I have been meaning to post this blog since before I even left Guatemala. Now here it is, nearly the middle of August and I feel overwhelmed sorting through these photos. So many memories and such richness and sadly, it already feels so far away. My heart thumps and my eyes moisten as they glance at the hundreds of photos on my computer that represent only a fraction of my life for a short and wondrous two years. About a month ago I began to cry upon viewing a photograph of a little girl from Toto taken by a travel photographer at an art outdoor art show. An experience like Peace Corps; my experience in Guatemala, is not something that is forgotten easily, yet I feel the need to absorb and cling to it to retain every last memory and detail that my brain and heart can handle. Having said that, here are just a few photos from my final day in Chirijox, Santa Catarina Ixtahuacan, Sololá, Guatemala. Don Juan fell asleep while listening to his radio in the 'yard'. I was able to get just one photo of him before he woke up.

Hendrick on his way to school. We both thought this would be it, that when he came home from school I'd be on my way. Turns out nation-wide protests over the price of electricity would keep me there until late in the evening when the roads were finally opened. That evening was one of my favorites with my family; chatting, exchanging stories and eating lots of food. At night, once don Pascual from PC arrived to take me to Antigua, the whole family bundled up and we walked with flashlights down the dirt paths, arms loaded with my things to the entrance of town. The called me 'sister' and waved on the side of the road as we pulled onto the hiway.

This photo is blurry but it's the only photo I have with tiny Doña Ana. As a parting gift the group had a traje outfit made for me and I wore it for my despedida; good bye party.

Arroz con leche, rice with milk was served on the chilly morning as women arrived slowly to gather in front of my house. One by one they said good bye.

A small portion of my women's group.

That afternoon Ela came up to my house to help me do the final clean-up. There was a knot in the wood of my door that was just Hendrick's height. When he would arrive at my house he would put his finger on the knot and declare, "gling-gling"; the door bell. He taught this to Elkin, but Elkin found it much better to just lay on his belly outside and slide his fat fingers under the door and through the flap of duct tape that served to seal my door from the elements. When Hendrick asked who was there, Elkin answered, "Sapo"; frog.

Those final days...my final week in Guatemala was a whirlwind. Once we passed the protests and I finally arrived in Antigua and the Peace Corps center, Volcan Pacaya, just over a ridge from Guatemala City, began to erupt, closing the airport. Compounding the situation was tropical storm Agatha, whose heavy downpours not only turned Pacaya's ash into cement but also washed out bridges, flooded villages and caused landslides. Volunteers where put on standfast and were ordered to stay put. Lucky for me, I had some good friends who had traveled to Antigua to say good bye so standfast turned into an extended Antigua vacation at the Burkhard. After a few days I was put on a bus and sent to El Salvador where I put another stamp in the passport, had a final visit with Makali and ate loroco papusas for breakfast before boarding my plane home. I was even bumped to first class on my flight to Houston. Nic met me at the airport and the following day took me to my favorite beach, Pacific City and asked me to marry him. Since then, we have been in a whirlwind of life; planning a wedding, planning our future, apartment hunting, job hunting, visiting old friends, visiting family, drinking lots of delicious beer and sampling the bounties of a NW summer, traveling on the weekends, getting a few concerts in here and there and even did some backpacking. That last list, that stream of activities is what I like my life to be like; busy with goodness, fullness and blessings. It feels good to be home. However, Guatemala will also be remembered as a home as well and when we return there I hope the whirlwind list of activities will be just as long.

Friday Ela and I set out to visit the women and their potatoes. Feliciana's model tire stack, her little girl with a flower in her hair and rows of radish.

Julia's little one Denielsen watches on as we take apart her tire stack. Her plants rotted away due to undetermined reasons but we did find about a pound of golf-ball size spuds in the dirt.

Dominga attends to a customer at her carniceria while we wait to see her tire stack.

Also, in my previous blog I forgot to give proper representation to Blacky and her six-week-old pups.

As many of my readers may know, but for those who don't, I am counting down my remaining days in Guatemala. I will return to Oregon by the end of the month. My early return is not attributed to any issues or frustrations in my work but only due to outside circumstances. As such, I am in the process of wrapping up the life I have participated in for the last year and a half. For Tuesday and Wednesday that meant a trip to Quiche to pack up Nic's house and have one last meal of doña Tina's fatty tortillas. It is about a 40 minute walk from Nic's door to doña Tina's gate. It starts on a path and ends on a bumpy dirt road and all along gives wonderful views of green pastures and corn fields with a back drop of cloud-hung mountains.

A local woman carries her laundry to a spring for the daily load.

Almost there at the split in the road...

Don Pedro and doña Tina live such a wonderfully simple life. The house they built in 1975: two rooms and a latrine.

Doña Tina's famous meal: Beans from her field seasoned with herbs from her garden, spiced with chile, cheese from her cow and hot, thick tortillas fresh from her woodstove, all washed down with weak, overly-sugared coffee. The meal is always eaten with good conversation and laughter and always finished with "Costal llena, corazon contenta"; Feedbag full, heart happy.

Don Pedro is a lover of animals. Their dalmatian dog just had 11 puppies that he was so proud to show off.

What a beauty.

Doña Tina has such a carefree, positive and content spirit. I will miss her greatly and remember her as an inspiration.

I had yet to attend a church service since arriving in Guate; at least not a church service that wasn't held outside and for someone's birthday. Ela invited me to church on Sunday as there were going to be activities for Mother's Day so I thought I'd go for it. Even though I had a fairly good idea of what it would be like (long, slow and in K'iche), I needed to cross "church service" off my Guate list. While the congregation was worshiping Ela and some other women were preparing the children for their presentation.

Ela spoke about the importance of a mother...

...while the children acted out a market scene. Ela emphasized the many roles that women play in Guatemalan culture and how even though they are almost always in the home they can be important financial contributors to the household.

The older children sang a song about mothers. After the presentation the sermon started. About ten minutes in Hendrick was already causing trouble (he didn't want to go in the first place. Earlier in the day when I asked him what time we would go he responded. "I'm not going because I have to eat lunch and then I have to go to bed at 6 p.m."). I gave him my camera and told him to keep busy.

He certainly did. Although there were a myriad of shots, here are some of my favorites. Isabel carries a jug full of overly sugared coffee from the kitchen to the service to serve with the chuchitos.

This one is incredible, I think maybe my favorite shot in all my time here. Just think of the perfect timing to get that drool just before it dropped, let alone the lighting, colors and composition.

I really like the perspective on this one. Today, Monday, there were Mother's Day activities at the school. I joined Ela for this one as well.

Upon arrival Ela was given a name tag custom made by Hendrick. It said Ela's name at the top, Hendrick's name at the bottom, and we think it said "I love you" somewhere in the middle.

Kids wait patiently for their turn to perform a traditional dance.

Hendrick and some of his classmates lip-synced to a song about mothers while strumming cardboard guitars.

Hendrick was very into his part.

Clash of cultures: An indigenous grandma with her indigenous granddaughter in an American flag bandana and watching indigenous little girls in mini-skirts and boots dancing to the Guatemalan equivalent of "Girls Just Want To Have Fun".

And those patient kids had their time to shine.

Faces of the crowd.

These little guys did a great dance to a banda song...this was my second favorite. After Hendrick's performance, of course.

Ela and Benancio have been talking about Elkin's birthday party for at least the last three months. The night before, true to form, Ela and the other women of the family were scurrying to prepare things; decorations, food, gifts and the house. At 8:00 Cali, Charlotte and I went down to help make tamales. After helping to make the sauce we began assembling the tamales. Our goal was 180 tamales but by 11:00 we had run out of banana leaves. We were grateful, each having had a long day already. Doña Ana finishes the last of the tamales the next morning after buying more banana leaves.

There was even a clown. Ela invited Hendrick's first grade class to watch.

This clown wasn't any old clown, mind you. Not only did this clown speak K'iche, he was also an evangelical clown, asking the kids who loved "Jesusito" to raise their hands and then opening with a special blessing for Elkin.

I must admit, the clown was pretty funny. He had Hendrick belly-laughing nearly the whole time.

Even don Juan enjoyed himself.

Ferando, on the other hand clung for life to his aunt Isabel. Earlier, while the clown was getting ready in the house Fernando passed his door, saw him and in the same heartbeat turned around and walked straight into Isabel's arms, shellshocked. Before the clown came out to the crowd I asked Fernando if he liked him. His response: "I'm going to kill the clown."

Cali and Charlotte's votes are still out on the clown.

Working his clown magic on the boys.

And then came the piñata. One for the girls...

...and one for the boys.

Elkincito hung in pretty good most the day, considering that while we were finishing up the tamales at 11:00 the previous night he was up and drinking Coca Cola and that a line of firecrackers 5 feet long was set off at 5:30 a.m. that morning followed by birthday cake and hot chocolate for breakfast.

By the time we sang "Happy Birthday" however, he was nearly in melt-down mode.

Guatemalans love "the bite".

And melt-down begins.

After the kids left and we had lunch the church service began. Here Ela speaks to her congregation and thanks them for attending Elkin's birthday.

Then while Ela tries to lead Elkin in a song, Elkin tries to bite the microphone.

And just like the weekend before at Fernando's party, it was a mad rush to plate and serve the tamales and cake. Cali weaves her way through the crowd, three plates in hands, like a pro.

It had been a week or two since I've gone to check on potatoes. Today, I set out once again with camera to visit my ladies. Follow me through my day....Elena brings a bowl of ash followed closely behind by Adolfo, her son.

Making my rounds I found myself behind these two women on a path.

A gem. I love how she tied her hair on top of her bandana.

Manuela, always a beauty, weaving.

Cata forms bread in her house.

Angelica, a sweet girl with a stutter follows me to the all the houses in one neighborhood of town.

Manuela sprinkles her huge potato plants with ash to prevent fungal growth.

I taught Manuela's daughter, Wendy, to use my camera this afternoon. This is a photo that came from that session. I love it.

And here are some of my favorite women: Ana, Manuela, Juana and little Juanita, as photographed by Wendy.

Saturday morning I got up and prepared to go for a run. Let me back up here, Saturday morning I was awoken at 5:30 by firecrackers and a live band serenading Fernando for this birthday. After the band left, the music stayed on at ear-drum rupturing levels, as is protocol for Guatemalan parties of any kind. (Even when grocery stores have sales they set up a wall of speakers inside the stores). As I passed the house on my way to run everyone was up and out, preparing for the party. I asked if there was much to do and, also in the normal dramatic Guatemalan fashion I was told that there was. I was promptly offered hot chocolate and birthday cake for breakfast. So much for my run. Cata is a strong Catholic, as such there was a small shrine set up in the center of the party. I mostly stayed in the kitchen. The women were making pepian, the national dish of Guatemala and I wanted to learn how to make it. Pepian is a tomato-based stew made with lots of seeds and spices. The stew has either turkey or chicken, potatoes, peas or green beans and is served over rice. Here, over the fire they are roasting the tomatoes and onion and have already de-seeded the three kinds of chilies.Maria toasts the pumpkin seed after having toasted the sesame seeds, cinnamon bark and whole peppercorns. In the back ground women are preparing the corn leaves to make tamalitos.Doña Ana and Doña Chuz make baskets and basketsof tamalitos (tamalitos are corn dough steamed in corn leaves, a common alternative to tortillas). When the corn leaves are young like they are now, they give the tamalitos a wonderful flavor.Hendrick, always mischievous, carried his camera around all day as well, informing me multiple times that "This camera is from the United States.".Fernando's piñata was sponsored by the number 3 and the color blue.Fernando examining my gift to him: a pack of 6 race cars. I still don't know if he found them acceptable.Outside Isabel takes out some of the broth from cooking the turkey with a giant hollowed-out gourd. They will use this broth to liquify the seeds and chilies for the pepian.Chow time: Oscar with Fernando, who is digging into his lunch. I must be honest, I am not the biggest fan of pepian (early on in my time in Guate I had some that made me a bit sick) but this was the best batch I had tasted. I saw it from start to finish: from three live turkeys to five women working together to make it without a recipe.After lunch the church service started. It is customary to invite all the member's of one's church to birthday parties. Cata attends a big catholic church, which means there were a lot of people and a long service. I learned early on to make my self scarce when the services are starting lest I be caught in the crowd, unable to escape the hand-clapping, repetative songs and the pastor's yelling. Instead, Ela and I had a nice, relaxing chat in the warm kitchen.

After the church service it is then customary to feed everyone. Cata and Oscar ordered 500 tamales which arrived in crates the day before. The giant pot on the floor is highly sugared coffee which will be poured into the styrofoam cups to be delivered the the attendees by the basketful. There were something like 12 cakes that were cut and ready to be distributes as well. (Hendrick, the biggest cake monger I've met in my life, even more so than myself, threw fit after fit until his mom gave him more and more cake. At one point, he grabbed a large piece with bright pink frosting, smeared the frosting across his face and said, "I'm a clown." and walked out of the kitchen.)The calm before the storm: Each styrofoam plate received two tamales, two slices of bread, one piece of birthday cake on a napkin and with a fork. Maria thought it was important that each be just as such. We did our best to prepare as many as possible before hand but once the service was over and it was time to serve, the storm hit. The kitchen almost instantly became a forest of bodies and a sea of noise; six or seven working around the table, all yelling what they needed, "Napkin!", "Cake!", "Tamal!", styrofoam flying in all directions, hands colliding across the table in an effort to deliver what they held. Another five or six were delivering food to the crowded room below, all the while dodging kids and navigating rain and slippery steps. As empty hands returned to the table they would instantly be filled with plates and ordered to "Go! Go! Go!". In what seemed a matter of minutes and as the baskets of tamales dwindled someone from below came to inform us that "Ya.", everyone had been served. All of us women looked around, as if waking up from a mid-afternoon nap and assessing the damage. Frosting smeared on nearly everything, prepared plates askew, waiting to be carried out, women sighing and laughing, brushing their dark hair from their faces with their forearms, hands stained with pastel goo. As the attendees said their goodbyes (another Guatemalan social practice: get your food and leave right after), we grabbed what remained of the food (which was a lot), found a seat and began to eat. Nearly everyone in the kitchen was chatting in K'iche, reviewing the day. Elkin saw my food, approached me with a sweet grin on his face and said "Hola.". Clearly he was after my tamal. I hung out for awhile, ate my cake, watched Hendrick eat more cake and lick the cake lids clean of their smeared frosting (surely he made himself sick off it), grabbed a half-dozen of the 100 or so left over tamales and headed to the peace of my adobe room.

Tomorrow we celebrate Fernando's 3rd birthday. Birthdays are always a big event here...a special lunch with family and close friends then a church service at the house followed by a piñata as pay-off for the kids for sitting through a church service. Cata and Oscar, Fernando's parents are never ones to skimp on a party. They bought three turkeys. This afternoon the whole family was there to help kill and prepare tomorrow's lunch.

They even built a temporary shelter to house the temporary outdoor kitchen.

The birthday boy himself with his mom, Cata.

Once the turkeys had bled they were put in the giant pot of boiling water for just a minute to soften the skin for de-feathering. Once that turkey was out of the water it was a frenzy of hands and feathers.

After the feathers are removed just the feet are dipped in the boiling water. This helps the rough skin on the feet to just peel off. Yes, this is me just peeling off turkey feet skin. I'm gonna be honest here, I didn't think I could do it. What I did not do that every other woman there did do was snap the toe nails off the birds.

More feather plucking.

After all the birds had been par-boiled Isabel scoops water out of the giant pot so we can lift it off the fire.

Cata and Ana work hard to get all the feathers off the naked birds.

After all the feathers are gone the bird is passed over flame to singe any that we may have missed.

All the while the kids are running around causing trouble. Ela gave Elkin strawberries to keep him busy but we looked over in time just to see him smashing the berries through the mesh wire cage of his pet rabbit, Flash because Ela told Elkin to share.(A side story: Here, when kids start to get whiney or cry parents always try to distract them by pointing something else out; "Look at the truck!", "Look at the cat!", "Look at your friend, she's not crying!" are examples. Today, I heard a new one; "Look at the turkey blood!")

Finally, Ela cut all three birds. Just in case you can't fully see, she is using a machete to butcher the turkey. Check back soon for photos of the birthday party.

Hendrick's classes were cancelled today, which is not an uncommon occurrence here. Generally on days when his classes are cancelled Hendrick can be found planted in front of the T.V., sometimes making an appearance outside to kick the ball around for a minute. When I came back from my run mid-morning he was set up on the terrace, set up with desk, chair and supplies and looking much like a little artist in his work space.I didn't think he'd be there long but sure enough, he spent all day there. I decided to pay him a visit with my camera in tow.

Generally making faces for the camera or hiding his face, he invited me to take as many photos as I liked and to stay as long as I liked while he worked away.

We chatted cordially a while as he discussed the 'beautiful view from his terrace' and the projects he'd been working on.

He showed me a painting he completed this morning. As I prepared to leave he welcomed me back any time, for as long as I'd like and went right back to his work.

The work continues with this project of growing potatoes in tires and continues to provide me with wonderful photographic opportunities. Team work: Mixing dirt with ash and mulch to make soil to fill in the second tires of each stack.

A sweet little guy, rapidly becoming my new favorite, although I haven't learned his name yet. He doesn't speak Spanish and I don't speak K'iche. Ela translated for him today; he asked me, "When we are going to plant more potatoes?" When little Elkin was mindlessly ripping at the potato leaves, this little one ran to me, tugging at my pants, pointing to alert me.

Yup, everything looks good here.

Filling the edges on the tires first.

It's always a scene....

Don Juan happily waters his newly planted garden at dusk.

A view of Chirijox. In the middle is visible the dirt central plaza and the church with the rusted roof to the right. I live just behind and below the big yellow building on the left edge of the plaza.

I am pleased that at this point in my community I can whip out a camera in confidence. The women I work with all know me by know and know that my camera is never far. People around town have seen me enough to know that I can be trusted to take their portrait from time to time. Today as I left my house I put my camera in my bag and set to snapping. Here then, is the chronological, photographic story of my day today.Tires. Potatoes. I never would have guessed that this project would take off the way it has. I had a hard time keeping the women interested in nearly any of my ideas before this one. What started originally as around 30 active families has now exploded to around 70. As such, Ela and I are scrambling to keep up with these fast-growing papas. All the families have their first tire planted, now we are on to placing and filling the second. Here, Dominga piles dirt into the tire while her daughter, Emma, holds the plants back. Before.

After.

Doña Francisca has been a consistent and active part of the group from the beginning. She is a tiny old woman who doesn't speak a word of Spanish. We had to loosen soil from packed ground and carry it about 10 feet to the tire. She took tiny little swipes at the soil while I shuttled the small buckets. I asked her if I could help her, if we could switch, and she would have none of it. This is not because she is a prideful woman, I believe, but because of her desire to do things herself, to show that she is not taking advantage of my support and that she is serious about the project.

In the end we filled both the second and third tires. Afterward, doña Francisca sat me in a dim room with overly sugared coffee and moldy bread. She sat with me, her wrinkled face turned toward the light. She had a one-sided conversation with me in K'iche while I smiled and agreed.

The dry season is construction season. Most of the houses in Chirijox are made from adobe and from November to May one can find at least one work site that looks like this at all times. These men mix straw and water with the ground beneath their feet to form large blocks that dry after a few days in the hot sun.

This man was particularly nice and offered to help Isabel fill her nearby tire.

Last time I saw Santa she was big and round under her traditional skirt. This time I was introduced to Melvyn Martin, now some 40 days old. Here, when a child is born, instead of clothes and toys (I suppose there are enough of those laying around from previous kids and neighbors) household items like soap, sugar and eggs are given to the family. I brought Santa a half dozen.

I finished my tour of tires with Ana after nearly 6 hours of visiting women. Ana is one of my favorites. She lives nearby and is active in the group, has an adorable little daughter and has a wonderful sense of humor and demeanor.

Once home I updated Ela on our progress. We needed at least 40 more tires to have each women complete their stack to a height of three tires. As we debated the best way to get more tires (as we have depleted Chirijox) I mentioned that I had seen some in the next town over. Ela suggested we go right then to look for them. Tired, sunburnt and hungry I agreed. Hendrick joined us on our journey and provided entertainment in the truck ride there. We didn't find any tires.

Get ready, this will be a long one, but it will cover ten days of travels, adventures and holidays. On Friday Nic and I traveled into Guatemala City to catch our bus across the country to Flores. Upon arrival we found that the company did not have our reservations (after making them two weeks in advance and confirming them two days earlier. This is so typical of Guatemala) and all the buses to Flores that night were full. The woman at the desk was nice enough to call another company who did have space, however. We boarded that bus at 11 p.m. and after traveling through the night, ran out of gas at 5:30 a.m. Mind you, this is a professional bussing company, similar to Alamo. Fortunately for us we were in a city and were able to get gas and be back on the road in about a half hour's time. Flores is a charming little town located on a small island (it takes about 20 minutes to walk across) in the middle of Lake Peten Itza.

It doesn't feel as much like Guatemala as a mix of Caribbean and Colonial design. Lots of bright colors.

The weekend we were there was Palm Sunday and the start of Semana Santa, Holy Week, a huge event in Central America.

Sunset over the lake.Leaving Flores on Sunday we traveled three hours on a dirt road North to the town of Carmelita. This is the kick off point to hike El Mirador. Even though two out of those three hours we were on a "protected" bio-reserve, we saw extensive logging along with slashing and burning to make room for cattle grazing.

Carmelita is exactly what one might think of when one thinks of a jungle village.**************

We set off hiking on Monday morning and after covering 6 miles arrived at Tintal, one of the many ruins in the area. The camp is well established as it's a working archeological area.

Carlos, our trusty guide who is from Carmelita and has worked in/around El Mirador for more than 20 years. He even claims to have discovered another set of ruins called Nakbe that were another day's walk from El Mirador.

From left: Jim, Sara, Nic, Alana, Charlotte, Anne and Emily.

We hiked to the larger pyramid at Tintal for sunset.

The lump is the other pyramid at this site. The view was incredible...a blanket of green in all directions as far as one can see. Carlos pointed out small bumps barely visible on the horizon; one was El Mirador and the others were more pyramids in Mexico. They looked so far away.The next morning we rose early to beat the heat. After 9 miles we arrived at the ancient city of El Mirador. As soon as we entered the site, it was as if there were treasures to be found down every path. This is a "mascaron", a big mask, about the same height as me, in front of a smaller temple. The designs to the right have been restored, but the original red paint is still visible through the light plaster.

Atop another pyramid for susnet. El Tigre is the second largest pyramid at El Mirador. The Pyramids were named for their size in correlation to the size of jungle animals; the largest is "la danta", the tapir, then "el tigre" and lastly "los monos", the monkeys.

La Danta.

Sunset.

Another "mascaron" at another building. There are some 24 mascarons at El Mirador.

This was my favorite part of the whole park. A large relief depicting the Mayan creation myth.

A smiling face.

A mythical creature.

The creation myth involves a set of twins who had to travel to the underworld and who eventually are placed in heaven as the moon and sun. This is one of the twins.

Amazing trees everywhere.

A beautiful moss.Designer roots.

I just couldn't see a vine and not swing on it. The info plaque at the base of the La Danta Complex. The base of this complex is the size of 17 football fields.

The top of La Danta, some 72 meters (nearly 250 feet). La Danta is not only the tallest pyramid the Maya ever constructed, it is estimated to have more mass the largest pyramid in Egypt, technically making it the largest in the world. It was constructed in 300 b.c. A side temple.

Our guide informed us that the stones were cut using obsidian, but the nearest volcanoes are on the other side of the country.

The steep steps up and the side temple.

And the sprawling view from the top. The bump is the pyramid "El Tigre". Just in front of El Tigre there is a small pink flowering tree. This tree's bark is boiled into a tea and used to treat malaria.

Impressive.

Along with lots of ruins we also encountered lots of wildlife. Monkey were abundant. In the day we saw spider monkeys. They would crash through the trees all around us, drop sticks or unripened fruit on us from above. The best is when they brace themselves between two branches and shake vigorously in an unsuccessful attempt to intimidate us. One morning Nic barely escaped being urinated on by one. At night, however the howler monkeys ruled the jungle. Their cries are incredible; laying in my tent in the warm night listening to their calls made me feel like I could have been camping in Jurassic Park listening to dinosaur calls. One night they were very near our camp and the volume of the calls drowned all other sounds. It was one of my favorite experiences on the trip.

Along with monkeys the park is home to these amazingly painted jungle turkeys. Also on the trail we saw a few jungle fox, a jungle squirrel and Anne nearly stepped on the most poisoness snake in the jungle, "barba amarilla", yellow beard.

Walking up the smallest of the major temples, "Los Monos" for our last sunset in the park. This is what all the temples looked like, completely unexcavated.

Sunset and La Danta.

"La Muerta", The Dead Woman, are the last ruins as you leave the park.

Yes, one can crawl inside. And yes, I did.

After entering the first chamber, hook a left through this crawl space into a larger chamber that was tall and narrow and home to a few jungle bats. We all made it out of the jungle without a hang up and even without too many bug bites. **************

After a rightly deserved shower and dinner we watched processions pass through the streets on Flores. It was now Good Friday and the processions were solemn. The photo is blurry, but the men who lead the procession swinging incense wear black robes with skulls on the dunce hats. I asked a local what the skull represented but he didn't know.

Mother Mary is at the feet of Jesus after they have taken him down from the cross.

The people are silent and the music is gloomy and dramatic.

Another beautiful sunset over lake Peten Itza. Our bus back to Guatemala City left at 4 a.m. on Saturday. I had stated to feel stomach pain ever so slightly on Thursday afternoon but by Saturday, I was full-on sick. Thanks to Nic I had a window seat (and the window even opened!) which helped, but I knew it would be a difficult ride. By 8 I was pleading for Pepto or Imodium for survival. My stomach went in and out of cramping on the 10 hours as we crossed the country through the heat of the day. It seemed the bus driver stopped to pick up every person by the side of the road, even though it was a charter bus and even when we thought no one else would fit in the aisles. I had to stick my head out the window when the ladies came on selling fried chicken because the smell nauseated me so severely. The Imodium held for just the right amount of time. I can honestly say it was the worse bus ride of my life. But once in Antigua and in our hotel room I was able to relax and keep near a bathroom.

Easter Sunday morning was quiet. Nic and I got up and dressed, preparing for mass. When we walked around town the churches were still shut. We heard from folks who were in Antigua last year that Easter is actually the most quite day of Semana Santa. We carried on and had a nice breakfast with friends. Later that afternoon, however, the processions started. Except these ones were different. In front were men, women and children dressed as Hebrews, singing and dancing, playing tambourines, flutes and horns, laughing. Everyone walking with the procession waved yellow and white flags, said to represent the glory of Christ's resurrection.

Here Jesus is alive and blessing a priest.

The music was happy, almost carnival like. And, keeping with the carnival theme, vendors selling cheap toys bring up the rear of the procession.

I have kept in casual contact with the Chiroy's, the family I lived with during training. Irma, the middle sister, who I became close with in my three months living with them, had some vacations time (in Guatemala state jobs get a month of vacation in one chunk). She had called me a few weeks back and asked if 'we' could come visit. I was excited to have some time with Irma and her lovely young daughter, Estefani. As the time approached for her arrival I prepared the house and planned a special menu.Upon arrival I was surprised to see her husband, Isaias and Marta, her mother, in the car as well. I immediately thought, "Typical Guatemalan style, failing to include important information in planning". After doing a quick count in my head of cups, plates, forks, plates/bowls and chairs in my house and realizing there would be enough, I became glad that the others had joined us as well. We enjoyed the evening chatting, catching up and dining on a specially prepared dinner and dessert (good thing there was just enough food!). We bedded down (also, just enough bed space!) and slept well, despite 'las bombas' from little Estefani. In the morning we had a relaxing breakfast of french toast and they invited me to join them at Lake Atitlan for the day. I cancelled my plans to plant with Benancio and got myself ready for a mini vacation!A view over the lake with San Jorge in the forefront and Panajachel on the shore. In the background faintly are the volcanoes near Antigua, one of which is putting out smoke.

Estafani, hamming it up in front of Volcan Santiago and Volcan San Pedro.

The shore with 'lanchas' lined up while the drivers holler out prices to other lake-side towns.Estefani and Marta.

Beautiful Irma and her first time at the lake.

Irma, fully enjoying her vacation, hired a 'lancha' to take a quick tour around the shores near Pana. Estefani was glued to me all day and sat right next to me even with all the boat seats open. Marta relaxes in the seats behind us.

Marta reaching to feel the warm water.

Although she looks sad, she was really very happy.

What a place.

Last Friday we celebrated Benancio's 33rd birthday. Around 5 o'clock, Nic and I went down to the house to hang out and help get things going. Churasco, or grilling, is a Guatemalan specialty. Nic played with Elkin while we waited for the grill to heat up.

I kissed Elkin while we waited for the grill to heat up.

Benancio guards the meat from lurking chuchos who wait for an opportunity to swipe it.

Nic and I with pineapple up-side down cake for everyone.

Mi hermanito, the one and only Hendrick Nataniel Calel Perechu. Dinner was typical of Guatemala and amazing; carne asada, grilled potatoes, guacamole, black beans, grilled onions, fresh salsa, chile, and of course, hot tortillas.

Followers of my blog may remember the hike up Volcan Tajamulco that I posted about on Dec. 8th, 2009. Last weekend I had the opportunity to conquer the sleeping volcano again. Nic and I at the trailhead. A view of the summit and the road that leads to the trail. This round it was hot and very very dusty, a big change from our trip in December which was cold and cloudy.Houses dot the first half mile of the road to the trail. Kids have become unashamed panhandlers, approaching hikers with snot-noses and smiles asking first for a quetzal (the Guatemalan currency) and if that fails, a cookie or some candy. But I have learned the secret weapon against kids like these; they run for cover when the camera comes out. It might not protect one's exposed skin to the wind, but look at that view! An old outhouse and Volcan Tacaná in Mexico. Our lunch spot had a fantastic view of the valleys and communities around Tajamulco. It is really amazing how remote some of these communities are.As we lunched we watched huge, fluffy clouds fill in those valleys and communities below.

The crew: Jerami and Zane, Cara and David, Rachel and Jose, Nic and myself. We arrived at base camp after taking a leisurely pace up the trail. Nic brought his GPS and to our astonishment the trail to base camp was only two miles (it felt like four)! However, in those two miles we gained 3,000 feet putting base camp at 13,000 feet. We woke at 4 a.m. the next morning and climbed in the dark another 850 feet to the summit. Unfortunately the camera fails to capture the beauty. If you look closely, the small whitish dot in the sky, left of center, is a crescent moon. Although still windy and chilly at the summit, the night was mild (40 degrees) and we enjoyed being outside every minute. Clouds blanketed the valleys all the way around the mountain. We were on an island in the sky. Volcanoes on the horizon.

The shadow of Tajamulco and the peak of Tacaná. Even as the morning progressed and as we packed up and began down the trail the clouds lingered between ridges and peaks.

As well as a new project we have added a new group. Today we planted with a group of women that live a short walk from Chirijox. The women were very friendly and enthusiastic. Each woman helped to prepare the tires of all the other women in the group, a parade marching from house to house in the dust. Here a woman pushes dirt into the sides of the tires to prevent air pockets. This community has particularly sweeping views of the valley and ravines below.

Group participation.

A particularly surly one.

A typical scene: A partially completed weaving, basket of multi-colored yarns, a mat for sitting and a chucho taking advantage of the shade on a hot morning.

With much legwork behind us now, we have hit the ground running with a new project! After hauling 125 used tires in from an hour away (and nearly throwing out my back in the process) we distributed them to around 50 women in the community. This week I am busy stopping at each women's house to plant. We are growing potatoes in a stack of tires. We begin with one tire, filled to the rim with dirt and compost...

...and plant four potato plants.

As the plant grows to the height of 8-10 inches, we place another tire over the first.

By filling the second tire and burying the existing leaves, the plant is forced to grow upward,

while the buried leaves will form new spuds.

We will stack to the height of three tires,

Which should give us a bountiful yield in four months from now, if all goes well. Of course, it's always fun for me to drop in on the women and get a glimpse of their lives.

What I love about the markets here is that anyone can sit down along a street and sell just about anything they make in their house or grow in their yard. I try to buy from the old women that just have a few items; avacados, limes, peaches, greens or beans. The last batch of beans I bought carried a small rainbow of speckles and colors.

Those who know me know I love to be in the kitchen. Living in rural Guatemala, I have enjoyed the challenge of making foods I love out of ingredients available and with the tools available. On days like today, for example, when plans get cancelled I like to browse recipes and see what inspires me. I've had a recipe for homemade raviolis bookmarked for a while now so I thought I'd go for it. As far as tools go, I am fortunate to have inherited a food processor from another volunteer, which made making the dough a snap. For the next step I had to use some muscle, rolling out the sheets of pasta as thin as my arms could bare. Ricotta is easy to make with powdered milk and using vinegar to curdle it, thus forming the cheese. I had some parmesan in the fridge and with some thyme from my garden, some lemon zest and a squirt of lemon juice from a lemon a friend gave me, I had my filling. (For those who were wondering, yes, the grapefruit-sized yellow thing in the back left is, in fact, a lemon.)

After piecing them all together I had an army of raviolis drying on my table. They will be enjoyed tonight in a white wine sauce and with good company.

Feria is a fun time for all. People travel from distances of sometimes over an hour to go to feria. Here, a man walks the lonely road that ends in the happiness that is feria.

A few days before feria actually begins vendors begin to arrive. At every feria there are people that sell these cookie/bread rings. They arrive with huge baskets of them and people seem to love them...

A carousel for the kids...

Comedors, or eateries are set up...

Local men chat about local business...The ferris wheel is always a big hit...And of course feria food! Here, Cali, Charlotte and Sara enjoy 'elote loco', crazy corn-on-the-cob. It's corn covered in any combination of mayonnaise, ketchup, hot sauce and a parmesan-esque cheese.However, the highlight of any feria is the music and the dancing. Most ferias have "El Baile de Disfrases", the costume dance. This is an extra big deal where Nic lives in Chujuyub and this year, we were fortunate enough to be asked to participate. We had no idea what we were getting ourselves into...After two nights of two hour practices (we skipped the third night), we went to rent our costumes. The Aztec King and the Aztec Goddess.

Getting ready with all the other dancers. All the costumes were elaborate like ours. The crowd had gathered outside by 8:30 a.m. and the live music, "Los Conejos Internaciónales de Marimba", The International Marimba Rabbits, was bumpin'. It was show time. Even our costumes couldn't disguise us. We were head and shoulders above the other dancers and the band repeatedly announced that there were gringos dancing. (Thanks Cali for the photos!)

We danced in a big, dusty field with around 50 other people participating. The dance moves were not complicated and definitely did not require the three nights of two hour practices. Circles...

Lines...

After two hours we were released for a short break.And this is how we felt: tired and sweaty. These costumes were hot and stinky. One of Nic's buddies. He was drunk, like many Guatemalan men choose to be at 11 a.m. during feria. He was excited to see us dancing and offered us cold Cokes that tasted so very good.

We were a sort of celebrity with the kids, some of whom Nic works with in the schools. Also some of our friends, here Cali, came out to watch the action. We danced for another two hours and couldn't take anymore. Many of the dancers were smarter than us and shared the costumes with another pair, so they only danced half that time. There were some though that danced until 6 p.m. that night. We learned that El Baile de Disfrases is something many Guatemalans take very seriously. During a break, we saw one man having his calves massaged by his wife while he stood rehydrating himself. And of course no feria, at least for Nic and I is complete without the recuerdo. A guy behind the camera made me laugh.

I get up around 6:30 each day. I open my eyes to a dark house (shutters cover my windows and only small beams of light penetrate the cracks). I get up, put on my shoes and a jacket and open the door, eyes squinting in preparation for a waking world outside.

A particularly beautiful morning with cotton ball clouds, light breaking over the ridge and a view of Nahualá. Corn stalks, doubled and dried, waiting to be cleared out.It might be a latrine, but it's a beautiful latrine.

The meeting that was scheduled for last Wednesday was, as anticipated, a bust. Ela had to go to Sololá for a meeting for the day and only 5 of around 50 women showed. One of them showed two hours late. As one might imagine it left me annoyed, disappointed and disheartened. When Ela returned from her all-day meeting she immediately came to my house and said, "Let's go! We're going to meet with a new group!". Guatemalans, as a whole are not the most informative people. I'm not sure why, but on most occasions they will simply fail to inform one of a meeting or an important or interesting or helpful bit of information, often then leaving that person in an unprepared or clueless state. So, as we walked the dusty paths and I began to interrogate Ela about this new group. They live in another community, in another municipality even, but this community is pegged to Chirijox. There is a Y in the road, seemingly still in the middle of Chirijox, and at that Y the village of Xolcaja in the municipality of Nahualá begins. They are a group of about 20 women that Ela had worked with in the past. She had recently talked with the leader and she had expressed interest to participate in the larger group again. We met with the leader, Ana, and Ana said that her group wants to participate with the projects but they don't want to arrive at my house for meetings, a ten minute walk away. At this, I was immediately annoyed and thought of how typical this was. Groups want the benefits of the projects but don't want to have to put in the work or responsibility to receive them. I have officially become jaded. As Ela and I walked home I asked about this. Apparently, years ago, there was a conflict between the two towns over a soccer field that is near the boundary. People of both towns still have animosity towards each other but they don't even really know why or remember what the conflict was about. Ela said she is a good mediator because she is neither from Xolcaja nor Chirijox. In fact, Ela said that the committee may be upset with her for even going to a meeting without speaking to them first. Ela said the animosity is purely psychological. A few day's later, Ana had spoken with the women of her group and they decided that they would attend meetings and participate fully in the larger group. Today we will go to meet the group and register all the women. I asked Ela about taking to the committee first before starting work with the group. Ela basically said to forget about the committee as she had called them all to try to organize a meeting but they aren't returning her calls. Because the thing is, Guatemala is a culture where rarely will this, or any, committee be called out on their negligent behavior. At the next meeting all will be as though everything is fine and the psuedo-power of the committee will continue, which is, as one might imagine, incredibly frustrating. As such, it made me very happy to see Ela stand up to the committee.

For Hendrick's 6th birthday, Nic and I found the perfect gift. Hendrick LOVES Spriderman (pronounced speeder-mahn) and he LOVES pancakes (more, he loves sugar). While in a fancy grocery store in Puerto Escondido, Mexico, we spotted a pancake pan that burns the face on Spiderman on the pancake. Since we gave it to him on his birthday in late December I've been telling him I'll make him very special pancakes whenever he wants. Only yesterday did he take me up on the offer. He arrived at my house around 5:30 p.m.. He said he wasn't too hungry so he suggested we build some hunger over a game of Uno. Earlier that day Ela told me how Hendrick hadn't eaten much for lunch the day before. When she asked him about it he said it was because he was fat and shouldn't eat too much. I asked Hendrick about this over cards. He said, yes, he was fat but that it should be okay because as a person grows they loose their fat. But there was one thing Hendrick didn't understand; his grandpa that lives in another town is grown but he is still fat. See photo for reference.

I explained to Hendrick that sometimes people grow and are thin and then as they get old they get fat again. It seemed to understand. After our Uno game we prepared to make the special pancakes. Hendrick asked if I had a chef's hat and coat. I looked around and gave him my pink frilly apron and a straw hat.

He pulled up a stool to my big table and went to work mixing the batter. He was an eager chef's assistant. The final product: Chocolate chip, peanut butter, banana pancake. He said he had never tasted anything like it in the world and ate with the usual gusto.

These days are strangely familiar. January; the hills are monotone brown and the needles of the pine trees are dulled, coated in the dusty soil. The days are hot and the nights are cool. The fields have been cleared, leaving the dry soil susceptible to involuntary removal by gusts of warm winds.

The holidays and harvests are over and now women are busy preparing their children to return to school from the two month "summer" break. Schools themselves are busy constructing more classrooms due to higher registration rates than school capacity. I am here planning, dreaming, hoping and waiting.

"Stuck between a rock and a hard place" is, I think, the appropriate saying to describe my position. It has been over 6 weeks since I have had any 'official' work. By 'official' I mean organized meeting with a group of women. The holidays and harvest and now the starting of school has stolen all the women's time away from our meetings. Yet, here I am, excited and full of ideas and projects yet unable to realize them, at least at this point. Let me explain what I mean. The women of my committee are incredibly jealous women. If I start a project, even the simplest of projects, and I don't first talk to the committee about it, when we do meet, they will be distant and angry with me over the fact that I did not run it by them first. However, one should know that running it by the committee first does nothing of benefit for myself or the project. These women rarely help to refine the ideas or organize any of the work. What they might do is help spread the word, which I suppose may have greater impact than I realize. Meetings have been scheduled and canceled or postponed due to one thing or another. Or meetings have been scheduled simply to have no one show up. So, I continue to wait through the hot days.

I am excited for a project that I think could be very successful here. Growing potatoes in tire towers. One starts by planting 3-4 potato starts in the bottom of a used tire. Once the plant has grown 6-8 inches above the upper rim of the tire, another tire is added and filled with dirt, burring the branches of the plant and therefore creating more spuds. I have heard this method can produce up to 25 pounds of taters in a season. It is recommended that the soil is a mixture of compost and soil for greatest success, so I hope that this will allow me to push worm composting on the previously hesitant group.

In the mean time, for myself I have enjoyed dreaming and planning for my own gardens. I too, will have a tire tower for taters. I will nix carrots and onions in my own garden this year (both are cheap and abundant in markets and take up precious space in my small gardens) to have more room for chard, kale, brussels sprouts, broccoli, beets and spinach. I will also leave a shady portion underneath the peach tree for beloved sweet potatoes. I am working on the sprouts now.

Sweet potatoes are actually more closely related to morning glories than to potatoes. As such, they sprout differently. Where potatoes sprout from eyes, sweet potatoes produce shoots. Once the shoots are about 2 inches long they can be planted, each node throwing down roots and creating the delicious and nutritious tubers.

Work will come, we have a meeting planned this Wednesday to begin discussing the potato tower project. Until then I will do my best to enjoy the slow days and plan for future gardens.

Yes, time flies and it's time again to celebrate Hendick's birthday. This year's party was much more low key than last year's. This year just a few families were invited over for a lunch of chicken noodle soup and coke floats with strawberry ice cream. 

All the kids took a whack at the piñata, even little Elkin. 

Fernando takes his turn with gusto. 

Nic captures Hendrick's face as the piñata flies off the line to shatter on the ground.

"Ya queremos pastel", "We want cake", people began to chant as the kids cleaned up every last piece of candy from the piñata. 

Frosting face: it never gets old. 

Elkin was so determined to eat his cake but he needed his hands to steady himself against the table.

As typical, a prayer session is initiated. Everyone prayed out loud, their voices gradually growing louder as tears began to stream down their faces. Even Hendrick was pumping his fists in fervor. 

Fernando cannot believe his mom is telling him to get off of Hendrick's car, even though he got the same car for Christmas just three days before. He also somehow managed to get blue frosting not only on his cheek but also the shoulder of his shirt. 

The boys outside on their cars. I told them they are the champions and Hendrick declared that only he was the champion. Classic first child syndrome. 

We loved San Cristobal! It was a great time and 5 days wasn't even enough time to see it all. Our days were lazy and unplanned. We wandered the streets and had no schedule. Here we're taking a mid-morning snack break under a bronze statue near an old colonial arch. 

A typical morning at a cafe with some coffee, breakfast cookie and cards. 

Dancers performing a traditional ceremony in the plaza. 

Enjoying the empty streets early on Christmas morning and hoping some place is open for breakfast. 

Another view of one of the pedestrian streets (we seemed to take all our street photos in the morning when there weren't many people out but from noon to midnight the streets were literally packed with people).

Mexico has a nice selection of decent beers. We enjoyed sampling them all and having them from a can, a bottle and even on tap as I happily demonstrate here. (Also, stay tuned for Nic's blog posting reviewing and rating all the Mexican beers.) 

Superior, one of the many Mexican beers has a VW Bug for the company car. 

Nic's glasses reflecting sunset on the face of the cathedral and me taking a photo of him. 

Nic and I walked to a cathedral on a hill near the edge of the city for sunset. Here's a view near the top of the stairs. Notice the flags over the main street.

Checking out the view from the cathedral.  

Mexican flags cover at least a mile of a main street. 

A saint stands guard, if not handless, at the cathedral. 

We loved the bright colors of the storefronts and restaurants. 

One of the many pedestrian streets decorated festively. 

Christmas Eve and we're ready to hit the town! Mexico puts out a seasonal beer called "Noche Buena", Christmas Eve. As such, we partook in some before heading out.

The streets were full with people all night. Nic and I had a great Argentinian meal and then jumped from cafe to bar until Midnight when fireworks were set off and everyone celebrated. 

Like any good tourist city there are women and children wandering the streets pestering visitors and locals alike to buy cheap souvenir items. 

A booth in a market that sells typical and colorful Mexican sweets. 

In Latin America there are manger scenes as well, called "Nacemientos". Every house, restaurant, hotel and park has one. They can get a little creative, placing elephants, tigers, buffalo in the scenes along side baby Jesus.  This place claimed to have the biggest in San Cristobal and I think they may be right. 

On our second day in San Cristobal we took a boat tour through Cañon Sumidero, only about 40 minutes away. The entrance to the canyon. Right around this corner we saw spider monkeys swinging in the big trees along the river. 

Mexico is applying this canyon for one of the Seven Wonders and it is a beautiful place. The boat went fast. 

At the highest point the walls tower 3,000 feet above the river which is 100 feet deep. The depth of the river is affected by the hydro-electric dam at the end of the canyon, the fourth dam on the Grijalva River. 

At one area on the river we entered a small cave, called 'The Cave of Colors' due to the mineral deposits and had this altar perched on a small outcropping. 

The sun felt so nice that day. 

"The Christmas Tree" is a giant moss-covered mineral formation. Water seeps out from the canyon walls carrying minerals that collect and form big 'branches'. 

Beautiful yellow flowers cover this mountain side. The water level on this tree demonstrates how the water fluctuates with the control of the dam. 

It's a croc! We saw a few, with their gnarly teeth, but this guy gave us the perfect photo opportunity sunning his nose.

The other end of the canyon and lake that was formed by the dam. 

After nearly 21 hours of travel, we arrive in Puerto Escondido, Oaxaca at 9 a.m. We checked into our hotel, showered and headed out to check out the town and the beach. It's cloudy in the morning but we figure it will burn off. Puerto Escondido is great; a small city with a few smooth palm-lined beaches, streets lined with cafes and eateries and a small, protected bay filled with fishing boats. There are some foreigners, but the beaches are mostly full of Mexicans wading in the surf. 

We happened to arrive during feria. In the afternoon the beach front was decorated in preparation for the blessing of the city's patron saint, Santa Solidad. The procession started at the church up the hill. The statue of the saint was carried down to the beach where she was placed on a fishing boat. The Father boarded the boat as well, and with a fleet of boats following, headed out to sea. There, the blessing took place and the boats returned to shore and the saint was replaced in the church. 

The next morning, while it was still dark we boarded a local boat and set out to sea ourselves. The boat was still decorated from the event the day before. 

We went fishing!!

Nic was the first to reel in a big guy. This is an albacore. 

I got one too! Together, Nic and I reeled in 4 albacores and at least 8 mackerels and saw sea turtles and dolphins.

While we went back to the hotel to shower and clean up, our fish was being prepared as a feast! Garlic and chili sauce where complimented excellently with tortillas and Coronas with lime. 

The next day the clouds still hadn't cleared. We were feeling kinda bummed and a little bored since swimming didn't sound so good. We decided to head to another part of town and check out things there. It actually started to rain on us during the walk over there so we ducked into a cafe and found an old Scrabble board. I won, with the word "cornbread" scoring me something like 130 points. 

We still enjoyed a nice meal beach side. The sunset that day was incredible! It literally lasted over an hour from about this point on. 

Not a bad view.

Our last day we awoke to sun!! We hit the beach immediately and spent the day soaking up what we could of it! We plopped ourselves under an umbrella and stayed there all day. 

Pelicans played King of the Rock as waves splashed against them. 

We enjoyed watching the swimmers, surfers and boogie boarders, even taking a turn at the boogie board ourselves. The waves were big and perfect. 

Beers went down a little too easy in the heat but were a perfect accompaniment to the fresh shrimp ceviche we bought from a local vendor. 

On the way to the bus terminal to catch another overnight bus that will deliver us to San Cristobal de las Casas. 

The Mayan call themselves People of the Corn. Their creation myth tells of how they were born out of corn stalks. Corn is red, white, black and yellow. The people of Guatemala are red, white, black and yellow. They have survived on corn for thousands of years and work hard to cultivate and harvest it, using techniques thousands of years old. 

La tapizca is what is called the harvest of the corn. All is done by hand. Once the rain stops in late October the corn stalks are doubled over to dry. By the time la tapizca begins, the kernels of ears and hardened and the stalks are dry as a bone. The ears are pulled from the husks by workers and thrown into an old feed bag. Each worker moves down a row of corn. Row after row after row. This is la tapizca.Although the red corn seed is never planted, one pure red ear, and only one ear, out of thousands of ears, was harvested. A few ears even turned out pink. As Ela put it, it is a friendship between the white and yellow breeds. 

The variety in color is both amazing and beautiful. 

Diego, a mozo, or young worker in the field. I asked Benancio how much he pays the workers. He said it depends on age (as there were two men around 40 years old along with the six 12 or 13 year olds). He said he pays the young ones about Q35 for the day. That is $4.37. Throughout the day, we probably harvested about 3 acres of corn. Sure, Hendrick is just a little guy, but look at the size of this ear of corn! Of course, not all were that large, but a few of them were the biggest I've seen. I've really come to enjoy giving Hendrick the camera. 

Ela in the kitchen with a view. They are slowly dismantling this old building but since it is easier to cook large amounts of food over the wood stove (Ela fed myself, her family and the 8 workers breakfast, lunch and dinner) she decided to take advantage of what remained of the kitchen. 

After removing all the ears from the stalks we gather together and sort them: las semillas; the perfect ears which are saved for seed, las bonitas; the good looking ears, and las feas, the gnarled, bug-infested or molding ones. 

All the sorted ears are stuffed into old feed sacks according to category...

...and carried, as Manuel is here, back to the house. There, they are laid out on the terrace to dry for a few months before storage. 

A mountain of corn. Because this was an El Niño year we had what seemed to be little rain (for me it was drastic because last year was a record year for rain). Throughout the relatively dry wet season people would talk, worrying about the harvest. But, as we unloaded bag after bag of good-sized ears, Ela and Benancio confirmed that this year's harvest is normal. With a sufficient supply of kernels, they will continue to make tortillas, tamalitos, tamales and chuchitos and as such will continue living as People of the Corn. 

Last weekend I packed my backpack, put my boots on and hit the trail for the first time in...well, longer than I would have liked. As such, it was wonderful to be out in the woods again, sleeping in a tent and cooking over a fire. After four hours and three buses we were dropped off at the base of a dirt road in a small town in the highlands.At the end of that road is Volcan Tajamulco, the tallest in Central America at 13, 853. 

Starting at 10,000 feet we climbed for four hours, covering what we estimated as around four miles. The trail was beautiful, passing through fields and sparse pine forests. 

Lunch time and we bundled up. Clouds rolled in and it got chilly in a hurry. 

I couldn't resist a self-portrait on an old fallen tree on a quick break. 

As we climbed we became surrounded by clouds. At this spot we got small breaks of blue sky and views that showed us how high we were. 

Beautiful alpine landscapes with pine trees and flowers.At one point we encountered an area where all the trees were long dead, stripped of bark and bleaching in the altitudinal sun. Against the fog it made for a beautiful and eery scene. 

We arrived at a crowded campground, full of large groups of Guatemalans. We found a spot to put up our tents and went in search of fire wood. Nic and I had to put our tent away from our own group and very near another group. We ate dinner and, knowing we had to get up at 4 a.m., headed to the sleeping bags around 9. The party next to us kept us up until around 11:30; drinking, playing loud music, yes, even yelling. We finally fell asleep only to be woken again at 2 a.m. by another party arriving! The fire was lit again, music was put on and the drinks were brought out. We could not believe how inconsiderate they were and it made us very grateful for quiet hours and mutual consideration at camping grounds in the U.S. So, with very little sleep we rose at 4 a.m. to find a heavy layer of frost inside our tent. We were up and on the trail to the summit. Nic's GPS said that we were camped at 13,100 feet, the highest I have ever camped. On the hour hike to the summit I really felt the elevation, getting dizzy and having to stop about every 20 feet for a rest. Worth all the effort, however! We summited Volcan Tajamulco in time to see the sunrise over distant volcanoes, one of which was spurting ash. 

High on a mountain top. To the north is another volcano, Volcan Tacaná. The shadow behind it is actually from Tajamulco, and it stretches into Mexcio.

After arriving back in camp and having a breakfast of last night's quesadillas (brilliant idea, Charlotte) we packed up and headed down. This time we had a view of the area on a beautiful sunny morning. 

A stand of dead trees with a clear blue backdrop.

The trail, following a ridge and giving us a wonderful view of the terrain around us. After the nearly 4k foot decent, we immediately boarded a bus (in this rural area who knows when the next one would pass) bound for San Marcos, an hour plus away. Once there, it was another hour and a half to Xela, where we could walk around and get a meal.  Another hour from there and I was home, bucket bathing and sleeping in a warm bed. In the whole day, however, not once did I stretch and man am I wishing I would have! For the last two days I've been walking like a 90 year old, barley able to bend my legs to get outa bed in the morning! Lesson learned, the hard way. 

Last weekend I had the pleasure and excitement of attending a wedding here in Guate. Edwin was my host brother in the family I lived with during training. He and Lupe have a three-year-old son, Danny, and have lived together for years. They were civilly married a few months back but just had the ceremony. It was above and beyond what I expected and reminded me I that I am, in fact, living in Central America. As much as the wedding, the ride to the wedding reminded me of that fact as well. Nic and I left my site early that morning and caught a bus bound for Guatemala City. About ten minutes before our stop, the bus slows and then putters to a stop. Out of gas. We're already behind schedule and contemplate walking the rest of the way. Fortunately, a cop drives by and stops to lend a hand. I had heard of other volunteers getting rides from cops so I urged Nic to ask. Sure enough, we were given the okay. So we piled in the back of the cop truck with the bus driver's assistant and an empty bucket. We had thought that there were no gas stations before our stop, but to our surprise about 200 yards down the road there one was. The assistant filled his bucket with gas and we returned to the stopped bus. Nic and I stayed with the cops though, and were dropped off at the doorstep of our destination. The happy family: Lupe, Danny and Edwin. Lupe is wearing the traditional pattern of the town of Santa Maria Cauque, where they live. 

We arrived three hours early to the house already bustling with people.  The usual cast of characters were there, and man the kids grow up so fast. Josue has turned from a cute kid that couldn't talk yet to an attention-seeking trouble maker!

Doña Anacleta, Nic's host mom, caring for her granddaughter. 

And the food! When I asked what I could do to help, Doña Marta, my host mom, said "Eat chuchitos" (similar to tamales) and gave me a handful.

The kitchen. They altered the whole house in preparation for today. They cut down a big lime tree, knocked down walls, cleared gardens and put up roofs.

After we had all arrived, we were invited to go to Xenacoj, a town about 20 minutes away, where Edwin's godparents live. They rented a chicken bus for us and had it decorated. 

We all piled on the bus, and everyone was in good spirits, cracking jokes and laughing.  

The best chicken bus ride ever!

Once at the house of Edwin's godparents, they and Edwin's family had time to give a little speech. However, the speech was in Kaqchikel. Then they brought Lupe into another room, leaving Edwin and dressed Lupe in her veil and gave her the bouquet. The men pinned a lapel on Edwin. Once ready, they were brought together again for more speeches.We all left the house and walked through town back to the bus that took us back to Santa Maria Cauque and to...

...the church. Bells were rung, small ribbons with Edwin and Lupe's names were pinned on guests, large speakers were brought in and the bride and groom went straight from the bus door to the church door.

The church was decorated and vows and rings were exchanged.

After the ceremony we once again walked through town towards the house. Everyone in town came out to the streets to watch. Once at the door, the bride and groom paused. A blessing was said and flower pedals were thrown on the heads of Edwin and Lupe along with Edwin's godparents.  

As the bride and groom entered a wedding bell piñata was opened, spilling white confetti on them. Once inside the party started. 

We were served grape soda and a delicious heap of pepian, the national dish. For dessert: rum. 

Edwin's grandmas from both sides made it, dressed in their best. 

A line was formed and each person presented the couple with their gift at the head table.  

Danny, always trouble, scoping out gifts while everyone else was praying. 

Again, Danny causing trouble, throwing pine needles from the floor onto the table while the family of the bride and groom danced, holding hands in a circle. 

Last year for Thanksgiving a bunch of us went to a hostel on the lake. We had a wonderful meal and shared it with a load of ex-pats. This year, as our original plans to get together with some other volunteers fell through Nic and I decided to just stay home and lay low. However, it is impossible for me to 'lay low' and not cook. So a complete Thanksgiving meal I made, substituting turkey for chicken however. We had herb-stuffed chicken, pecan, bacon and cranberry cornbread stuffing, garlic mashed potatoes, challah knots, buttered brussel sprouts, gravy and cranberry sauce. Mmm, makes me want it all over again! Oh, apple pie and pumpkin pie made from a local squash. Hendrick has been obsessed with X-Men lately and that morning, while I was cooking, he arrived with these: plastic forks duct taped around his hands; his own creation, just like the X-Men. What a kid.  

Chatting with the family and taking a quick break; the calm before the storm. 

Nic and chicken. 

Ela, Benancio and the kids joined us. Ela and I are relaxing after stuffing ourselves.

Here's what you get when you give Hendrick the camera. 

And here's what you get when Hendrick accidentally drops the camera (the camera made it without injury and Hendrick bounced back immediately when offered apple pie).

It is strange and exciting to be identifying events by year now. This December 13th marks 16 months in-country and this last Nov. 3rd marked my one year anniversary in my community. This year will be my second Christmas, Easter, Guatemalan Independence Day, birthday and every other event celebrated in Guatemala, and as such, also my last. This also marks the countdown until I leave, I can't believe how fast the time has gone. So, this posting is the second year at the Feria in Santa Catarina Ixtauacan Nueva. Because breakfast is the most important meal of the day, especially true on weekends, Nic and I like to do it up right. This day was breakfast burritos. Hendrick conveniently came to say good morning as we were serving up. 

No one can blame Hendrick for not eating with gusto. 

The church in Ixtauacan.

As with any feria, there are drunk men dressed in strange costumes with masks that dance to a live band, while a crowd gathers around to watch. This guy in the middle was particularly fascinated with the camera and made his way towards me, as I made my way away from the circle. 

Just like any carnival in the states, ferias are full of cotton candy and junk food, games and rides. Oh, and of course carnies too. 

While there we ran into the family, also making happy. 

The feria brings out old and young alike. 

Traditional clothing.

This year, like last year I went to see the rodeo in the make-shift wooden stadium for less than $2. 

The crowd really gets into this event. This guy in the forefront was giving commentary the whole time. 

This man, selling spicy peanuts with lime made rounds the whole event, often times blocking the view just when something exciting is happening. 

Complete with rodeo clowns. There is actually a sword behind that red cloth. And like last year I left before the end of the event so again, I don't know if they actually kill a bull or not, but I'm glad I wasn't there to see it if they do. 

Trying to sneak a peek of the action from outside. 

And, at least for Nic and I, no feria is complete without a recuerdo. This time, with a guest of honor: a drunk man in a freaky costume. 

Mom and dad spent a tranquil three days at Lake Atitlan. It was beautiful, as always and they loved it. Mom at the dock, waiting for a boat. 

Mom and dad at the church in San Pedro.

On our way back to Guatemala City we stopped in Tecpan to visit the Kaqchiqel ruins of Iximche. These are beautiful ruins, partially restored with big grassy fields between the ruined buildings.  

The once capital of the Kaqchiqel Maya.

The famous Mayan ball court where players bounced a ball off their hips and it was the winners who were sacrificed to the gods. 

A temple.

And while my parents took in the sites and feels of the park, reading info boards and imaging a time past, Nic and I did what we do best. Goof off. 

Skippy. 

Seeking refuge from heat and humidity of the beach we headed into the chilly mountains and to Chirijox. After meeting the family and chatting a bit I took mom and dad out to meet a few families that I work with. One family, the Carrillos, were so excited to have visitors from the states. When we arrived the house was spotless and my parents were given gifts of textiles that the family makes. Manuel works as a weaver with this huge, wooden, foot-pedal operated loom. It's amazing to watch him at work and the rhythm he creates while weaving. I knew my dad would be interested to see a contraption like this. 

Doug, Magdalena, Manuel, Beth. 

Upon return to my house we enjoyed a wonderful lunch of white beans and pork with hot tortillas. After that, it was time to give out gifts, according to Hendrick's schedule of course. My parents brought maybe the best possible gift for any 5 year old boy: a Batman costume.Hendrick immediately filled the role and even wears his costume to church.  

Doug and Beth with (from left) Isabel, doña Ana, Kata, Ela, Benancio, Batman and Elkin. 

After a few days in Antigua, we hopped in the car and headed for the beach. After a beautiful 3 hour drive we arrived in Monterrico, Santa Rosa. It's a small town between the beach and the channel. It's colorful, hot and the people are friendly. The docks. 

Yes, you are seeing this right. To arrive in Monterrico one must drive their car onto a wooden barge and be carried 15 minutes down the channel from the end of the hiway. 

The next morning we took a tour through the mangrove forests that line the channel.

Entering the mangroves. 

Mosquito hell. 

Me, mom and dad and our guide Eliacer. The channels are shallow enough that Eliacer propelled us in our 2 hour trip by pushing off the bottom with a long stick. 

Early morning light in the thickets. 

Beautiful water lilies and reeds in an open area of the forest.

Cap'm Nic.

Water plants line the trees. 

Eliacer noted that in just a few more weeks these white birds will have arrived in the hundreds, migrating even further south. He said they are so many that the trees appear covered in white. 

Water plants thick along the side of the channels. They grow now because it is the rainy season, and the water in the channel is fresh from the rain. In the dry season, the water becomes brackish, killing the plants but providing food for the fish and shrimp that live in the channel. These plants also provide cover for the caymans that live in the channel.

The good life. 

Todos Santos is an indigenous town located in NW Guatemala high in the Cuchamatan Mountains; the highest in Central America. From my house, it was about a 5 hour journey. We made the journey, however, because on November 1st, All Saints Day, Todos Santos hosts the Drunken Horse Races. Two riders wait for the race to begin.

It was a beautiful climb to the plateau and then even further to Todos Santos. The plateau reminded me of parts of New Mexico with large yucca plants, rolling hills and hardly a tree to be found. Sheep herders separate plots by construction small stone walls, then planting bushy red-flowering plants on top. 

Once in town we knew it was feria. The town square had a marimba band, complete with local drunk men dancing (no town feria is complete in Guatemala without the local drunk men dancing). The ferris wheels were up, food vendors were out and the traveling arcades with games from the late 80's were packed with local youth. 

Todos Santos feels eerily Disneyland-esque due to the fact that nearly all the men and women wear the traditional clothing; meaning that all the men dress alike and all the women dress alike. For the men it's red striped pants, a blue striped jacket with colorfully woven collar and to top it off (pun intended), little safari hats with blue bands. 

Here is a model. This man, Andres, was invited by another volunteer to join our Halloween party. He is a sweet man that lives in another village but made the trek to Todos Santos to visit the cemetery where all three of his children are buried. His wife is sick so he came alone. He hung like a champ among the loud and costumed gringos. 

Along with the red pants, blue jacket and hat, he's also wearing the black riding chaps that many of the older men in the town wear, even though they may not ride. The race was not on a track. It was about 250 yards of dirt road that had been blocked off. On this end stand the community leaders; the city counselman. They whisper to the horses and riders as they arrive and then send them off again with shouts and waiving of sticks. 

The horses sprint until they nearly reach the end.

The riders are drunk. They are dressed in brightly colored clothes. There appeared to be no point system, no timing, no keeping track of who was arriving first or second. The race started around 8 a.m., and although we left around 11:30 we understood that it continued into the afternoon. 

Horses sprinted from one end of the road to the other. Once all the riders arrived at one end, there would be a short break, maybe a minute, then one of the community leaders would blow a whistle and everyone would make noise, sending off the horses to the other end. Many times horses would plow into eachnother or not want to run again, fighting it's rider.   

This is not a safe activity. This man proves it. Before we arrived, another rider fell and was carried off the track into a nearby house. A few hours later he was carried from the house into town. We were not sure if he was dead or alive. We heard that the people of the town believe it's good for the harvest if a rider dies. Last year, no rider died and all of Guatemala has been in drought the last eight months, putting the corn harvest in jeopardy. 

Front row seats.

Each rider had a signature move: this guy was no hands, another guy would sway from side to side, another guy just yelled the whole time. 

Thinking critically about the race. No, wait, just drunk.Trying to hold on...

The pack was always crazy as it came from one end to the other, you never knew what you were going to see.

Out of control.

And of course, Nic and I added to our Guatemala Stone Face Style photos. 

The cemetery: colorful, busy, noisy. There were tons of people, just sitting by the graves of their loved ones. Women were selling food, there were loud speakers playing music and kids were flying kites. It was a festive site. I asked Isabel if people ever cry at the graves. She said no, they cry for a while after the person dies and then no more. 

An old women tends to the decorations at the graves; arranging flowers and making sure the candles stay lit. 

Each family took a turn ringing the bells. They ring the bells once for each person lost. 

A man stands surrounded by incense smoke for the mass held in the cemetery. The priest read aloud every name of every person buried in the cemetery. 

Another view of the cemetery. 

Tia Isabel swinging incense over the family graves. Buried here are Tia Kata's baby girl who died just after birth and Benancio's older brother who died of an illness at age seven.

A woman's work is never done: A woman carrying a baby who is breast feeding while she swings incense over her family's graves. 

A view from the cemetery looking down into the valley filled with fog. 

A man cleans and prepares his family's graves at the edge of the cemetery.

Don Pedro, a wonderful old man who owns a tienda in town and is cronies with Don Juan. 

It's the time of year when all the schools are wrapping up for 'summer' break. As such, graduations abound (Guatemalans love ceremonies, events, any reason to fiesta). For Hendrick and his preschool classmates, graduation was planned for Wednesday. But, Wednesday morning  a messenger was sent around town letting families know that the ceremony was postponed until Thursday as the teachers were behind in paperwork. On Thursday morning, Ela arrived at my house with spotless kids (which is a work in itself) and we walked towards the school. As we rounded the corner (40 minutes late, mind you) there was not a soul there. The gate was locked. Ela asked around and we learned once again that the ceremony had been pushed back to Friday. This time they failed to let us know. On Friday morning, once again, Ela arrived with spotless kids and we walked to the school. This time, there were people gathering. Here is the young graduate himself. All spiffed up, only minus the clip-on tie and sport coat.  

Upon arrival at the school we discovered that the teacher had not arrived. Mind you, we were 40 minutes late this day as well. So, we waited...

But I had a great time taking photos while we waited. (On a side note: Elkin is walking by himself now!)

Cousins: Elkin and Fernando had a blast with the photo shoot and provided me with some hilarious photos.

Ela and Benancio asked me to be Hendrick's godmother for the graduation. This meant that I held his hand as we walked to the front to receive his diploma. It also meant that I bake the cakes for the party and get him a gift. It was an honor. 

Here is Hendrick's graduating class: Village of Chirijox Official Rural Normal School; Preschool '09

Of the last eighteen days, I have spent ten of them in Antigua, two in Xela. The purposes were both business and pleasure; the first four days in Antigua with my good friend Micah who was visiting, then two days in Xela while Nic was in the hospital with an intestinal bacterial infection; then straight to Antigua upon his release for a week of Spanish classes at the PC office. Now, don’t get me wrong, an occasional trip to Antigua or Xela is utterly necessary to my mental health. Antigua provides me with a hot shower (with water pressure), a comfy bed, cable TV, a flush toilet (inside the hotel room, nonetheless), a good cupa coffee, the English language and almost any type of meal my stomach might desire. Not to mention cold beer. The colonial city is a tourist trap, if nothing else. It has charming cobbled streets, brightly painted buildings, ruined churches, a central park with big trees and volcanoes looming in the distance. Locals are friendly and speak proper Spanish. The only people you will see dressed in traditional traje are the women selling cheap jewelry and machine-made scarves, bartering in broken English in the central park. It is a very enjoyable place to pass ten days and it is easy to forget the hardships ever-present in other parts of the country. I spent yesterday and today in and around my house. After a year here, I decided its time for a ‘spring’ cleaning. I pulled out furniture and swept, cleaned off shelves, organized my books and clothes. I replanted my garden, cleared my drainage ditch of leaves, put some potted plants into the soil. I even baked some sourdough bread from a starter I’d been nurturing. This afternoon I finished the latest book I’ve been working on. By 4:30, I was out of things to do. I decided to go for a run, even with ominous rain clouds creeping over the ridges. I hadn’t shown my face much around Chirijox since I got back into town on Saturday anyway. I took my usual route but on the way back decided to take the long way home. While walking the dirt paths in the dimming light and a crispness in the air, my eyes were opened once again to the reality of life here: poverty. Kids, some as little as three years in the streets, barefoot and dirty, dried snot caked in their nostrils and no parent in sight. Young adults staring at me without blinking or saying a word. Houses made of and open to the elements with women cooking over an open fire inside the house. Trash everywhere, particularly in the streams. Foul smelling latrines. Young boys playing with a deflated soccer ball near the hiway. Kids trying to pull down kites wrapped around power lines by their string. Middle-aged women aged beyond their years by hard labor. People of any age, toothless.  This is the reality of life for rural, poor Guatemala. And of course not all are living in poverty and not all things are as bad as they seem. But for me, tonight served as another eye opener. It reminded me that there is still time, I can still due my part, and I still feel a personal obligation to attempt to improve the lives of my brothers and sisters, even with the occasional trip to Antigua.

Each Thursday I take a 20 minute ride in the back of a truck to the ladies that await me in Santa Catarina Ixtauacan Antigua. It's a small town nestled in a deep. green valley that eventually spills onto the coastal plains. A view of the playing field next to the central park and of the hills beyond. 

It is a small world: The father of the catholic church here is a gringo, from, of all places, Eugene. He arrived here some 30+ years ago, speaks better K'iche than the locals and has no plans to leave. Here he is conducting a special mass for Dia de Los Niños.  

Here I am talking to the ladies about the wonders of lentils to prepare them for the wonders of lentil soup.

While the soup was cooking I took the ladies outside for a bit of stretching. After an initial giggle-fest they began to participate. Up....

...and down. Notice the babies on the backs. They do everything mom does.  

The 15th of September is Guatemala's Independence Day, this year celebrating 188 years. The day before, groups all around the country run with torches to their communities. In Chirijox, the preschoolers carry on the tradition by running around the town with whistles in their mouths, blowing the whistle with each breath, and yelling "Arriba Guatemala!". The kids arrive, tired, in the central park on a foggy evening.

They gather, waiving flags and blowing whistles while a short ceremony is presented.

It was so loud with a whistle in the mouth of every kid present!  

Following the arrival of the torches, there was a band and some of other activities. Of course, no Guatemalan holiday is complete without the local Princess Pageant, k-12. 

The next morning we wait in the street for the parade to come. Fernando was fascinated with the camera. 

The parade was lead by the political leaders of the community bearing the Guatemalan flag.

Following them were the hundred and hundreds of kids that inhabit Chirijox, each grade with a different theme. 

The parade ended in the central park where all the activities were held.

Giant fireworks that make incredibly loud sounds were shot off just feet from the crowd and without warning. 

Hendrick, front right, in the black hat, was a flag bearer because he has the top grades in his pre-school class.

Saludos.

The political leaders of Chirijox, all in traditional suiting and with special seats on stage. 

All the grades line up around the staging area and wait for their turn to dance, play, or do gymnastics for everyone to watch. 

While waiting, clowns make friends with natives. 

Tuesday delivered a terrible day. A meeting with the committee of woman I work with left me discouraged, bitter, hurt and unmotivated. Without providing too much detail, what was planned to be a regular meeting turned into accusations and criticism about my work here. The meeting ended with me in tears in front of everyone and feeling lousy and under-appreciated. I laid low the rest of the day, huddled in my house, not wanting to see a Guatemalan face and hoping that tomorrow I would feel better. Today, Wednesday, I awoke still feeling lousy and frustrated. I went about my morning activities; cleaning, washing clothes and in the afternoon hopped on a bus to Sololá, about an hour away to buy seeds. I arrived just in time for the seed supply stores to close for lunch. Luckily, Sololá is a beautiful and bustling town with a great central park and a view of Lake Atitlán. I strolled around the market and the park and noticed, once or twice that this same guy was walking behind me. I took note but thought nothing of it. Down a side street, I stepped into a used American clothing store. Right behind me stepped in this same guy. This time I thought, “Weird, this guy is following me”. I turned my back and starting digging through clothes. Not a second later this guy’s hand is on my butt. I fling around and yell “What the hell!?”, knocking clothes off their hangers and he’s out the door. I run into the street but he’s half a block away already, headed towards the crowd in the park. Now, Guatemala has a very strong machismo culture. You will never see a man cook, clean, wash dishes or clothes. Never. Spousal abuse is not uncommon and women nearly never have a say in family planning. I regret to say that this is not the first or second time that a man has placed his hand on my butt without my permission since arrival. One time, a man looked straight into my eyes and then reached behind me for a grab. When it happens it is incredibly infuriating and diminishing. Of course we were warned during training that, regretfully, many female volunteers experience “non-violent sexual assaults”, but still they are surprisingly hard to deal with at the time of incident. Particularly the way I was feeling this week. After a minute or two of recuperating in the store I walked to the park. With sunglasses on, my eyes were pealed for this kid. If I saw him, he would surely be receiving a punch in the nose and a knee to the balls from me. Once in the park, along with daydreaming about what I would do to this guy if I saw him, I watched a fat squirrel bend the branches on a very small tree. A seed supply store opened so I went about my business and then got on a bus. I have to change buses once to get home. At the change I got a great seat, right behind the driver, on a nearly empty bus. Mind you, I am still very angry and annoyed at this point. A 40-ish looking man and a guy my age got on the bus together. The guy my age sits down in the seat across from me and the man sits down next to me, his arm on the back of the seat. “Great”, I think. “Of course on a day like today I have to sit next to this guy for 40 minutes”. He offers his hand and asks me how I am, where I’m from. I shake his hand but don’t look at him and turn my shoulder to him, facing the window. He asks me a few more things and I tell him I have a bad headache. I continue to stare out the window. I hear him get up and begin to walk down the isle, saying something about a bad headache. I begin to wonder about this guy. He makes his way to the front of the bus again and is chatting up the driver, telling him that he wants to drive but that the driver has to teach him. The driver is laughing. The bus leaves the stop and I gradually realize that this man has, what I believe to be slight mental disabilities. He is all over the place; literally and figuratively. He slides between his seat with his buddy to my seat. When he sees that I’m not talking to him he jumps up with the ayudante (it means “helper”, he’s the guy that stands at the door of the bus, yelling the destination and herding people onto the bus, taking their fairs), staring out the front window. At stops he gets off the bus, also herding people on, waving his arms and yelling “Xela, Xela, Xela!”, each time a bit louder and higher than the last. So the guy is entertaining. The driver and the ayudante are laughing with him, enjoying the comedy. One time this guy slides to my seat. I look left. He’s asking me if I’m from Spain and if I speak Spanish. Then he asks if I speak English. Then he asks if I speak. Then he brings his face near my right ear and starts making strange noises and waving his hands in front of my face. I struggle not to crack a smile. It’s weird but funny. The next time he slides over he serenades me with a song of my beauty with added hand motions. For a few minutes he falls asleep. I am relieved, and take the opportunity to put my bag in the empty space next to me. At the next stop a woman gets on and I move my bag for her to sit there. Even better, I think. The stop wakes up the man and soon enough he is talking over the woman sitting next to me, asking me if I speak and where I’m from. He even stretches his arm in front of this woman’s face, offering me his hand to shake. The woman gets off in a few minutes and at that same stop a young woman selling ‘chuchitos’ (means “street puppies” and are similar to tamales) gets on. The two men sitting next to me, the driver and the ayudante all get a chuchito. The two men next to me go for a second round and the man tells the young woman to give me a chuchito. I smile at her and tell her “Thank you, but no”. The man persists. “Give her one, give her one!” The young woman is visibly uncomfortable. The man hits his younger friend on the chest and tells him to buy him one. When the man receives the steaming ball of corn dough he, with the look of a gentleman and a wave of his hand offers it to me. I say “Thank you, but no thank you”. Looking forward, my eyes meet the eyes of the driver in his giant mirror and the driver laughs. I laugh a bit too. The man slides over again. We are near my stop and by now I have realized that this man is harmless. I oblige him. When he asks me, yet again where I’m from I answer “Germany”. He throws his hands up and with a gasp says, “Bravo! Bravo!” and begins to applause. I laugh. He asks me a few more questions but each time I answer with “I don’t understand”. We have an audience. The ayudante, driver and this man’s friend are all watching the show. They know I speak and understand Spanish. He offers his hand again. I shake it and he grabs it, drawing it towards his face. I pull it away and say “No” and he says “No, hombre”, “No, man!”. I respond with the same. He offers it again, and I shake his again. Again, he tries to kiss it; I see his lips pucker and his eyes close while my hand is still miles away. I pull my hand away again. He tells me he loves me and I tell him he doesn’t. He assures me he does, and I assure him he doesn’t. I ask permission to leave the seat and tell him I’m getting off now, it’s my stop. He, with a gentlemanly bow, offers me the way. As I step off the bus I thank the driver and ayudante. Behind me there is a flurry of wishes for a happy afternoon and safe journey that come from the man, his friend, the ayudante and the driver. I leave with a smile on my face. As I’m walking through the corn to my house I realize how ironic this day has been and I can’t help but laugh. Guatemalan machismo served both to bring me down and to lift my spirits in a period of about two hours.  

Most of my postings have a focus, but this time I thought I'd just post some random photos of life in Guatemala. Hendrick is always hanging around the house when Nic is here because they love to play wrestle and have muscle flexing contests and Hendrick loves to show off all the exercises he knows. This night he invited himself over for dinner. I made broiled asparagus and Hendrick hadn't tried it before. Here I'm showing him the asparagus.

Family dinner. Also final documentation of the length of Nic's beard before the order to trim it. 

The rainy season has brought a whole new array of bugs. This Rhino Beetle found its way into my house one evening.

Nic and I in Antigua with Volcan Agua behind us. We were hanging out with Andrew, Nic's brother who was visiting (more photos of that next post, still waiting to upload) at Sky Cafe.

The view from Sky Cafe's roof top terrace onto Antigua's streets.

The harvest from my house garden. Swiss chard and carrots. The carrots were small but were they tasty!

Cata, a woman on the comittee weaving a guipil, or traditional top (like she is wearing) for her daughter. Septmeber 15 is Independence Day here and all the kids put on a parade with music and flags wearing their newly-woven clothes.

An old man in front of his house. He's wearing the traditional head wrap of this area. 

The same old man, spooling yarn.

The niece of a woman I planted with. She was fascinated with the flip-screen viewer of my camera. 

The church and plaza of Chirijox on a bright but lonely afternoon.

It is Tuesday and therefore around 9 a.m. women start arriving and wait outside my door. I scurry to get everything prepared and the women chat and laugh on my porch and their kids rip apart my plants.  Today we're making broccoli salad; the kind with raisins and bacon. I have the bacon cooked when the women arrive, ready to chop. One by one, they approach the bacon and pick it up daintily, with thumb and forefinger and look at the other women with a concerned look on their faces. "It's called bacon", I tell each one. They look at me, still concerned and then talk in K'iche to the other women, as if they don't believe me. "It's from a pig", I say. Then the light bulb comes on. One woman said she thought it was from a chicken. The word for chicken in K'iche is ak'. The women are in a good mood today and the class is small, only 7 women show up. Ela is gone today so Raquel is translating for me, and she has some spunk. The women laugh after each photo. They tell me to advise them if I'm going to take photos because some of them only came dressed in t-shirts and not guipiles, like the woman on the far left is wearing, which is the traditional clothing. I show them the photos after each shot and they laugh and make fun of each other. I tell them to look good next week because I'll be taking more photos.  

I wasn't sure how the salad would go over. I have rarely seen anyone eat a vegetable raw, and this whole salad is raw. They had also never used vinegar before.

 Most of the women were scared to try it. One didn't, she just carried her styrophom cup away with her as she went. Those who did try it, even if timidly at first, really liked it.  

I’d never seen this driver before; standing next to his truck, shirt half-way unbuttoned and front teeth outlined in gold. There is a fleet, maybe four trucks and two vans that run from Chirijox to Nahuala, and I am familiar with this fleet but this guy was new. He must know me though (not that I’m hard to miss in a crowd of 5 1/2 foot tall black-haired people), watching me and calling out “Chirijox” as I walk down the street in Nahuala, my arms full of produce. I get in the back. We stop and pick up two more women near the entrance of Nahuala. The view of the road is out the back only as there is a canvas tarp draped over the metal cage on the bed of the truck in case of rain. The ride was tranquil enough but before I know it we zoom past Chirijox. I start banging on the side of the truck, as is the customary signal if one wants the driver to stop; and the two other women start banging as well. But the driver doesn’t stop. I figure he can’t be headed too far, maybe to Ixtauacan Nueva at the furthest. I ask the women where they are going and they tell me to Ixtauacan Vieja; the next stop. They cheerful assure me that there will be other cars to take me to where I need to go. I know Ixtauacan Vieja as I have just started working with a women’s group there, and know that it’s only a 15 minute walk through some corn fields to get to Chirijox from there. The driver stops. The other women and I get out and I ask the driver ,”What happened?” Remember, you told me Chirijox? The driver’s eyes got shifty and his shoulders lifted in a shrug and a small chuckle leaked out of his mouth.. My eyes rolled. I told him don’t worry about it, I can walk from here but I’m not paying. So I started on my way through the corn. I am fond of this path. Like I said I am familiar with it. I walk it now at least twice a week as I head to and from Ixtauacan Vieja. It is well established and wider than most paths and currently has tall corn stalks on both sides, guiding the way. I enjoy my walk and decide to take the back way to my house. I nearly reach the juncture where I turn from the road to the path when I see a woman walk out of her house. She is old and small and I see that her eyes are damaged. I assume she is blind. She carefully inches her way from her front door and as I pass I say “je’ba”; good bye. She responds the same but continues to speak in K’iche to me. I don’t understand what she is saying but she is making motions with her hands. So I take her hand. Just in front of her door is a ditch with water streaming through it. I help her over the ditch and we begin to walk together down the hill. She is so small, maybe 5 feet. Her hair is white, wrapped around the back and tied in a knot at the crown of her head as is typical in this area. She has a walking stick in one hand, also small. Maybe 2 1/2 feet long and well polished on both ends from use. In her other hand is my hand, feeling the paper-thinness of the skin of a woman her age. She has a good grip and is surprisingly sure on her feet, which makes me think she has some vision. She continues to chat with me in K’iche and I tell her I don’t understand. She nods. We continue to walk and I begin to wonder how long we will walk together. How will I ask her where we are going? How do I tell her I have to go home? Before I can ask another question she begins to put steady pressure on my right arm, holding her left hand, gently guiding me that way. I help her over the ditch again and onto a path. I say “good bye, talk to you later” in K’iche and she responds with the same. 

A large portion of the women in the women's group I work with participate in a federal literacy program called CONALFA (Comite Nacional de Alfabetacion). The term runs from March to August and classes are held in homes once a week. Although the focus is basic reading and writing, as participants progress through grades the curriculum elaborates as well. Today was test day, the term is over. We wanted to have a small celebration for the women participating in CONALFA and since the test was in the morning, we thought we'd make donuts. Around 30 women and half as many kids showed up at my house at 8:30 this morning and we began to make donuts, using a recipe that yielded 60 of them.The giant bowl of donut batter.

In the middle of cooking the women had to leave to take the test, the Regional Director had arrived to administer them. With a lack of desks some women kneel on the floor and use plastic stools as desks.  

And once all the tests were done, it was time to celebrate. One woman, walking into my house after her test and seeing the pile of donuts said "I'm hungry. I'm going to eat all of these. I will fight the other women so I can eat all of these". 

And of course each of the kids received a donut as well, but it's 'to each her own' here apparently. 

Doña Tina lives about a half hour's walk from Nic's house. She lives where the road splits with her husband, Don Pedro, a dozen chickens, half a dozen cows, 4 dogs, 2 cats, a donkey and plenty of visitors. Doña Tina is always feeding someone, human or animal, and she always has a smile on her face and a hug upon arrival. Needless to say she is a joy to visit.  Although her yard is small she has a vibrant garden. Here she crawled through the leaves to show us a beautiful white begonia.

When I got out my camera it reminder her that she had photos too. She brought out a small box, sat us down and began to show us all her photos. Behind her are two more people who came to lunch as well. 

Passing photo after photo, some of them were quite old. When she saw Nic's hat she laughed and said "Puro Quiche!" which roughly means that Nic is a man of his town.

Reaching for more photos...

Doña Tina. One hell of a lady.

Recently Nic and I found ourselves on a beautiful, tranquil Saturday afternoon in the Guatemalan countryside with no plans. As such, we walked to the top of the hill behind Nic's house and looked out over the valley. We picked a field, packed a bag and started down a trail. With only a slight detour over a creek, we found the field we were after. Bright green grass with a big round tree for shade and a sprawling view. We spread out a sheet and commenced in a game of Canasta.

Nic wasn't too happy with this hand. 

Before long, as it goes here, the dark clouds began to roll in. We decided we should probably head home but, why not, let take a few photos before we go. This is what came out of those 'few photos'.

Nic has nearly perfected the shoulder roll. Observe his form.

Nic's ridin' the pony!

By the way, the stick that turned out to be a great prop was originally carried as a guard against any lurking street dogs that may pop up on unfamiliar paths. Luckily, we only had to use it as a prop.

Although we did get caught in a light shower, it was worth it to see the rainbow at the end of a dirt road.