have taken me from the border of Hungary right across to the border of Ukaine. I tried reaching my friend, Kati, to let her know (and also to tell my other friend's (Zsuzsa) parents who were coming to pick me up at the Ukrainian border that I would be arriving much later) for her to tell Zsuzsa's parents since I didn't have any of their contact information. She finally called me back just after I got off the train in Záhony. The conversation went something like this:

Kati: "I just spoke with Zsuzsa's parents and told them that your train was late and wouldn't be coming by train. It's too long to wait for the next train, so just hitchhike across the border and they'll be waiting for you at the Ukrainian side."

Me: (I stopped dead in my steps when she said "hitchhike" and said, "Umm... and how do I do that?"

Kati: "There are probably a lot of people who are going across the border from the train parking lot, so just asked someone for a ride and then you can meet Zsuzsa's parents."

Me: "O...K..."

I managed to get a ride from some two nice guys who took me up till the border, since they really weren't going that direction, but took me anyway since it was only about 3 kms from the train station. Once I got to the border, I thought I could just walk across, like the border at Esztergom at Hungary and Slovakia. That would have made things too easy, though. After the borde guard thoroughly looked at my Hungarian passport, he asked me if I was born in England.

"No," I replied, "America."

"Where is your American passport."

"I didn't bring it with me, I'm in Hungary."

"All right, well you can't walk across the border, so I'll seat you in the next car that comes."

And just to spice things up, the next car that came was something close to a rusty red, banged up pilot model of the Lada, and it's owner pretty much fit the same description. Reluctant, but not wanting to cause a scene, I got in after the border guard asked the guy, who just as well could have been on Hungary's most wanted list, if he would take me across.

The guy seemed a bit confused when clarifying with my that I was Hungarian, even though he had my passport to give over to the Ukrainian officials. Other than feeling like I was forced into a really awkward and potentially dangerous situation, I just acted like I did that all the time.

We finally got pass the Ukrainian border patrol and as soon as I saw someone that resembled a kind face, I just assumed that it was Zsuzsa's family and asked the guy to stop. As I was getting out and making sure I didn't leave anything in the car, he looked back at me with the look of "so are you going to give me anything or what" on his face. I quickly thanked him and wished him well on his way and shut the door.

Ukraine was fantastic- I had a great time with Zsuzsa's family. They showed me around the orphanage they organise and direct, and then they took me to Kati house in Mukachevo (Munkacs). I had a wonderful four nights at her family's place as well; she took me around Munkacs and Ungvar (Uzhhorod), I met so many wonderfully nice people, and the icing that topped the cake was probably the trip with her uncle and cousins to the Vereckei hago- where the leader of the seven Hungarian tribes came and declared that the land in front of him would be the new home of the Hungarians.

The way back to Budapest was a bit less dramatic, thankfully. I met my friend, Tunde, at the airport, and there we met our friend Bela and his friend, Adam, at the airport. I hadn't seen Bela for four years by then, so it was so great to finally see him.

It's getting late, but I'll make a next post more Peace Corps-oriented...!

Before I start my service in the Peace Corps, I still have some unattended business to take care of: seeing all the family and friends I didn't get a chance to really visit with while there doing my internship and studying. Man, I really didn't realize what a time-consuming semester it would be! But as trying as it was, I got through it and it made it that much more worth it. One is able to learn their potential as soon as they challenge themselves beyond their capabilities. Would I do it (working and studying full time at the same time) again? Probably not. But hey, you never know.

My parents and I leave the same day, though I'm not going on with them. They will be going to Germany to visit an old friend of their's, Jakob, and also visit a relative in Geneva, Switzerland and another friend in France. I skip Western Europe and head dead on to the Central Beauty, the Motherland. This summer will surely be jam-packed. I managed to piece up my schedule, book (CHEAP) flights, and best of all, I get to spend time with friends in their homes in each place I will be visiting. You really can't ask for more when traveling: spending time with friends in their homes, cities and countries.

The schedule for this summer:

24 June - leave JFK (NYC) for Budapest in the evening

25 June - arrive in Budapest in the mid afternoon

25/26 - 29/30 June - Munkács (Munkachevo), Ukraine

29/30 June - July 7 - Budapest(/Pécs?)

7 - 10 July - Dublin, Ireland (this was unplanned but turned out saving me $ on the way to Manchester, crazy enough as it sounds, and I'll be staying with my dad's old roommate and buddy from South Africa, Mike

10 - 14 July - Manchester, England, England! (with Helen and Shaun, friends I met in Argentina)

14 - 17 July - Aachen, Germany (Dad's former colleague and good family friend

17 - 18 July - Vienna, Austria (with Lili, my former roommate from my year in Hungary. Eszter and Béla will be there as well)

18 - 24 July - Budapest

24 - 27 July - Transylvania (yes, the place does indeed exist, and infact I am part Transylvanian - my fangs come out occassionally. My friend is from there, but now lives in Budapest, and will be having her wedding there)

28 - 31 July - Budapest

31 July - leave back and arrive in the US

That pretty much sums up my time. I still don't know where I'll be headed off to, but that should be figured out in the next week or two, as I was promised. Cross your fingers I won't have to leave 3 days after I arrive back, which I am afraid will be the case.

Updates throughout the summer will come sparingy, so savour them whenever they come!

More updates to come, but until take care and hope to hear from you (yes YOU)!

After I sent in my medical packet, I got my dental clearance just days later- on a Sunday morning at 5am to be exact! The next few steps took another trip to two doctor's offices, but thankfully I didn't need to have an actual appointment (since my health insurance is no longer- Happy Graduation to me!), and just days later I sent in all the filled out/signed paper work.

Yesterday I got an email that my toolkit was updated, but all it said that a decision regarding my clearance has been mailed (snail mail of course- geez!), but as luck would have it, a few hours later I got an email from the Peace Corps congratulating me for getting medical clearance from my Placement Officer! I know, it sounds like parole officer, but this is the good kind of placement you get from the US Government! ;)

So, I would like to thank my family and friend for their continuous support in this major endeavor in my life. Nothing's set in stone quite yet, but the chisle and hammer are out, polished and ready for action!

Hopefully I'll know within the next couple weeks where I'll be shipped off to to live my life for the next 27 months, so as soon as I know, I'll be sure to post it up here! Until then, I hope you are all doing fantastic and keep reading on while I write updates in the weeks (and years) to come!

As many of you know by now, I have applied to the Peace Corps and hope to fulfill the 3 months + 2 year service commitment in my community. This was not a choice I made out of the blue, because I couldn't find a "real" job, nor was it because I don't know what to do with my degree. I started my application over three years ago, this is exactly the kind of work I want to be involved in both short and long term, and I believe that with my degree and my interests, this is the best thing I could do with myself, gaining experience first hand by teaching people while learning about myself, my abilities, and being able to learn a language or two in the mean time.

I completed the application process while I was still in Hungary, had my interview there and received my medical paper work shortly thereafter. Due to the fact that the lab reports would have been issued in Hungarian, and also that it would have cost me about a billion and a half dollars to get them officially translated (not to mention the standing in queues for hours Hungary is known for), I opted to wait till I got back to Buffalo to get everything done.

It hadn't even been two weeks after I had gotten back when I managed to get everything taken care of; eye doctor, physical, dentist, lab work, the whole nine yards. I sent in my paper work, which I was clearly anal about looking over about five hundred times to make sure every last "i" was dotted and "t" was crossed, as to avoid any annoying delays that the Peace Corps (PC) Medical Office is known for.

I sent my paper work out Thursday afternoon and the Medical Office received it on Friday before noon, and for some reason they decided to grant me my dental clearance on Sunday at 5am. Now I just have to continue playing the waiting game, be patient and merry and try not to go crazy as I keep playing guessing games as to where I'm going to live in August for the next two + years of my life, not that that really makes a difference or anything.

So a lot of you may be wondering, why all this medical mumbo jumbo? As I just mentioned, you sign up for over two years, so as any employer, PC wants to make sure that 1) you're healthy and that 2) if you run into any medical problems, they'll know your full medical history and place you in a country where they would be able to treat something that might not be treatable in other countries (eg, certain medications may not be available in some countries, or a certain kind of medical service may be of low standards or completely unavailable, so in those cases they wouldn't place a volunteer with restricting medical cases in a country that wouldn't be able to provide for that volunteer. It's very intricate paper work, and according to the Medical Office, over 75% of the medical paper work is sent back to the applicants due to something being incomplete or just completely missing. So this is why I made endless amounts of visits to my doctor's office (to whom I apologized about a million times for leaving messages, or just rocking up and requesting signatures, etc.).

Where will I be stationed? Well, as soon as I find out, I will let all of you know. But while I wait in much anticipation, please take some time to read more about the PC to understand it more if you have any questions. Click below on "Resources for Family and Friends" to find out more Resources for Family and Friends