It has been a couple months since I have last posted and a ton has happened since then. For the sake of brevity, I will just write about latest and not so greatest of news. I went home around the second week of November to visit my famiy for Thanksgiving. I ended up injuring my knee and as it turns out, I have a torn ACL. Peace Corps Washington insists I have my ACL surgically repaired, although I feel as if I can continue on with my duties in Guatemala. Surgery has been scheduled for December 19th and it will be a Christmas on crutches for me! Yay! That is exactly what I've wanted for Christmas since I was a little kid. it has a certain ring to it, doesn't it? "Christmas on Crutches!" What this all means is that I won't be returning to Guatemala, at least for a while. There is a possibility of being reinstated, but I don't know when that would be. The best thing to do is to take it one step at a time. Poco a poco. This may or may not be my last post. Thanks for reading.

It’s amazing to think that I have only two weeks left of classes. Where did the time go? What did I do? While I can’t say I have made serious progress with the Healthy Schools project, I can say that I have established something intangible. “Confianza” is something absolutely necessary in Guatemala if one is to get anywhere in his/her work. Unlike in the US, a business relationship simply does not exist here. You can’t go in with the US “lets get down to business” mindset while thinking you’re going to get a lot done in a little amount of time or people will resent you for it. The truth is you will get little done in a long period of time, but the journey is what matters most. Guatemalans place a premium on personal relationships and as is the case in most underserved countries, what they lack in material possession they make up for in kindness and hospitality. Either that or they just steal from your ass.

I was lucky enough to have a visitor from the US. My sister came down for a week and we had a great time. It was her first time out of the country and she held up pretty well. Not many people can say their first time abroad was when they went to Guatemala. Its usually Europe and traveling in any European country is pretty much Traveling 101. You may as well visit another state. Traveling around Guatemala is no easy task and the differences in culture can be daunting if not entirely overwhelming. Asia is like that too, which is probably why I love it so much. It couldn’t be more different than Ventura County. Visitors from home (although I’ve only had one) are great because you get show them how you have been living and they will actually understand what you are talking about when you’re describing Lake Atitlan or Antigua. The best way to comprehend something is through experiential learning. My sister will probably be the last visitor I have in Guatemala, as my friends back home are losers and would rather waste their money on booze at shitty places like P6 or Suki 7 or whatever restaurant/number is the most trendy in Westlake, A couple nights out will get you a plane ticket and the rest is just peanuts. My sister spent less than $100 in the week she was here, and we lived well. Saving money is a piece of piss but some people just can’t control their spending habits.

Besides going to my schools, I had the opportunity to participate in an HIV/AIDS workshop with sixty 4th, 5th, and 6th grade teachers from an area where another Healthy Schools volunteer works. The participating teachers were divided into groups of 20 and each group was lead by 3 volunteers. It went extremely well and it was amazing to see how little these people knew about HIV/AIDS and sex education. We are exposed to that material at an early age either in the classroom or in the halls. Young boys are naturally perverted and I have to admit I was quite the dirty perv myself, so I knew through hearsay about almost everything way before high school. The teachers were taught the basics: statistics of HIV/AIDS prevalence in Guatemala, how the disease is transmitted and how to properly put on a condom. The Latin American machismo culture of arrogance and ignorance prevent the men from having protected sex. If the women even suggested the use of a condom, they would be slapped and scolded as if the man’s masculinity was being challenged. The problem also lies with the influence of the Catholic Church and their medieval stance on “sex for procreation,” as well as its failure to advocate methods of birth control. Not only is such a stance resulting in a disproportionately high number of children to a family suited only for 1 or 2 kids at the most, but it is also failing to put a lid on the AIDS epidemic in Africa, one of the few regions in the world where the Church is seeing a rise in the number of patrons and priests. Instead of the Vatican electing a pope that would reflect modernity, they instead chose an old-school theologist in the form of Pope Eggs Benedict. Enough of that. It was interesting to learn that these people had no idea that AIDS could be transmitted through other means besides blood transfusions and regular intercourse. We had them anonymously write any relative question on a little piece of paper and the questions we got were pretty surprising. We got a few asking what oral sex was and what vaginal secretions were. I felt I was dealing with a bunch of elementary school students, not that their level of maturity reflected that if a kid’s, but just because these people have never been acquainted with things we think of as common knowledge. While I was surprised, my colleagues certainly weren’t, as they have had more experience giving AIDS workshops. In response to my surprise, my colleagues simply said, “Dude, we’re in Guatemala. What did you expect?” If there is ever a frustration with the people or anything else here, just tell yourself “Dude, I’m in Guatemala. What did I expect?” and you will maintain what little sanity you have left.

I would also like to mention I will be coming home for Thanksgiving, the 14h to be exact. Although there are many things/people I look forward to eating/doing/seeing, I must admit it will be difficult being home again, as it always is. I start to go stir crazy after being home for just a few days, feeling I should be anywhere but there. Reverse culture shock is something you hear a lot about in the Peace Corps. It’s pretty much self- explanatory. It occurs when people have been abroad for a while and find it hard to adjust upon returning home. However, I don’t think that will be the case for me. It’s just that being abroad has only strengthened my indignation for the rat race that is Southern California. The disgusting displays of excess. People living in a dream world induced by the money that surrounds them. People conveniently blinded by the lustful pursuit of material possessions. Fictitious beliefs in a Buddha propagated by the Hollywood elite/dregs (not that a belief in Buddha is wrong, but believing in something because it is trendy is disgusting). The Westlake Mom, fresh from a yoga workout clad in a sweat suit, parking her Mercedes in the handicap spot at Starbucks, then lunching at God knows where with her girlfriends whose lives are as equally important, then off to pick up the kids at school all the while on the cell phone definitely not talking about social injustice or economic disparity, then its out to an overpriced dinner followed by overpriced drinks with the girlfriends because Tom is working late and discussions definitely involve shit-talking their husbands who bankroll their pathetic excuse of an existence they know as life. God forbid they don’t get two hours or so in at John of Italy/The Hair Grove/The More I Pay for a Cut and Color the Better. Then it’s off to the million dollar home remodeled for $500,000 which includes Buddhist temple-like objects because remember, that is what is currently in, and other such luxurious self indulgences. These are a few of the vomit inducing things one would see on a daily basis. Don’t be surprised if you see me walking around town with a barf bag.

I wrote something for the GAD (Gender and Development) newsletter, so I thought I'd put it up. Some of this stuff was extracted from something I wrote a while back.

Glossy red lips protrude in a seductive pout while bright eyes gaze intensely into infinity. Her skin is flawless; creamy white, wrinkle free and without blemishes. An article of fabric posing to be a top exposes angular collarbones and a slimmed, bony midriff. Her left hand grasps a fashionable handbag slung over her shoulder while her right thumb tugs suggestively downward on her mini skirt. High heels make her slender legs look impossibly long. This Prada ad isn’t really selling purses. It is selling something completely different to a woman. It represents something impossible, something an average woman will simply never have; an unattainable ideal.

Everywhere we turn, advertisements let woman know what it means to be desirable. For a woman, the messages all share a common theme: She must be "beautiful." Advertising, of course, did not invent the notion that women should be valued as ornaments; women have always been measured against cultural ideals of beauty. However, advertising has joined forces with sexism to make images of the beauty ideal more pervasive, and more unattainable, than ever before. These images appear in all forms of media, inundating young women with false representations of what it means to be beautiful. They have been penetrating the psyche of young women around the world (yes, even in Guatemala) ever since waif thin French model Twiggy Lawson first appeared on the covers of magazines in the late 60’s; and their effects have been devastating. Not that advertisements advocating a standard for beauty didn’t exist before the 60’s, but it was the appearance of an underweight model at that time that catapulted the thin ideal. Advertisements instruct us to assume a self-conscious perspective; to view our physical selves through the censorious eyes of others. To those of us who grew up in the consumer culture, intense self-scrutiny has become an automatic reflex. A constant bombardment of these images has inevitably caused women to suffer both psychologically and physically in trying to achieve what is perceived to be beauty, and the effects of the two are intrinsically linked. Depression, low self-esteem about one’s image and a sense of hopelessness can inexorably lead to plastic surgery, extreme dieting and/or eating disorders like bulimia and anorexia and even suicide; all to look like the girl on the cover of the new Glamour Magazine.

In the portrayal of women's bodies, the gap has never been wider. The slender reigning ideal provides a stark contrast to the rounder curves of nearly all women's bodies. As an adaptation to the physical demands of childbearing, women's bodies typically have a fat content of approximately 25 percent, as opposed to 15 percent in men. For much of human history, this characteristic was admired, sought after, and celebrated in the arts. But the twentieth century has seen a steady chipping away at the ideal female figure. A generation ago, according to Naomi Wolf, a media critic, a typical model weighed 8 percent less than the average woman; more recently she weighs 23 percent less. The average actress, model or dancer is thinner than 95% of the female population (Wolf 472). In effect, popular media has decreed 95% of women unacceptable.

Tragically, millions of women sacrifice their health-and even their lives-to conform to the shape of what is “beautiful.” Roughly 80 percent of the 150,000 women who have breast augmentation surgery each year do so for cosmetic reasons, most often to enlarge their breasts. Recent revelations, which came to light despite suppression by implant-maker Dow Corning, suggest that silicone implants may cause immune-system disorders and death. In response, the Food and Drug Administration has sharply limited implants.

Surveys have show that 75% of women aged 18-35 believe they’re fat, while only 25% are actually overweight (the same percentage as men). 45% of underweight women think they’re too fat, and women cite losing ten pounds as more desirable than success in work or love. Yet, there is little evidence to support the claim that being mildly overweight causes poor health in women. On the contrary, recent studies have suggested that it may sometimes be healthier to be overweight than to repeatedly gain and lose weight through "yo-yo dieting." Unfortunately, few women can eat in peace. On any given day, 25 percent of American women are dieting, and another 50 percent are finishing, breaking, or starting diets. A survey by Glamour magazine found that 50 percent of respondents used diet pills, 27 percent used liquid formula diets, 18 percent used diuretics, 45 percent fasted, 18 percent used laxatives, and 15 percent engaged in selfinduced vomiting. While women have purged and starved themselves, the diet industry has grown fat.

In addition to physical insecurities and dieting, women are suffering from seriously harmful eating disorders. Over one million young women do irreversible damage to their bodies and psyches annually as a result of eating disorders (Wolf 181). The notion that this devastation was engineered by powerful members of our society is almost too ridiculous--and too evil--to conceive. Yet, somehow, young, women around the world have fallen victim to the unattainable ideal of someone else’s beauty. If history is any indicator, the epidemic will progress unrestrained. In the meantime, 150,000 American women will die this year of anorexia and bulimia nervosa . With a death rate of up to 15%, anorexia nervosa has the highest mortality rate among psychological disorders. Those dying are not the poor and ignorant unfortunates from the slums and ghettos of the inner cities--they are the best and brightest of the young generations. They are the future leaders of this country, and they are, literally, wasting away. (Wolf 180).

The twentieth century brought remarkable technological advances, but it also gave rise to an attitude of unimaginable consequence. Young women are taught that exterior beauty is more relevant than any other aspect of their lives. Female role models teach that young women can achieve anything, if only they’re first thin enough to be seen in public. With all the ultra-thin media images in our culture today, it is difficult for women not to feel that their body is inadequate in some way. Jean Kilbourne, another prominent media critic, contends that Americans are exposed to 1500 advertisements a day. As we submerse our culture with ads negatively portraying women we remove any hope of social progress and gender equality. The solution is to change the philosophy behind advertising, a change that is occurring now. Unfortunately it is a slow drawn-out process as heads of companies are reluctant to change what has seemingly worked for the past fifty years. Little do they know that when women feel good about themselves, have realistic notions of beauty and health, that they will be serving both their companies, and the women of the future. Until ads depict women in a realistic way, women will continue to measure themselves against an inhuman ideal. And until they are released from the rigid confines of current expectations, women around the around (yes, Guatemala too!) will continue to seek commercial remedies and other drastic measures for imaginary flaws.

I sometimes make the mistake of thinking the Socratic Method is appropriate for students who have only been exposed to nothing but rote recitation. Questions like “What do you mean?” and “How do you know?” only result in the emptiest of gazes. Why would I, the teacher, be asking the questions? I should just be giving the answers. Isn’t that what teachers are good for? Even the basic “Why?” has students looking like I’m speaking another language. The funny thing is, I am speaking another language but it is their language, not mine. Answers have to practically be spoon fed to the students or you will be met the passive silence these students are famous for. They were never taught to think analytically or creatively. Its just not part of the curriculum. One can only expect the obvious to be stated. I sometimes ask my students to think about the given topic and write (if they can) about it. (Their ability to spell correctly is absolutely dreadful). I recently did an activity where I distributed several cards that depicted healthy habits and unhealthy habits and had the students place them on the “las malas” or the “las buenas” side of the chalkboard. The students worked in pairs and had to come up to the front of the class and show the rest of the class their card, decide which side of the chalkboard their card belonged to and tell everybody why. Getting them to answer the why part was like pulling teeth. I then had them think about one of the habits ALREADY on the board, decide which one they don’t often do (given it is on the “las buenas” side) and write about how they can do it on a regular basis to live healthier. Judging by the looks on their faces, you would have thought I asked them to explain nuclear fission. I phrased the question several times and even put and example on the board. I wrote “I don’t usually wash my hands after I go to the bathroom. I will wash my hands after I go to the bathroom to avoid getting sick.” So what did all 25 sixth-graders write? “I don’t usually wash my hands after I go to the bathroom. I will wash my hands after I go to the bathroom to avoid getting sick.” That is the rural Guatemalan education in a nutshell. It’s to be expected when they put more emphasis on planning parties and playing games than actual education. Do I expect to change it? No. Do I hope to expose them to a new way of thinking and a new way of learning? To an extent, yes. It’s the least I can hope for.

As August comes to an end, so does the school year. Almost. Well, for me at least. I have a full week of classes next week, followed by a week of preparing for Independence Day, followed by a few meetings the next week, followed by 2-3 full weeks of teaching and then that is it. And when I say full week, I mean 8 AM- 10AM, Monday-Thursday. Pretty hectic schedule I have, I know. One the whole, the staff and students of the 3 schools I work with are extremely receptive to my presence, with the exception of a few subversives that are intent on destroying my Healthy Schools scheme. This kid, Benino, is probably the ugliest cute kid you have ever seen and his “chistoso” face is only made funnier by how dirty it is. I swear this kid sleeps with his pigs. For the little ones, the parents are to blame for their black teeth, filthy hair and bodies, soiled and torn clothing and shoes that should have been replaced 6 months ago. Part of my job is to educate the families, as well as the students. The parents were never taught that you shouldn’t shit and throw trash in the river and then drink from it when you are thirsty. They were never taught to wash their hands frequently to avoid consuming diarrhea producing parasites and microbes. They were never taught not to cook without a chimney in an enclosed house, inundating the entire family with thick plumes of smoke. No wonder the principle cause of infant mortality in kids under 5 is respirator related, followed by secondary complications from diarrhea. This lack of what we perceive to be common sense can’t continue forever, can it?

As August comes to an end, it just means Guatemala is that much closer to presidential, congressional and mayoral elections. Hooray for democracy! Hooray for corruption! Hooray for murder! The only thing a newly elected president and mayor means for Guatemala is there will be new pair of “clean” hands to pick their pockets and rob them blind. I’ve already explained what Guatemala should do to help itself out but I am pretty sure it will continue down this path of fraudulence and criminality for God knows how long. I would not want to be a mayor in Guatemala. Piss off your constituents and they wont hold a referendum to get you out of office. They will show up to city hall with torches to burn the place down and machetes to hack you up into little pieces as you run out. If your head isn’t chopped off, you will be hanged in the town square. That’s democracy! I’ll be sure to be nowhere near my town as elections come around. I just feel sorry for the “muni” volunteers, or, the volunteers who work in municipal development exempli gratia, city hall and the mayor. Bribes are given to the mayor for preferential treatment when it comes time to bid for lucrative construction jobs and sometimes volunteers are pressured into accepting bribes. If everybody in the office is guilty, then nobody is really guilty. I also want to point out that the mayor of my community has the biggest house. Accepting bribes and skimming off the top never hurt anybody, right? God, that guy and his shitty soul patch make me sick. My ex-site mate had to leave because of how corrupt the muni is. Nepotism, bribery and corruption exist in just about every form of government known to man, but it just seems to be magnified here. Anyway, time to go read about nepotism, bribery and corruption in The Economist. P.S. The Economist= best magazine ever.

These past few weeks have probably been the most positive and productive I’ve had since arriving to site a little over 3 months ago. My ankle, up until about the 4th of July weekend, has impeded any sort of progress I could have made in my schools. While other had already built “confianza” with their teachers, I was arriving to my schools basically introducing myself to those who were unfamiliar with me. However, before getting started at my schools, I had the opportunity to see the band K-Paz de la Sierra. Now, I’m sure you have never heard of them but I can guarantee you that every Mexican or Guatemala will know who they are. “Mi Credo” is the first song I remember hearing of theirs and I have been in love ever since. The tickets were 150Q, which is roughly $20, a hefty price for any band in Guatemala. That was just for general admission. VIP tickets were 400Q and there were a surprising number of people who actually paid that. The time on the ticket said 8:00, so the four of us showed up at around 7:30 to try and beat the crowd. We ended up waiting in a sea of cowboy hats, belt buckles and cowboy boots for an hour and a half in the poring rain. That was just to get in. We ended up waiting an additional two and a half hours for the band to go on. No opening acts. No music. Just standing in the middle of a soccer field amongst a crowd of angry Guatemalans who cursed all Mexicans (the band is Mexican) and said the words “cerrote,” “verga” and “puta” every other second. That right there was my pre-show entertainment. The band finally came on at the stroke of midnight and opened up with “Mi Vecinita,” one of my favorites. Fireworks, light shows and dancers- the whole works. For a show in Guatemala, I was pretty impressed. My friends and I were definitely the only gringos in the whole place, which garnered us a fair bit of attention; both wanted and unwanted. My friends Dan and Meghan definitely get more stares because they are true blonds and get stared at wherever they go. He actually managed to have a few girls come up and ask him dance. Lookers they weren’t, It was still good to see Dan busting a move with a Guatemalteca. All I got was a bunch of wasted dudes coming up to me and practicing what little English they knew. That’s the standard around here. We didn’t stay for the entire show, as we were pretty beat from waiting for four hours, so we took off and headed home. It was a great way to start the week.

The following day I was back in my site and preparing to work. I held meetings with all of my schools that week to discuss the Healthy Schools project and what our roles would be exactly. Basically, my job is to co-facilitate health education classes with teachers to students and their families and provide technical support in sanitation and health project development. The goal is to certify each school as a Healthy School, something my boss is trying to implement at a national level through the Ministry of Education; something I belive is possible. Obviously we just need the cooperation of the government before anything else. There really hasn’t a big push for it lately since the current administration is getting the boot as soon a new one is getting voted in sometime in November. We just have to focus on our positions for the raminder of the school year, which isn’t that long. I have all of August and maybe half of September. The first week of September will be taken up by elections and the second week will be devoted to preparing for Independence Day on the 15th. So all in all, I will have only worked for maybe two months the entire year.

There is good news, however. My sister is coming to visit me for a week in September. I’m excited to finally have a family member visit me abroad to see what my life is like. My parents and my brother Tony are too busy, my brother Mason will probably never leave the state of California, so my sister seemed like a perfect candidate for a visit. It really is nice to have visitors and I’m looking forward to showing my sister what life as a Peace Corps Volunteer is really like. Needless to say, my dad will probably have a heart attack each day my sister is gone. That’s my dad. If only Crisitin could bring the Doxies with her…If she did, I think my mom would have a heart attack each day they are gone. That’s my mom.

Just letting you all know I will be going home for 2 weeks in November. I think it will by first Thanksgiving meal since 2004 and I am definitely looking forward to it. I was contemplating between coming home for Thanksgiving or Christmas. Not only are flights more expensive in December, but I just figured it would be more hectic that time of the year with people going out of town and parties and all. I did manage to find a pretty good deal back home in November, which pretty much sealed the deal. So if anybody is interested, I’ll be home on the 13th. Until then, I will be keeping myself busy with work and life here.

I am giving a little presentation to the students this week so they can get an idea of who I am and what I like. I printed out some pictures of my family, friends and of course, the Daschunds. I also cut out ads from magzines to depict what I’m interested in. The following week I am going to have them draw their house and their family to get of not only who they are, but what is going on in their wee little minds. Obviously, it isn’t a good sign if a kid draws himself murdering his family and lynching his dog. It kinda tells you the kid has problems. It will also give me the opportunity to really see how well these kids take care of themselves. I’ll look at their nails, their hands, their hair and basic appearance to assess what percentage of the kids are practicing healthy habits. Two of my schools consist of mainly indigenous students and based on what I’ve seen, they (their parents) don’t really take much interest in personal hygiene. This obviously makes my job and the teachers job harder because there is a cycle of unhealthy lifestyles. If the parents don’t brush their teeth or wash their hands, the kids most likely won’t. Like my boss Dr. Mack says, “It’s the 21st Century and we’re talking about washing hands!?!” The reason he brings this up is because as simple as that sounds, its just not done here which leads to serious problems. The contrast between the germ freak American parent and the inidgenous parent who sends his or her kid to school covered in filth is huge. Little Billy and little Jorge are kids and kids get dirty. That’s just a fact of life. However, both Billy and Jorge should be sure to wash their hands before they eat and brush their teeth twice a day. Walking around with hand sanitizer in your little pants pocket or walking around with mud all over your pants is not so normal. Balance. That’s all I’m asking for.

I know I’ve been kind of slack on posting lately. It’s just that since swearing in on April 12, life has been relatively lethargic. A month of slight incapacitation due to having an unnecessarily large cast on from my toes up to my knee preceded by a month-long strike by the teachers has made for an uneventful and rather mundane time. It has almost been like a 2-month vacation, minus anything remotely fun one would find in a vacation. Let’s just say that I was given 2 months to become “comfortable” and “familiar” with Guatemala and the chance to “integrate” into my community. There is not much one can integrate while on crutches. I don’t stick out like a sore thumb. I stick out like a thumb that has been halfway cut off and squirting massive amounts of blood. First, I’m a gringo and second, I’m “broken,” as it translates from Spanish. Blending in is just not a possibility. I think If a dye my hair a little darker the stares might abate. Walking with my friend Dan is pretty funny. He is a true blond and he gets stares from everybody. I think they’re a bit shocked by the fact that the hair on his arms is also blond. What a freak!

I actually had a pretty decent past few days. We had an interesting conference on Friday at the training center. Frank la Rue, a well-known human rights activist in Guatemala and abroad spoke about the current state of Guatemala and what it’s potential is for the future. He gave many reasons why Guatemala is where it is and offered possible solutions to fix it like doubling the police force and stabilizing the country, increasing taxes from 12% GDP to 16% GDP, and a more transparent form of government. His ideas sounded viable enough to me. If you look at Guatemala, it is a country rich in culture and natural beauty. Yet it still has not lived up to it’s potential. I don’t think Guatemala is far from realizing it’s potential, but it must first make serious inroads in political, economic and civil reform before that can happen. After Mr. La Rue spoke, we were given several “workshop” choices where we would hear from speakers from different sectors: NGO’s, the business sector and USAID and the State Department. I attended the latter and found it very interesting. A representative from the US Embassy spoke of what her work entailed and also of what applying to the Foreign Service is like and what we can expect. Since this is a career path I have considered, I was able to glean some pretty useful information from that session. The following day was the all volunteer and staff 4th of July party, although it was held on the 7th. With burgers, corn on the cob, potato salad, watermelon, chips and chocolate cake, I really felt like I was back in the states. The committee I am treasurer of, GAD (Gender and Development), held a raffle and made a substantial amount of money to benefit young Guatemalan girls in poor, rural communities. The prizes were all donated and included free stays at hotels in Antigua and Xela, dinner and drinks at popular restaurants and even dinner at the country director’s place in the capital. The whole day went really well for all. It was great to see all the girls from my group and it was nice to meet other volunteers from different groups here in Guatemala. I visited with my old host family on Sunday and joined them for lunch. All 9 of them seemed to doing well and it was great to see them as well. Everybody left for their respective sites on Sunday, but I had to stay for a doctors appointment in the capital the following day. Unfortunately, this visit wasn’t for my ankle. It was for something else. For the past few months, I have been getting these painful, subcutaneously located little bumps on my body that appear for a week or two then disappear. I gave blood last week and the results were inconclusive. I gave blood again yesterday and will hopefully find out what’s going on either today or tomorrow. In the mean time, I have to wait until I find out, which translates into no work. Will I ever get to work? The answer is yes, but I still have to wait a bit. Monday the 16th is the most probable date and needless to say, I’m quite ready. Oh and by the way, my ankle healed just fine without your packages, thank you. I guess I didn’t need any after all. Although, I’m sure good chocolate and sunflower seeds and Trident gum would be good for my psyche. Just keep that in mind. What else can I complain about? Ah yes! Several of my friends here have had family and friends down to visit. I just wonder if I will ever get a visitor from home. You know, I’ve been abroad since March of 2005 and I have had one visitor, only because it took me buying his ticket to get his ass over here. He eventually paid me back, but still. If I were at home working and I had friends abroad, I would be visiting them so fast. I know my parents are busy and it’s just not possible to come and visit me no matter where I am, especially since they have two babies; a pair of dachshunds name Gunnar and Gracie. Those dogs live better than most Guatemalans. But when I have kids, whenever that may be, I am going to force them to do study abroad programs or volunteer programs like the Peace Corps just so I can visit them. Alright, enough complaining. I’m going to read one of the new Enconomists my mom sent me. Thanks mom.

Still nothing much to report here. I really havent done much since getting this cast on. I will, however, have this cast taken off pretty soon. It will be nice to get back to work. It honestly feels like I havent done anything since finishing training in April. Anyways, hope you all are well. Peace.

The cool night air rushes past my face, softly caresses my skin and reminds me I’m alive. It’s been a while since I have last been in a car, an actual car. Not a bus. Not a van. Not in the back of a truck with 5 other Guatemalans and the occasional animal, collectively getting covered in dust. But in the passenger seat of a legitimate car, flying by buildings on the late night empty streets of Guatemala City. I guess breaking your ankle has its perks. Although my cast was unnecessarily put on up to my knee in Xela, PC still wanted me to be seen by a doctor in the capital. After taking a taxi to get my X-Rays at the hospital, hopping down the street to a store to buy crutches, being asked by a man named Pedro if I knew how to get him into the US either legally or illegally, I finally caught a bus down to the capital. All of this, however, would have not been possible without the help of my saint of a site mate, Mary. Mary just got back from the US and finally into San Pedro Necta, which we both like to call either SP Necta or The Necta. She accompanied me to the soccer field to watch me play, but ended up helping me limp off the field and on to the street to wait for a truck back into town. Apparently watching a gringo limp and hop along is rather funny to Guatemalans. Rather than help me, they’d prefer to stare and laugh like little boys. Gotta love Latin American humor. Mary has been amazing throughout all of this and I’m thankful to have her as a site mate. My bus ride into the capital took about 6 hours and I was picked up at the bus terminal by my good friend Vivi and her sister, Adrianna. We headed over to the Mira Flores mall for a little Taco Bell and to watch Pirates of the Caribbean 3. Going to malls in the capital is like being surrounded by a bunch of people who look like your average American, but with the occasional indigenous person in traje. I always forget that I’m in Guatemala while I’m there. I also saw the hostess of the popular dance TV show, Con Buena Onda. Probably the hottest girl I have seen in a long time. After the movie, I was driven to the Howard Johnson hotel where PC had reserved a room for me. I don’t what the Ho Jo’s are like in the states, but the one I stayed at was pretty nice. The hot shower I took would have been better had I not had my leg sticking out, avoiding any kind of moisture. I went to the PC office and then the hospital the following morning, The doctor saw me for a about 5 minutes and told me to keep the cast on for 3-4 weeks; exactly what the doctor in Xela told me to do. After a few hours in the capital, I made my way back to Huehue and back to my site. Looks like my next few weeks will be full of reading my wonderful Economist magazines, a few books and not much else. Oh, I heard that if you have books or things like chocolate, candy or boxes of good green tea sent to you from the US or elsewhere, it somehow makes you heal much faster. I think a doctor told me that. Yeah, I’m pretty sure its doctor recommended. Receiving packages of great goodies actually cures diseases and makes bones heals faster. You can find that on Wikipedia. I swear. So if you want to contribute to a great cause and help bones heal, send the following box of goodness to:

John de Matteo

Voluntario del Cuerpo de Paz

Apartado Postal 82

Huehuetenango, Huehuetenango

Guatemala, C.A.

Let me remind you that I am sitting here all by my lonesome and a package of any nature would expedite my healing time and allow me to get back to work. There are poor kids missing out on amazing health lessons at school because you are wasting time. Snap to it.

So it Goes

Not too long ago I came across a funeral procession in my town. The mourners of the family lead the casket on a journey around town and finally into the cemetery. Friends and other community members followed closely behind, demonstrating their respect for the deceased and the family. I asked the woman I buy mangos from, “Who died?” She responded by saying, “A man around your age named Kelvin. He died trying to reach el Norte. Who’s gonna take care of his wife and hija now?” So it goes. Another statistic. One person everyday dies trying to cross into the land that would deliver them from harsh times and difficult living, or so they think. Many of these deaths occur in the deadly Sonora desert of Arizona where a major portion of the border is unguarded, tempting and taunting those who dare to cross. It’s like dangling a carrot in front of the horse, except the carrot is the American Dream and the horse the immigrant who craves it. You can almost taste it. It’s so close, but so out of reach. Kelvin’s death, as are the rest of those who die unimaginable deaths of thirst, starvation, and even murder by vigilante “Cowboys,” is the result of politics of stupidity on both sides of the border. Our politicians and monkeys like Bill O’ Reilly will point the finger at the individual, blaming him/her for attempting to cross illegally. Border Patrol will point the finger at the heartless pollero (Coyote) for this blatant human trafficking and complete disregard for life. The Mexican government’s obvious encouragement to head north is culpable. Bosses of corporate America are to blame. The whole idea of Border enforcement and building a Mexican/American Great Wall is obsolete. George H.W. Bush’s promised benefits of NAFTA have gone on to China and India. The problems are complex and the blame does not lie with one single entity, but with multiple parties on both sides of the border. Damn the Mexican government for not doing anything to alleviate the destitution within and therefore leaving no option for the individual but to head north. Damn the border policies that make it so that it almost impossible to go back. What should be done? What is certain is that our current administration’s border policies are a hodgepodge of convoluted logic where nobody wins. Something needs to change and that change needs to be fair to both immigrant and citizen.

Why they come and why the should stay

As I write this I sit in a kitchen that has a brand new, unwrapped refrigerator, a new stove, a blender still in its box as well as new and unused pots and pans. My neighbors in front of me are adding a second level to their adobe brick house. Another neighbor proudly showed me her new TV. Some kids at one of the schools I teach at are sporting new clothes, new shoes and new backpacks. Everything I’ve mentioned is the product of something called remittance money. The truth is, most people in my community have relatives living in el Norte and if they don’t, they soon will. The northward exodus to America numbers about 500,000 people a year. Going to el Norte seems to be everyone’s dream. In fact, the family I live with has two sons living and working in Alabama. I met one of their cousins who used to bus tables at IHOP. It’s true that Mexico’s second largest source of GDP is remittance money and I’m sure Guatemala has to be somewhere near that. The money sent southward (to Mexico) in the form of remittances amounted to almost $23 billion in 2006, according to the Bank of Mexico, the country’s central bank, up almost sevenfold in a dozen years. It may seem like a lot of money not put back into the US economy, but this is truly just a fraction. Contrary to popular belief, Mexicans and OTMs (other than Mexicans) don’t come to the US to be a drain on our economy. They come, they consume, they save and send a bit home so that their families can by Levi’s Jeans, iPods and other American made goods. So, indirectly, that money is still going back into the US economy.

But wait! According to a government study, the average adult Mexican immigrant costs us $55,200. They figured that with welfare, medical services like Medical and school services all cost the American taxpayer the amount listed above. However, the truth of the matter is that immigrants depress wages and keep the minimum wage down which equals savings for businesses and results in a cheaper product. That Jamba Juice Strawberries Wild smoothie you buy is only $3.75 because of immigrant labor. Who picks the strawberries that have just been blended into your smoothie? Who freezes and packages those strawberries? Who loads them on the truck to be shipped? The answer: Mexicans and OTMs. The costs lie in paying the zit-faced high school kid to blend and serve your smoothie with a forced smile. Speaking of smiling, my friend Elio has a picture on his myspace page of a Mexican holding a sign that says, “No Mexicans, No Burritos (think about it America). A little exaggerated, but funny.

People also complain that these “illegals” are stealing are jobs and putting us out of work. Last time I checked, I didn’t see any white American heading down to Camarillo and Oxnard to pick strawberries, or Ojai to pick oranges. I also didn’t see any of you washing dishes at any number of restaurants on Thousand Oaks Blvd. and then riding your bike (environmentally friendly) to your shared apartment on Wilbur Rd. The shrimp tempura you enjoy at whatever trendy sushi spot you frequent is not battered by a Japanese worker or your high school buddy. The 16-year-old kid with a brand new Audi he did nothing to deserve and that he refuses to wash himself and rather have done at a hand wash place is not washed and dried by the hands of the person who just sent you a message on myspace. The lawn of your North Ranch home you refuse to mow is not mowed by your friend’s dad (maybe it is ;)). I think my point is clear. The jobs that these people have are jobs you don’t’ want. Who’s going to fill these positions if they’re gone? They need to stay.

But their children end up in gangs, in jail and harm innocent white folk! It may be true. Colonia St., a predominantly Mexican area in Oxnard, is… However, let’s go back to Elio. Elio is the son of Mexican immigrants and a product of the American Dream. Born and raised on the rough streets of Oxnard (seriously, there are some bad parts), Elio managed to get degree from UCSB, get a good job and probably now makes more than both of your parents combined. Of course, this is not the case for everyone but it just proves that it is possible and the American Dream can be realized and not every Hispanic is going to join a gang or steal your bike.

Let’s also imagine, say, 6 million immigrants working for $5.00 an hour all while paying federal income taxes, state taxes, Social Security etc. That’s 30 million taxable dollars that are being accumulated by “illegals” and getting exploited by Tio Sam. Will these people get a tax refund? Nope. But they get paid under the table! Yeah, but they still buy gas and pay rent. They also pay phone and internet bills and buy cell phones, your piece of shit car, movie tickets, tampons, condoms, Gatorade, bicycles, soccer balls, cleats, sunglasses, cigarettes and school supplies. Doesn’t all of this and unclaimed taxes over time mitigate that $55 grand? Does it not benefit our economy?

A study released by UCLA’s North American Integration and Development Center claimed that “illegals” contributed at least $300 billion a year to the U.S. GDP. $300 BILLION! It was also shown that “although conservative groups claim that undocumented immigrants are a social burden,” illegals have the tendency to shy away from seeking social services in fear of being deported. I’m sorry, but can somebody show me the social burden?

The argument can be made that granting “illegals” citizenship is just rewarding them for doing something illegal; that there are people in this world who come here legally with a visa and legally become citizens through time and most importantly, money. The latter can get you citizenship faster than you can say corruption and if anybody in the government says it isn’t so, they are flat out lying. Why “illegals” should be granted citizenship is because they provide a vital service to our economy that no other group of people can offer. Big business is sustained by their less than desired wages and their willingness to fill less than desired positions most average Americans won’t fill. Mass deportations and raids on businesses should end immediately because it hurts businesses, it doesn’t make economic sense and on a more human level, it tears apart families who have begun to grow roots into a new land and unnecessarily forces them into desperate positions which lead them to make desperate, risky and even illegal decisions.

Who wins?

The Border States, with as much money as they put into border patrol, actually do reap serious benefits from their proximity to Mexico. Thunderbird, the American Graduate School of International Management released a study that claimed Arizona gets $8 billion in economic impact (profit) annually from the relationship with Mexico. Mexico gets about $5.5 billion. That is serious money! They also stated that Mexican immigrants paid nearly $600 million in federal and sales taxes in 2002. They also use about $250 million in social services and another $31million in uncompensated health care. So Arizona comes out on top with $319 million in economic benefit. Hey John McCain, how you livin’?

The report also states several more interesting facts. First, the average wage for Arizonans is $28,355 and for the state’s average Mexican is $12,963. The total buying power of Arizona’s Mexican immigrants is estimated at $4.18 billion. The state’s Mexican immigrants spend an estimated $1.5 billion in mortgage payments and rent annually. Mexican tourists and visitors spent $962 million in Arizona in 2001, while state residents spent just $328 million in Mexico. Lastly, remittances from the state’s Mexican immigrants to their homeland reached $486 million last year, with those transactions generating about $77 million in fees to Arizona banks and financial institutions. Hmmm, and the winner is…

The American Dream

You hear about this a lot here in Guatemala. El sueño norteamericano. I even remember my students in Korea speaking of the dream. As much as people outside the U.S. resent us criticize our foreign policy (rightly so), they still believe and know in their hearts that America provides a chance and an opportunity of becoming somebody they can only dream about. Where else can somebody without a college education create a product that will turn him or her into a millionaire? Where else can you be paid millions to strike somebody out, hit a home run or slam-dunk? This is a place where you can get the best education in the world. This is a place where you can shop at Wal Mart and have a Blizzard at Dairy Queen. Just kidding. NOT part of the dream. But this dream is something we are all entitled to. It’s why we’re here. It’s what brought our ancestors, regardless of our race (with the exception of those whose ancestors were brought here against their will). My great grandparents came here with a dream to better themselves and the lives of their families. They came without papers and essentially came here illegally. But with them they brought the desire and determination to work hard and make the dream a reality for if not them, then their kids, their grandkids and their great grandkids. It’s what made our country beautifully diverse and phenomenally powerful. This country was built with the blood, sweat and tears of immigrants like the Italians, Irish, Germans, Russians, Chinese, Koreans, Mexicans and Guatemalans. They deserve to stay. They’ve worked for it and then some. Kelvin died selflessly chasing something he thought would benefit his wife and daughter. Maybe an extra room. Maybe a college education. The dream is still alive. Come and get it.

pretty much suck. There is a reason why soccer isn't popular in the US. Its because it breaks ankles that require shittty casts that render you completely useless and unable to work. Just when I thought I would be getting back to work, NOPE! That was quickly shot down as I rolled the hell out my ankle and forced to wear a cast. The ball just can't get rolling here. Just the ankle...

Just a quick post that lacks opinion. School has finally started and its nice to get off my ass and out to the schools. The schools seem great, but have their work cut out for them. I still get the ¨Gringo!¨ thing but I also get ¨Profe Juan!¨as well, which makes me feel good. Some of the kids are obviously stoked to see me. Its cool. I just hiked the highest point in Central America---Volcan Tajumulco. It kicked my ass, but in a good way. At 14,000, we camped out and all 7 of us absolutely froze to death. My friend Dan and I shared a tent and a few hours into the night, our tent became a small enclosure of passion as we spooned the night away. Really though, we were both shivering the whole time, so any additional heat was welcome. Well, except for his sick bean farts. Our sleeping bags were paper thin and the tent wasnt any thicker. It took us 4.5 hours to summit and by the time I got up there, my head was pounding and continued to do so until this morning. I swear, I had like a 3 day headache. Brutal. Anyways, I´m out. Pictures to come. I swear!

Religion, specifically Christianity, is everywhere in conservative Guatemala and tends to be a major part of most Guatemalan’s lives. Catholics, Evangelicals and Mormons tend to dominate the religious scene here. They (Evangelicals mostly, Catholics usually keep their mouths shut) can be found on the buses in the form of bible toting maniacal born-agains preaching eternal damnation for those who do not repent that instant. They can be found in park plazas praising the Lord through megaphones and attempting to coerce the irreverent masses to join their legions of righteousness. “Join now or forever burn in hell,” is the message that is sent. They can be found next door, or they can be your host family. They are just about everywhere.

I have been meaning to write about religion here in Guatemala but have held off in fear of offending anybody. Religion is a touchy subject and it’s almost as pointless as politics to argue about. But it’s hard to ignore it and not have an opinion about something that’s pervades almost every aspect of life in this country. And it makes sense why that is so. There is a hunger, more than just in it’s literal sense, for something that goes beyond any particular substance. When you have nothing like most people here, religion can provide so much; comfort, safety, contentment and answers. Even for those who have much find that despite material possessions, their busy lives, their jobs and their families, there is a realization that there is something missing; an emptiness. Their diversions are not enough. Maybe it’s a desire for a sense of purpose or a sense of belonging to mitigate the chronic loneliness they face in their daily lives. Something is needed to fill the void and people need to feel that they are not alone; that they are not headed down a path that leads to simply nothing. I guess I’m not the right person to provide insight into this because I don’t fall in either category. Some people who are searching for the truth may find it in religion. I’m not looking for answers; well, easy answers, yet. I’m not lost. Having a conversation with an evangelical is interesting; especially those have just recently found God. It’s like they just got a new car and they want to share with the world how happy they are with their new car. They want you to come to the dealership with them and listen to the salesman tell you how this new car will change your life. Some people feel their cars aren’t running smoothly. It stalls. It leaves them stranded. They see just how great life could be with that new car. They see themselves rolling merrily down the road. So they absolutely buy what the salesman is telling them and get that new car. Now they have a sense of belonging because they can now relate to the people who told them about the car and they can sit around all day and talk about how great their new cars are. They feel content with it and want everybody to know. Well, I don’t even have a car. I take the bus. At times, their views tend to be more intense, more extreme. It’s almost like jingoist George W. Bush’s hubristic and obstinate view of “either you’re with us or you’re against us,” before the Iraq war. If you don’t go to church, you don’t have a true connection to God. If you drink, you’re an alcoholic and therefore a bad person. If you engage in sexual relations before marriage, you are a sinner and destined for the deepest depths of a fiery hell. If you are homosexual and forthrightly so, fuhget about it! But if you do join their church and you do proclaim and profess your love for the Lord, then salvation is yours and you are destined for paradise, despite what kind of person you might be the other 6 days of the week. That has always been my problem with organized religion. How can these sanctimonious preachers claim that the rest of the ignorant world is doomed for hell and at the same time maintain that the entire human race spawned from two people or better yet, how earth and every living thing on it was created in 7 days? Ignorance anyone? If it’s not the preachers, it’s the followers who swallow every word that is spit at them and then reject those who don’t meet their standards of decorum, all while hiding their own dirty little secrets.

I remember going to Catholic Mass with my dad when I was growing up. My brothers and I were forced to go while my mom and sister stayed home. I know why my dad took us and I appreciate his intentions. Most of the time we were bored although we were provided with some occasional entertainment. The random fart from the person in front of us, or Father “Con” slurring his words would have us busting up or even my friend’s dad showing up drunk to Midnight Mass with a Santa hat on. A little too much eggnog for him. Things always seemed funnier in church because it’s usually a solemn affair and laughing when you’re not supposed to only leads to more laughter. Then there were the guys I knew, the guys I went to school with. They would sit there and act Catholic and holier-than-thou on Sunday and come school on Monday, they’d pick on some poor kid or smoke pot in the bathroom. Or there’s the person who would give a reading from the pulpit Sunday all the while he is cheating on his wife and abandoning his kids. I don’t need to mention the pedophiliac priests because I know the media bombarded us with stories surrounding that in 2005. Its these people who hide behind a mask of piety and adorn themselves with a cloak of self-righteousness only to conceal the cruelty, hostility, oppression and hypocrisy that lies beneath who have turned me off to organized religion. Also, it just is not fair that a person can commit rape, murder and any other heinous act and can ask for the Lord’s forgiveness and go to heaven while another person can live a good, moral and selfless life and reject Christianity altogether and therefore go to hell. So I guess Gandhi is burning in hell as we speak. The Dalai Lama is doomed. Millions of Jews are headed for Gehenna and Muslims are going to hell in a hand basket. This is all according to some. Fear is a wonderful tool of control and has manipulated the way we have lived for centuries. Fear is what drives us towards over zealousness. Instilling fear in minds of us poor sheep is what controls the flock and ultimately we blindly follow the shepherd of religion. Is it not possible to have a natural instinct for honesty, kindness, love, altruism, empathy and discipline all without supporting a certain religion? If the sight of poverty and social injustice fills you with indignation, are you not a just and right person?

I’m no theologian nor do I claim to be an expert on religion, but I believe I’ve read a fair bit and therefore am entitled to an opinion about religion. I think the Tao Te Ching, the Bhagavad-Gita, and the Bible are all part of a well-rounded education. I’d rather know a little about a lot than a lot about a little and take the positive of each and try to apply it to my life. However, subscribing to a certain lifestyle that involves shunning others and jumping up and down with my hands in the air while crying like some religious fanatic never really seemed appealing to me. I do realize that some form of religion is essentially and inevitably part of our lives and if not, there exits some sort of spirituality. That’s fine. It keeps us grounded. However, religious fanaticism and even über secularism are dangerous to our stability as a people and as a nation. The Moral Majority and the Christian Coalition have become major forces and have obviously tapped into the growing discontent of evangelical America and are trying Christianize the country while the organizations like the ACLU is trying to secularize it. But some have gone too far. Is it Christian to violently protest at abortion clinics? Is it Christian to murder those who assist or participate in abortions? Is it right to deny an individual from prayer to his or her God in school? The answer to the former two is probably not and the answer to the latter is no, according to our constitution. Removing prayer from school and the Pledge of Allegiance from schools (a move backed by the ACLU) was an attempt to secularize our schools. Fine. I might understand removing prayer from school, but did children when reciting the Pledge feel oppressed when saying the words “under God?” or was it an attempt by extreme left-wingers to prove a political point? I know I didn’t mind reciting the Pledge and I still wouldn’t have a problem saying it. It is not necessarily a Christian, Muslim or Jewish God. It is a God for everybody, whether or not you actually believe in a God. What matters is how and in which context religion is used. Religion is not and has never been something that has been practiced in isolation. From the Crusades to the flagpole meetings at school, people have felt the need to externalize what compels them in a manner that they see fit. They may want people or the public to validate their views to make them feel that what they believe in is right. People on the other side of the table may dismiss such actions as preposterous, parochial, and plain too Ned Flanders-ish. Tolerance on both sides is necessary, but is that being accomplished in today’s world?

I think I’ve deviated from what originally started writing about. I went from Christianity in Guatemala to fundamentalism in America. The main theme of this I guess is that religion only divides people. Spirituality unites us. For me, there is a belief in a God, a belief in a higher being and something bigger than all of us. I know it sounds cliché. Oh well. But it all comes with great question. Who am I and why am I who I am? Why was I born in 1982 and not in the year 82? Why was I not born into a world of poverty, disease, starvation, abuse and child prostitution? Is it by God’s good grace that I was brought to this earth a healthy and normal (questionable) person, or was I brought here by a remarkable concurrence of circumstances without any apparent causal connection? I know it is my youth that makes me question these things (hey, I’m only 25). Even though I question these things doesn’t mean I am suffering some sort of existential crisis nor am I seeking any immediate answers. There are a few religions out there that can provide me with all of the answers, but who is right? What I do know is this: there needs to be a balance. I’ve always felt that extremism on any spectrum is wrong and that a pragmatic approach should be taken and is necessary for sound judgment. How can correct and just decisions be made and clear conclusions given when one remains so dogmatic? WWJD? The equilibrium of the world is that of a drunken man and something needs to come along and sober him up.

Just a brief post to let you all know I'm doing just fine. I'm back at the training center to attend a conference on HIV/AIDS in Guatemala. It feels like I'm back in training, but without the leash. I'll be able to use a lot of the information from today's meeting to apply it to future presentations in my schools. I got here the other day to also attend a meeting for the Gender and Development Committee, where I was named the treasurer. Just something else to bide my time, considering I've been bored out of my mind with these strikes going on. Guatemalans love their education! Anyways, when something noteworthy occurs, I'll be sure to write about it. Ciao.

I live on the second floor of a house and I am constantly hounded by a 5 year-old. Forget 20 questions, this kid asks about 20 a minute. He’s a sweet little boy, but he just wont let me be. I am “Tio Juanito” to him and his 4 year-old cousin Julie and when the two of them get together, it’s double your pleasure, double your fun, double mint, double mint gum. When I study, he’s there. When I watch a DVD, he’s there. When I clean my room, he’s there. When I cook, eat, wash my clothes and even take a dump, he’s there. Emmanuel is always there. I try to pay attention to him as much as possible, but there is only so much I can take. After a while, he starts to sound like Charlie Brown’s teacher and I just say yes to whatever he says or asks. He has the energy I used to have; the energy I wish I had. Constantly jumping, running, break dancing, this kid is all over the place. He does teach me Spanish though. While I’m reading my Economist magazine, I point to pictures of objects of which I don’t know the name in Spanish and ask him what it is, playing teacher and pretending I know what it is. He then tells me what it is and I then know how to say it in Spanish. I’m a genius. Besides Emanuel, his mother, father and grandparents live in the house. Two of his uncles are working in the US and his other uncle is a teacher at one of the schools I work at. That’s how I got hooked up with this place in the first place. The second floor of the house is unoccupied. There is a kitchen and bathroom I can use at my disposal and I definitely do use them both frequently. It is AMAZING to actually make my own food and eat when I want to eat. For example, I made myself some tasty pasta last night with a marinara, garlic, onions and fresh tomatoes along with a cucumber, tomato and onion salad with salt, olive oil and balsamic. I love making this and I used to make it all the time in Korea. Actually, last night was weird. When I was in Korea, I always used to eat that dish and watch the show Lost. So last night I found myself eating the goodness and watching Lost and drooling over how hot Kim Young Jin is in that show. She blows any other girl on that show completely out of the water.

Like I said, being able to eat things other than tortillas, beans and eggs is pretty nice. The kitchen I use has a brand new refrigerator, stove and other cooking ware. However, I am not allowed to use any of it because it all belongs to somebody working in the US. I’m told that he will be back eventually, but hopefully not anytime soon. This is the story of many Guatemalans. Most people in my town have a brother, sister, aunt, uncle, mother or father in the US, either legally or illegally. This kind of brings me to the whole immigration issue, but for the sake of brevity, I’ll save it for another day. I haven’t started school yet. The schools are going on strike again. I’ll let you all know how the schools are once things get going. I’m out. Gotta eat. Ciao.

Im officially a PCV. Goodness. We were swore in at the ambassador's residence (P.S. it's huge) on Thursday and had a chance to take a few photos and whatnot with families and other PCVs. Fun was most definitely had that night in Antigua. Saying goodbye to my host family was harder than I thought it was going to be. I said bye to the kids, told my dad he was a good father to his kids, a good husband to his wife and most importantly, a good man. I said bye to their little dog Canelo. I walked down to the corner where my mom was selling tostadas and atol. I thanked her for making my food, cleaning my room and doing my laundry. She looked serious for a moment and asked her if her throat was bothering her, because I knew it had lately. She reached down to pick up a bucket and came up with tears running down her face. The sunglasses that were placed on my head went immediately over my eyes. I started to well up and I had to go. I couldn't stand seeing her cry, nor did I want her to see me slightly emotional. The past three months with my host family were amazing. They are truly great people and they taught me a lot about Guatemalan culture and I even learned a few things about myself. I'm sure I will stay in contact with these people for a long time.

I am in Huehuetenango, my home now. I have to buy a few things here and there so I can finally start making my own food and start eating what I want to eat, when I want to eat it. It's like the good old days in Korea. Well, more to come on my house, my community and my work for the next post.

Holy Week in Antigua is week of processions, among other things, culminating with a spectacular reenactment of Christ’s death on Good Friday. Ornate and intricately designed “alfombras,” or rugs, composed of anything from colored sawdust to pine needles to various fruits line the streets in which the mass processions follow. These processions are held all week long not just in Antigua but all throughout Guatemala. The most impressive processions are held in Antigua, where mass crowds gather in the park to witness the awesomeness that is Holy Week. I had a chance to check out a procession with my family on Friday. On the bus ride down to Antigua, Rose was puked on by a kid and I tore my short jumping out of the bus while attempting to escape the stench of barf. Just smelling kid barf is enough to make me sick. Although, bum barf is probably worse. We were dropped off in Jocotenango, just outside Antigua because of the alfombras on the streets and the sheer number of people gathered. On our walk to Antigua, we stopped and took a few pictures of the alfombras, which are pictured below. After walking around for a few hours without really sitting down to rest, we were all a bit tired. My family went home and Rose and I stayed to meet about 7 or so other volunteers for dinner. I had to stop off and get some cash from the ATM because I was fresh out. The reason I mention this is because for some reason, the ATM area always seems to smell like bum piss. I just don’t understand why these dudes can’t hose outside. Why is it that these normally public pissers (bum nor not) feel the need to urinate inside? Does a wave of privacy overwhelm them and compel them to move inside? I remember seeing a little sign that read, “Orine feliz, orine contento, pero por favor, orine adentro.” For those of you who didn’t make it to Spanish 2 in high school, it means, “Pee happily, pee content, but please pee inside.” Obviously it sounds better in Spanish because it rhymes. ANYWAYS, after dinner we made our way to the park to check out the massive procession making it’s way to the central park in Antigua. It was absolutely packed, but I managed to find an insane spot in front of he cathedral that not only provided a view of the procession, but an insane view of the crowd that had gathered. The number of participants dressed in black robes carrying a post-crucified Jesus, the smell of frankincense, the lights in the darkness, the deep voice of the man singing a solemn hymn all proved to overwhelm my senses and gave me chills. For those who were not religious at that time, I’m sure they couldn’t help but feel a moment of reverence overcome them. It was something that will always be remembered and I recommend to all of you to try to make it down to Guatemala during Holy Week at some point in your life. The little processions they have going on in Oxnard just don’t cut it.

Rose and I unfortunately hung out too long which resulted in us missing the last bus to Parramos. We would have taken a taxi, which we normally do, but these dudes were charging double and there was no way we were going to pay 150 Q for a 20 minute taxi ride. We managed to find a bus to Pastores, a town containing about 40 cowboy boot shops and located at the the base of the hill to Parramos. I stuck my hand out as pick-up trucks drove by on their way to my town, trying to hitch a ride. Afraid of gringos, we didn’t have much luck persuading anybody to pull over. After trying to hitch a ride for about 15 minutes, a black truck pulled over and asked where I was headed. I told him where we were going and he told us to hop in. After dropping us off in front of the park, I offered to throw him a few Q but he declined. You know, the police here in Guatemala actually do serve a purpose.

The weekend was spent in the city with my friend Vivi and her family. I watched Arirang TV again and was again treated to a hot shower and a smoke, rooster and dog-free environment. Me, my friend, her mom, her sister, her niece and her grandma all went out for an awesome sushi lunch. As I looked around, I felt like I was surrounded by a bunch of Americans speaking Spanish. These people did not seem like the Guatemalans I knew, both in physical appearance and obviously, in socio-economic status. It’s always weird going into the capital.

It’s now Monday and we only have a few days left until swear-in. Today will be a regular day of training. Tuesday will be our last day at our school. Wednesday will be a day of orientation and Thursday will be the big day. A big night in Antigua will most likely follow. The swear-in will be held at the Ambassador’s residence in the capital. It should be interesting. The next post will be coming from my site in San Pedro Necta. Until then, I bid you adieu.

We were coming up on 6 hours of being in a car and my legs were starting to cramp. One of the schools directors came along for the read and kept falling asleep on my shoulder. The carne asada and grilled rabbit lunch we had a few hours ago seemed more like days ago. I was becoming restless and anxious to see what my home for the remainder of my service as a Peace Corps Volunteer would look like. Driving me and the directors of two of the three schools I will be working with to San Pedro Necta was a man of about 70 who drove as you would expect a man of his age; slow and overly-cautious. Our drive had taken us into the Western Highlands of Huehuetenango, which has that self-sufficient air exuded by many mountain towns. Coffee growing, mining, sheep raising, agriculture and dust are what make this town what it is; nothing to write home about. Huehue is usually just a leg on the journey to or from Mexico for travelers. It’s not what I would call attractive nor is it remarkable. However, the mountains surrounding it are just that. We continued past Huehue without stopping; heading straight for San Pedro Necta, a town of 75% indigenous habitants that speak the Mayan language of Mam. Driving along the Pan American highway, there were many crosses adorned with flowers which prove as a reminder to heavy-eyed bus drivers to stay awake or risk plunging into the depths of the canyon below. Finally, we came upon the dirt road turn-off to SPN. After 15 minutes of some bumpy driving up an unpaved mountain, we spotted San Pedro Necta. SPN lies in the middle of the Cuchumatanes and is actually closer to the Mexican border than the town of Huehue. It boasts more cantinas than pharmacies, which would explain why I saw as many borrachos and bolos as there are perros on the streets here in Parramos. The town seems to just come out of nowhere, as if somebody just got bored of hiking through the mountains and decided to build a house that turned into a community of no more than 2,000. A “rio” (which resembles a stream more than a river) runs through the middle of town. It is unquestionably biologically dead and visibly contaminated with trash and God knows what else, but still maintains some charm. Without much room for buildings to stretch out, most tend to be 2,3 and even 4 stories tall. I walked over to the house of my pregnant CTA (superintendent of schools) to join her for a cup of coffee flavored water. It’s funny, Guatemala supposedly has the 3rd best coffee in the world, but all I have been drinking has been sock water. I guess all the good stuff gets sent to Starbucks for dirt cheap, so the Bucks could then turn a huge a profit while the coffee farmers here stay poor. Story of Central and South America in a nutshell. After a bunch of small talk, I made my way to the hotel to crash for the night. Traveling all day and forcing conversation in another language is tiresome. Besides, I had a big day ahead of me and some decent rest was needed.

The following morning, I met the CTA at her office. I was to be escorted by her assistant to La Laguna and El Tzalay, two schools that are about a 90 minute walk up-hill away. Fortunately for Thomas and I, his brother-in-law was on his way up and we were able to hitch a ride in the back of his truck. The first school was La Laguna. After shaking the dirty paws of a number of kids, meeting all the teachers and eating a sandwich I was sure would give me some gastrointestinal problem, I “formally” introduced myself to the students. The teachers translated what I said into Mam so that the little kiddies could understand what I said. They can’t quite understand Spanish. Shortly after, we made our to El Tzalay, a slightly bigger and cleaner school. (It was clear that Intervida, a Spanish organization, has a strong presence in the schools in my community, among other communities in Guatemala. Their role is that of a sugar daddy. They give money, backpacks, desks, soap and toothpaste and whatever else a school needs. Sustainability is not their primary goal by any means.) After another introduction to the students, I was greeted by a group of sixth graders and invited to join them in a game of basketball. By then it was lunchtime and I was a bit hungry, so when the directora called me in for some sopa de gallo, I was slightly relieved. I was told to wait around until about 4 to meet the PTA who had a meeting scheduled. 4 o’clock came, but the parents did not. They instead made their way passed the school and into the neighboring “auditorium.” More like a shack with a stage. A meeting was to be held regarding the possible exploitation of mines by a gold and silver hungry North American mining company called Montana Expeditions. The communities of La Laguna and El Tzalay came together to discuss the referendum that was to be held two days later and to discuss the negative effects of mines. To process gold, the amount of water used in 1 hour is equal to the amount an average Guatemalan family uses in 22 years. The company can get about $877 million from a successful operation while only 1% of their profits go to the lands they rape. These are just some of the facts I learned from the presentation. Of course, I was introduced to a lethargic crowd and was asked to give a few words. I just spoke of my role as a PCV and thanked them for welcoming me into their community and their schools and how I wasn’t going to steal or eat their children, a popular belief by many Guatemalans. Intervida was their providing technical support with a computer, projection system and DVD player. Pictures of kids with patches of hair missing, skin disorders and gigantic craters resulting from a mining operation were shown to enlighten the crowd as to what would happen if they allowed this company to mine them out. A documentary about a recent mining project in Sipakapa, Guatemala was also shown. Profiles of the white project managers from the US, Canada and England were shown and greeted by boos from the now energized crowd. Here I was, a foreigner in their town witnessing them verbally oppose an obvious occupation of American companies on their lands. Imagine if a French or Iranian company came into your quiet American mountain town and wanted to completely desecrate and devastate your land for whatever reason. They will claim that they will bring positive growth and development. What they won’t tell you is that they will also bring disease and that the residual effects of their greed will have lasting, detrimental effects on the environment and it’s inhabitants. As you could imagine, I felt extremely comfortable. After the meeting, I quickly made my way down the mountain with a teacher I ended up staying with the next two nights.

The following day was not as eventful. I made my way over to Guachipilin, only a 30-minute walk away on flat land. Guachipilin is different from the other schools in that it is two stories instead of one and has about double the students. I will have to visit this school twice a week. Again, I met the teachers and introduced myself to the students. The great thing about the schools I visited is that everybody is very enthusiastic and interested in the Healthy Schools project. Without interest, little will get accomplished and the sustainability of the program after my departure will be short lived. The idea is to co-facilitate the classes so that the teachers have the tools necessary to carry on the project.

The rest of the day was spent chatting and planning my schedule for when I arrive. The house I stayed at, which belongs to father of a teacher (Douglas) at El Tzalay, might possibly be the place where I will be living. I hope that’s the case because it’s a two story and has an unused kitchen on the second floor. Douglas’ two brothers left Guatemala for El Norte in search of a better life. Such is the case for 1 million other Guatemalans living in the US, most of them being illegal.

I made my way back home the next day (Friday); a trip that began at 6 AM and ended at 2:30 PM. A long day indeed. The next two days were spent resting before I had to make my way to the training center on Monday.

Monday came and we were to have a pizza lunch with Ambassador Derham. Slightly pompous and obviously a well-groomed bureaucrat, he spoke of his career in the Foreign Service as well as of American policies in Guatemala. His is job is to promote and clarify the current administration’s foreign policy abroad. That being said, he has no room for opinion and must agree with the policies set forth by the American government. In other words, he is a puppet. If your administration has agreeable policies, then this is not a bad thing. However, if you are working for the administration of George W Bush, then it is almost like a priest temporarily preaching the word of the devil instead of preaching the good word of the sweet Lord. The best part of the day was the free Domino’s pizza. Thanks Peace Corps.

I love the ayudante shout for Guate. It sounds like Count Chocula. Here I am in Guate, at an actual house. I ate pasta and MEAT yesterday for lunch and I was made pancakes accompanied by a plate of fruit that included watermelon, papaya, banana and peach. Unreal. Afterwards I watched a Korean drama on Arirang TV which was immeditately followed by a hot shower that didn´t require me squatting down and pouring small buckets of tepid water on myself. Rumor has it that I will be having sushi for lunch. Maybe a movie. Maybe a trip to Home Depot or Bed Bath and Beyond. OK, there is no Home Depot here nor is there a Bed Bath and Beyond. But there is a Sears, Chili's, Friday's and other wonderful American exports that have made this world absolutely bearable. I mean, how would people eat without McDonald's or Burger King or Taco Bell? I am staying with a Guatemalan friend who´s hospitality has been nothing shy of amazing. The transition of Guate to my community is like night and day. Anyways, time for lunch.

We have been in Guatemala for 2 months without knowing where we would be spending the majority of our time as volunteers. I have been living in a community that I really like for a number of reasons. First, my host family has been great and has made my life here a real joy. I have spent a great deal of time with them and I appreciate how hard they work and although they don't have much, they consider themselves fortunate and never compain (which is something I'm about to do). Second, I have met a few cool Guatemaltecos that live in Guate City and my proximity to the capital has allowed that to happen. Also, I live close enough to Antigua to utilize the free wireless internet in Pollo Campero even during the week. Well, all of that is about to come to a screeching halt. Today we learned where our permanent sites will be. Since I'm the only guy in a group of 13 for the Healthy Schools program, I predicted that I would get the shaft and be placed way the hell away from eveything. The other dozen in my group are a bunch of weak, girly girls who can't handle shit. So to cater to their needs, they would have to be in place where they would be comfortably close to everything. As it turns out, my predictions were correct and I will be the furthest away from anything. To give you an idea of how far away I will be, it would take less time driving to the Mexican border than it would to Huehuetenango, the "major" city in my department. I'm about a 12 hour bus ride to the capital. God knows how long it will take me to get to my schools. Isolated? Yep. It looks like John will be reading a lot of books. My address is listed listed at the bottom of this page, so be kind and send me a few good ones. Im gonna need them. Well, I have a month left to relish the good life and I guess I should make the most of it. Who knows? I might meet my future wife up there. I AM finding gold teeth kinda hot....

I also want to comment briefly on my last post about the HB. If you couldn't tell, it was written in jest. I don't feel like I have to explain my own jokes on my blog, but whatever. I'm actually starting to grow dreadlocks and I'm listening to Bob Marley as we speak.

What is about the slovenly appearance of a hippie backpacker that gets on my nerves? Why does the hippie backpacker (which will now, for the sake of brevity be referred to as HB) feel compelled to grow dreadlocks when he/she/it travels abroad? Why, when you see them in a bar or hostel do they seem to sulk in dour silence in the corner, almost feeling sorry for themselves? (It is probably the weight of the rat’s nest they have on their head that physically makes them droop down.) I am hereby officially proclaiming my disdain for the HB that seemingly infests every corner of not only Antigua, but any spot on the globe popular to people who travel. My advice is this: Take your dreadlocks, your Phish and/or Bob Marley mix CD, your hacky sack, your hemp necklace and your filth and go back to Eugene, Oregon or if you are from Europe, Berlin or Barcelona. Most likely if you ask him or her where he/she is from, he/she will probably tell you that that they are "world citizens." Fuck off. The HB also exists in the female form. You will see her with a superfluous amount of body hair, braless, pierced nose (not the stud, the hoop) and to add a dash of femininity, a colorful cloth hair band to manage the rat refuge on her skull. My pragmatic approach to the HB my seem harsh but is one that is based on empirical evidence rather than speculative notions. I have seen them first hand in numbers and if anybody has traveled abroad, then you know what I’m talking about. If you fall into the category of HB, may God bless your soul and give you the strength to change your grungy ways. The HB infiltrates hostels in Spain and either asks where to buy weed or attempts to endear himself to you by offering you hash. Do not allow the HB to hoodwink you by this display of “kindness.” The HB might have had a successful day panhandling in Barcelona and may or may not have sold a handcrafted bracelet or two and might offer you a Heineken from the beverage machines in Hostel Kabul. This is a rarity, but if it does happen do not be fooled as the HB is only trying to pull you over to the dark and dirty side of traveling. The HB my have been lucky enough to land a job in a bar or hostel and attempt to “integrate” into the community and culture. Do not be duped as this is a false attempt of amalgamation and associations will only be kept with backpackers, most likely of hippy nature. Now, I am not a backpacker nor have I ever gone by that. Nor have I ever tried to kid anybody by saying that I was a “traveler,” as if it were less offensive and making me seem more profound. I am here because I have a job to do and hopefully have a positive impact on my environment, be it on small or large scale. I am not suffering some sort of existential crisis nor am I living a nomadic existence without a sense of purpose, which some might disagree with. Do not mistake my take on the HB as conceit. This is not narcissism. This is not self-admiration. I do not feel above the HB because I shower (take bucket baths) regularly and have short, maintained hair. I also do not feel superior to the HB because I smell like flowers instead of smoky cabbage. This is also not an attack on the character of the HB. There are many nice people with dreadlocks. A good friend of mine used to have dreadlocks. This is just an honest to goodness look at the HB and how it affects my being and a question as to why one must subscribe to this lifestyle when abroad. Is the image of HB attained while traveling because a sense of absolute freedom overwhelms them or is this perfected in the college dorm? I will never be able to fathom the psyche of the HB, but I do know there are some people who roam this planet that need to cut the poo on their head and take a shower ASAP.

I think an entry, or at least part of an entry, should describe to some degree my main mode of transportation here in Guatemala---the camioneta, or better known among the gringos here, the chicken bus. These things are just as part of daily Guatemalan life as are tortillas, frijoles, undone flies, gold teeth and public displays of affection (more on that in a bit). Many people depend on these things to get them from point A to point B. I certainly do. If one were to look past the wicked paint job, the Tasmanian Devil stickers and whatever religious message the driver might have, something like Dios es Amor, one would not only notice that these tricked out rides would even stump “X to the Z,” but these things are actually from the US. Now that I’m on the topic of the US, our president G-dub is making a stop in Guatemala on his Latin American tour tonight and the only reason why I am mentioning this is because there have been non-stop F-15 and F-16 fly-bys, something people here aren’t used to. It feels like a war zone. Not only that but the security presence here is remarkable and the 200+ Secret Service agents have been scoping the place out for the past few weeks. Just a friendly reminder, these are your tax dollars hard at work. Oh, and word has it that “He’s” going to visit a volunteer “somewhere:” in Guatemala. Anyway, back to what matters most, the camionetas. I actually had the privilege of riding in a completely packed camioneta that was adorned with STROBE LIGHTS; yes, STROBE LIGHTS. These were cautiously festooned atop the roof of the vehicle and they totally messed with my head. This vehicle raised two questions and they are as follows: 1) Is this shit legal? and 2) Is this some sort of alien space craft? Number one was answered “yes” by the simple fact of being in Guatemala, where the laws of traffic are not necessarily followed. Had it not been for the stank dude next to me who kept farting and the lovely young couple in love in front of me who were eating each other’s faces, I definitely would have believed I was being abducted by Spanish-speaking aliens on this Independence Day-like craft.

This kind of segues into something else I want to briefly mention: PDA. I was in a country (Korea) where men and women remain at a distance and making out in public is not only unheard of, but a complete disgrace. I am now in a country where PDA is no big deal and having sex in a public park does happen. I witnessed this. Public displays of affection are common in Latin America because it’s not like you can go to your girlfriend/boyfriend’s house and hang out like you can in the US. This probably explains the make out sessions one would observe among young Hispanic couples in the lines at Magic Mountain. Win your girlfriend a Taz plush doll and you’ve earned yourself a few minutes of heaven while in line for Viper. The bigger the plush doll, the longer the make out sesh. Win her multiple plush dolls and buy her a funnel cake topped with strawberries, whipped cream and powdered sugar and you are in for a parking lot treat. Pretty simple formula actually.

Nothing significant has happened to me on the camioneta yet. A girl in our group shit her pants and puked out the window on her way home. To add insult to injury, the ayudante made her clean up the mess on the exterior of the bus. Another guy was urinated on by a piglet placed on the racks. Girls are constantly groped. I have not been lucky enough to have been groped, but I have been “chh chhed” and whistled at by a few groups of high school girls. You know you still got it when high school girls are paying attention to you. It’s flattering, really. I also get laughed at upon entering the bus, where I almost have to duck so as not to hit my head on the roof. I guess this is quite funny for people who are mostly a foot shorter and a few pounds heavier. I think I would also laugh at the tall, awkward looking gringo. Well, time for lunch. I wonder what adventures await me as I ride the camioneta to Antigua this afternoon….

If any of you guys feel compelled to send me a package of any sort, please send it to:

John De Matteo, PCT

8 Calle 6-55, Zona 9

Guatemala City, 01009

Guatemala, Central America

502-2384-3800 (if its gonna be fed exed)

Honestly, if you want to send me grass clippings or twigs, I'd be totally cool with that. The excitement of receiving a package is a wonderful thing. To lay some guilt on you all, I'm the only one who hasn't received anything. I seriously feel like Milton from Office Space. I'm gonna set the building on fire.

I’m still trying to decide which is worse---airplane food or hospital food. Sometimes you might luck out on the plane and get something you know can’t be bad, like Haagen-Dazs ice cream. You know that because it is in the cup. No going wrong there. No tampering with it. However, the end result of plane food, for me at least, is diarrhea. Now, based on my current condition, I wouldn’t be able to tell you if hospital food would have had the same runny results. Yes, I have diarrhea and yes, I am now part of the of the exclusive poopy pants club. Three others in my Healthy Schools group have also joined this select and privileged bunch during our field based training trip to Xela and Huehuetenango. I didn’t do it in a van or bus. I didn’t do it in my bed or walking down the street. I did it standing next to the toilet while laying down some protective toilet paper. Who shits their pants standing next to the toilet? I don’t know about the Eco-tourism and/or Environmental Ed guys, but I hope to hear soon that more of us had to wash our shorts in the shower. I would usually leave that stuff in the trash and free ball it, but this guy is short on shorts and every pair is precious.

I now have friends of microscopic proportions that like to hang out in my intestines, party and lay eggs. They go by the name of “Amoeba,” and they are now few, gracias a Díos, and a few amoeba-killing pills. They were calm and kept the noise down for the first week, so the neighbors didn’t mind as much (which only resulted in their proliferation). But they started moshing and crowd surfing, so the bouncers that are my intestines told them to beat it and tried to show them the nearest exit. They really didn’t care too much what my intestines had to say, which really pissed off my intestines and consequentially, yours truly. So I had to rely on outside forces in the shape of some wicked strong pills to clear the whole lot. The amoebas’ effects proved only to be ephemeral but their severity was fierce. Without exaggeration, I made at least 35 visits to the toilet in a 24-hour span. In those 24 hours, all I had to eat was a banana, a few crackers and a bottle of water. You’d think an EMT would know better than to drink more than a single bottle of water, but tell that to a guy who is pissing out of his bum. I was hospitalized (for the first time in my entire life) for amoebas and dehydration. I was hooked up to an IV and they pushed about 2 liters of fluids while I was there. Slaughterhouse 5, CNN, Telehit (Mexican Fuse) and my favorite program, “Con Buena Onda,” kept me company for the 3 days I was there. By the way, if any of you have seen “Con Buena Onda” then you already know it is the greatest show on television, hands down. It is just 2 hours of gratuitous booty shaking that would make any straight man go insane, and any gay man go straight. These girls are unreal. There are guys here who actually turn off their cell phones and are dead to the world for 120 minutes a day, 5 days a week just sit with mouths agape as they take in the justified, unadulterated hotness that befalls them. That’s my opinion on CBO and I’m stickin’ to it.

I will be on some form of amoeba-egg-killer for the next 20 days. I box of that stuff cost me 100 Q, which is quite a bit. No worries, PC will reimburse me. Now that I’m slightly on the subject of money, I want to do something that I’ve been meaning to do for a while. I’ve been meaning to provide some sort of a price listing of a few items just so the folks at home know how much things cost down here. Before writing my list, I must provide the current exchange rate for $1 USD: Q 7.6 (Quetzales). Here it is, in no particular order:

1 avocado: Q 1

1 mango: Q 2

1 pineapple: Q 7-8

1 amazing loaf of fresh banana bread from Doña Luisa in Antigua: Q 21

1 McDonald’s chicken breast sandwich meal: Q 34

1 20 minutes bus ride from my town to Antigua: Q 2.5

1 bottle of water: Q 2.5

1 bag of Tortrix (unreal lime chips) Q 1

1 late night taxi ride for 3 from Antigua to my town: Q 60

1 plate of carne asada, rice, salad and torillas in a ma and pa eatery: Q 18

1 episode of shitting your pants in Guatemla: priceless

Sorry about the cliché Mastercard ending to that. I guess its part of a having a blog. A blog devoid of clichés just really isn’t a blog. The whole idea of a blog is cliché and utterly banal.

me and my girls

some cute little kiddies

where i do my biz

me and the fam