Morning Moments.

Ok, I am working on other posts, but a quick recap of the morning is in order...

As I am running into the kitchen to grab breakfast, Tia Abuela doesn't understand how I could only want two slices of bread... UNTOASTED at that. I told her I was going to put peanut butter on the bread and eat it. About two minutes later she comes scurrying out of the kitchen, which for her is any movement above 0.5 miles an hour, carrying two condiments, mayonnaise and mustard..."wait wait wait, don't you want to use this?"

Has ANYONE ever THOUGHT about putting mustard or mayonnaise on a peanut butter sandwich????

I didn't think so.


Number 2 moment to cherish of this morning. I rode with Jessica today instead of taking my car. I now remember why I prefer to drive myself.

Here is a little verbal snapshot of her driving this morning: 5 lanes of traffic trying to merge into 2 lanes, Jessica's car position in-between lanes, and Jessica’s sun visor folded down with the little mirror open because she was PLUCKING HER EYEBROWS. Yes, yes I was afraid. I mean, sure, put on lip-gloss while driving in traffic, maybe change a radio station, but doing something is technical, requiring so much concentration in a mirror while sandwiched between cars...is not recommendable.

TA DAH! Good morning!

The BIG 2-4. (24)

I recently had a little 24th birthday, which consisted of multiple celebrations...


#1 Friday night hang out with Guitar Hero competition.


Some of my friends would not be able to hang on my actual birthday so we arranged the Guitar Hero competition for the Friday before. After pizza goodness, we got the competition underway. For those of you who do not know, Guitar Hero is a video game that uses two miniature plastic guitars to simulate playing along to music in a certain rhythm.........it gets complicated for some who are not quite so coordinated... Anyways, in competition mode it is like the dueling banjos and we decided to compete boys versus girls. In our case boys v. girls is equal to Guatemalans v. white foreigners. I would just say gringas, but as one was Canadian and one was Australian...they tend to get offended. Well, the girls totally trounced the boys and as losers of the game, they were required to dress in girl's clothing. :) It was a fun night for all.

I just want to mention that this little black and blue dress is mine. It might look better on Victor...

#2 Birthday Dinner at Mexican taco restaurant.

All the couples plus my scuba dive center instructors showed up for some Mexican food. The celebration was complete with strolling mariachis and the singing of "las mañanitas" the traditional birthday song....followed by the "English" version of "Hoppy Bearth-dey too jooo."


#3 Holiday weekend, advanced scuba diving license!!!

I went with scuba peeps to one of the Bay Islands of Honduras, Utila, and got my advanced scuba diving license. This was a little mermaid experience, I danced among schools of fish, swam with sea turtles, explored a ship wreck, saw an EEL (hello, flotsam...or jetsam), met a sweet Honduran couple who are inviting me to their wedding next year, and just all in all had a great time. Also, my car Kimmy made the incredibly long drive through Guatemala and Honduras without any problems! YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY KIMMY. Also, even though I was completely insane about putting on sunscreen whilst on the island of Utila and did not get burned....when I drove for 6 hours through Honduras from 9-3, my left arm got burned hanging out the window. I feel like an idiot.

Ready to become an underwater adventerer

Timmy the Tortoise...SOOOOOO CUTE!!!!

Into the caves...

Night dive...we saw an octopus!

Hangin' out at the ship wreck of the USS Haliburton. Notice that I am wearing a watch. That watch no longer functions. IT SAID WATER RESISTANT TO 100METERS!!! I was at 100 feet! Stupid, lying, and now dead, watch.

Pacaya a Novella: Fickle are the Lava Flows

I have climbed a volcano before, Volcano Pacaya, on Easter Sunday of 2008. It was not too strenuous nor was I greatly injured by volcanic rock, or lava (even though I stood about 1 meter away from it).

So when my friend, Tracey, was here on her visit to Guate, and expressed interest in seeing some lava, I proffered up Pacaya, which I dubbed "the semi-vigorous hike which will satisfy your lust for lava."

Pretty soon, you will see why Tracey should sue me for false advertising.



Step One: Buy some tennis shoes for Tracey.

She had only brought Chacos, which although very campy and seemingly outdoorsy, they would not protect Tracey's peds from potential cuts from the off chance that she should fall on sharp, black, volcanic rubble (extreme foreshadowing). We head over in my car to Miraflores, a huge, very nice shopping mall right near my house. Going to the mall is always a reminder that I am a foreigner who could never hope to fit in this country. Although the stores are similar to malls at home in the US, the mall population milling around Miraflores is distinctly more homogenous. We brace the Saturday crowd, a sea of blackish/brown hair, and dark eyes, which I find darting in our direction as we pass by. I notice that Tracey also feels the extra attention by the way she stands closer than normal to me, but then again, it could be the fact that the mall is so packed that we got closer than normal to a lot of people. We dart into a sports store, and head towards the cheapest section of shoes. We decide on the "Cobras," a sporty pink and white shoe which cost 130 Quetzals...about 19 USD. The name alone pretty much settles it. And the price. But mainly, the name, I mean, who WOULDN’T want to do some extreme sports in some Cobras? It sounds so rugged. We were a bit delayed by girl working at the front desk because she was fully asleep at the register. After some awkward throat clearing and noise making, I slightly “banged” my hand on the desk and her head jerked up, followed by a little line of drool. At the same time I saw some movement on the floor in the hallway that led to the back room. It was like the wicked witch of the east as the house landed on her, when I saw a pair of legs roll back into the hallway, trying to avoid detection. Apparently front-desk girl was not the only one napping the afternoon away. We made our purchase and lauded the charms of the “Cobras,” and we knew that Tracey would be the snake charmer to tame them into submission on the slopes of Volcano Pacaya.



Step Two: Wake up relatively early to get to the mountain at a reasonable time.

Tracey and I shared my little full-sized bed. Luckily, I have been sleeping in a single-sized bed all throughout college so I was used to sleeping in a small space, sans movement. Who says you don’t learn anything in college? Turns out setting the alarm was an irrelevant action, as the sunlight came streaming in my window bright and early. (Guate did not go through a time change, my curtains are a very thin cream-colored material, and the location of my bedroom window is at such an angle to directly receive the morning sun...resulting in the brightest 6:30AM anywhere in the world). We wake up and little Tia makes us some eggs and beans with toasted tortillas, to give us strength for the trek. We start off in Kimmy driving in the general direction of Pacaya. Of course, I get lost a little bit, and we drive through a small town twice in efforts to turn around.

Step Three: Find the way to Pacaya.

After a few un-scenic detours, and stopping at a total of about 13 gas stations to ask for directions, we finally figure out the correct way to get to the volcano. My favorite direction-giver was a little gas station attendant at a Shell station who used his arms to simulate the different paths to take and actually made a full pirouette to demonstrate the turnaround on a highway. Did I mention he was about 60? I love enthusiastic direction givers and little older Guatemalans. We finally found the turn of for Pacaya and started the curvy drive around the base of the mountain.

Step Four: Stop for directions and pick up a total stranger to be our guide.

We reach the first level at base, and I stopped to ask a group of people about parking, knowing that there is parking further up, but keeping in pattern with the day I ask for directions anyways. Fate steps in and brings a young Guatemalan to my window named Mynor. "I can take you to where the beautiful rivers of lava are flowing today, all for the cheap price of such and such..." Tracey and I think this could be a good idea and go ahead and pick him up. He is a quiet guy who is wearing weird foam sandals with socks. We find out that he has lived in the town at the base of the volcano since he was born. When asked how old the volcano was, he replied "Well, it was here when I was born." Our tour guide, ladies and gentleman. Brilliant. His name is Mynor (MY-nore).



Step Five: Take the non-tourist route up the back side of the Volcano

So I already knew we were kind of headed a different direction than I had gone before. Apparently the normal touristy way had no lava rivers to be seen. Thus, Mynor leads me to park my car in what looks like one of his friend’s backyard. I slightly scrape the barbed-wire fence with the side of my car, but she takes it like a champ. We begin walking on a path up the side of the mountain. We pass by some outhouses which he assures us are the last place to go to the bathroom. Tracey braves it and hops back out. We are walking on a black gravely surface. The volcanic rocks are as small as marbles and it is like walking on giant sand dunes. Every once in awhile I see some rock with something green attached to it. A sign of life. I secretly encourage it in my head “You go, little guy, keep growing, you can do it!!!” Mynor tells us the easiest part of our journey is over. I am already ready to quit.



(Mynor's sandals versus Tracey's Cobras in action)



Step Six: Start to eye the landscape and mist suspiciously

We start an even steeper climb. All of a sudden the rocks get bigger about the size of a fist. And they get more slippery. Not wet, but they start to fall out from underneath. We have to proceed very slowly because the earth keeps giving way. I climb sideways, trying to dig little holes with my toe into the mountain to provide some footholds. I wonder how Mynor is faring with his sandals and socks. The volcano has be sending out smoke this whole time, and the result is a mist that settles over us, causing low visibility, thing radius of 10m. It’s starting to look like a creepy movie…what could be hiding in that mist?Step Seven: Wait by myself whilst the guide helps my friend up a steep part.

Mynor then tells us that the climb is about to get soooo difficult that he will have to help us up individually. I choose to stay behind first and let poor Tracey go up first. She speaks no Spanish, and he, no English. Should be interesting for them.

Step Seven and a half: Sing songs to myself in the cold misty mountainside

Hum de dum. I find my self sitting on a semi-sharp rock, testing my patience, trying to be serene in waiting. The mist starts to thicken, and it gets colder. I zip the pant legs back onto my shorts (I love my convertible pants/shorts!) and hug my bare shoulders. I start singing some songs to myself, ranging from gospel to Broadway to making up my own words like “I am cold and my booty’s starting to hurt, I hate hiking and getting my shoes full o’ dirt.” (Grammy’s anyone?) I look at my watch for the zillionth time and realize the 45 min have passed. The music dies out of my head and creepy and sinister thoughts replace it.

Step Seven and three quarters: Convince myself that Tracey has been taken away and murdered.

At the 45 minute mark of waiting by myself, and remembering that I am in a pretty violent country, my thoughts go something like this…Oh my Gosh, He has taken Tracey away and killed her. He has taken her little purse and thus the phones, money, car keys etc. I have no way to get to her, I can’t make the steep climb by myself, I don’t know how to get down, and the mist is so thick I would probably kill myself. Why O Why did I let Tracey go up first…? I try multiple times yelling out to someone, anyone. About 15 min later, I finally hear something back. Mynor has come back down. He has come back to help me up. I was about to say, go get my friend, we are leaving now... when he tells me that Tracey has said that I wouldn’t be able to handle the climb. Now, I take this as a challenge, not realizing that Tracey was trying to communicate with Mynor telling him that the climb sucks and that we don’t want to do it. Lost in translation.



Step Nine: Experience the "Help" for myself.

So because it is so steep and the earth keeps giving way, Mynor stands behind and pushes my up, from time to time, BY MY BEHIND. I think this may have slowed me down the most. 45 min later, my hands and fingertips are starting to get raw from trying to grip the mountainside and scraping against the incredibly rough volcanic stones. Alas, I see Tracey, but it is still another 15 min until I can even reach her. No lava yet. Does it even exist?

Step Ten: Separate yet again.

Repeat steps seven through nine as he again helps us individually up to the top. This is getting to be a lonely, very long climb.



Step Eleven: Reunite at the lava.

By the time I make it back to Tracey again, she has been hanging out near the rivers of lava, drying off and nursing her wounds. The Cobra shoes have gotten her up the mountain, but they now have big holes in them, courtesy of the sharp rocks. Again, I wonder about Mynor’s socks and sandals combo. His socks have pretty much torn off at this point.

Step Twelve: Abandon dreams of climbing to the top.

After sitting respectfully in the presence of the lava for a few minutes thinking to myself “I could care less about stupid lava, I just want to be at home, safe, drinking some Chai, warm and cozy,” we hear some crackling noises of the lava breaking over some of the rocks. Then Mynor casually mentions that there could potentially be a lava river forming above us. That pretty much ended whatever barely-there determination we had to continue upwards.


Holey Cobras!


Step Thirteen: Create Avalanches of rocks to ride down, see who can get the most bruises.

So, it was so hard to get up because of all the rocks sliding away from us. We asked Mynor how to get down. We basically formed a three person train and slid down on an avalanche of rocks. It sounds fun for about, oh lets say 5 seconds, and then you realize that it is NOT a smooth ride down. There are pointy, sharp rocks that really hurt you because your entire body weight comes down on them. If only I could show you a picture of my behind. It looked like a Dalmatian; you know the spotted dogs with spots of all shapes and sizes. That was my behind. Sitting down was painful for about a week.



Step Fourteen: Follow Mynor, trusting that he can read the unreadable landscape back to our car.

Mynor points out “landmarks” that we should remember, like hey look there is a big black rock, remember that? No, Mynor, no I don’t.

Step Fifteen: Get in car, drop off guide, give guide my shoes.

Finally we reach the outhouses that we passed coming in. I was so delighted to see shanty bathrooms? Not because I needed to go, but because I wanted to leave hell, and knew that this marked the way out.

Hell’s borders are marked by outhouses.

We get to my car and there are locals kind of hanging around, and I realize they are staring at us with a look of pity. I realize we have been scratched up, soaked by the fog, have hair going all sorts of directions, and have ash smeared all over our faces. Somehow, after it all, looking at poor Mynor’s sandals and newly de-socked feet and knowing that he could not afford tennis shoes, I asked him what shoe size he wore. I gifted my beat up pair to him. His job is climbing that stupid volcano, I helped protect is livelihood I guess.

Step Sixteen: Begin the drive home, stopping at a gas station for water and chocolate, making the locals wonder what tornado hit us.

Although I can barely lift my arms to the steering wheel, I high-tail it out of there (well, as fast as Kimmy can accelerate) and try to avoid the original bump in the road that practically disemboweled Kimmy earlier. We stop at a gas station to buy some water and realize that we also desperately need chocolate. Without chocolate in that instance, all of the joy would have been forever sucked out of our lives. The security guard had a funny little grin on his face when he saw our disheveled appearance. He could probably smell us from 20 yards away. We didn’t care, we were just glad to have survived.




Zippy pants update: My convertible zippy pants/shorts will no longer be of use to me, as riding the avalanche down the volcano has irreparably ripped the seams and the hiney of the fabric. Also, when held up to the light, the material is all pretty much translucent now.

A pitiful victim of Pacaya’s wrath.

Chai Changes Everything.

Little adventure with my car, Kimmy:

So it started as a holy venture... I was going to drive myself to bible study at someone's house. Somewhere along the way as I was asking for directions by cell phone, I ended up on a highway headed for El Salvador.

Did I mention it was raining, dark and because my A/C doesn't work, the windows were foggy and I had to drive with my windows down, in the rain, at night? Oh, and I ran out of cell phone minutes.

Luckily I found a turnaround (which are quite rare here) and made my way back to civilization while driving with the windows down in the rain and simultaneously wiping the inside windshield with my sleeve. As cars drove by faster than mine, water from the flooded streets gushed into the openings in my windows, eliciting copious amounts of squealing from me. I decided to forget about bible study, being already an hour late, and just make my way home...a direction I already knew. Just to comfort my poor self, I stopped at a trendy little coffee shop near my house. I had a giant mug of Chai Latte whilst attempting to read "El León, la Bruja y el Ropero."

I was cozy and happy from my Chai. I then returned home to a warm dinner of spaghetti and sliced hotdog. Tia Abuela was so happy I was home in time to eat. Gosh, I love seeing her little wrinkly, 83 yr old face break into a big smile. I should try to be home for dinner more often.

Tracey J's visit to Guate! Antigua Pictures

The following pictures document the visit of my college friend, Tracey, who paid me a visit last weekend. (Not yet included, pictures from our hellish volcano climb. Still too painful to post just yet).




My car Kimmy. Easy for Kimmy: Looking totally awesome, Having Federal Government Level Tinted Windows. Hard for Kimmy: Potholes, slight inclines, speedbumps, air conditioning, playing music out of more than one speaker, lifting her saggy front bumper, oh and one more thing... accelerating, that is hard for Kimmy. I love her.

Tracey J performing Tai Chi in front of La Merced.

Birthday Serenade of "Las Mañanitas."


One of a million bands practicing for independence day!



Behind the band!



Quick! Pose! It's a ruin!

Tracey lecturing on "ancient" graffiti, Mayan era.



Lloyd the...Coyote? Anyways, he deserves a kiss.

Frank the... Antelope, also getting some lovin' while Lloyd looks on with jealousy.

Jump for Antigua Breakfast!

Is that person in the background a boy or a girl? Definitely European.

Belize it or not!

We had a 3 day weekend on August 15 and decided to take advantage of the time to go on a little SCUBA trip to the Cays of Belize (a bunch of tiny islands to the far south).

We hopped on a bus at Thursday afternoon to take us to Puerto Barrios Guatemala. The pictures below will show you that in front of the bus, Erica’s ice cream dropped to the ground mid flash, which is why she looks sad, and we are all laughing…except Linda on the end. She is still clueless as to what is going on.

We get to Puerto Barrios and meet up with a friend’s dad’s friend…. Morgan. Morgan is the old man in the picture wearing a black tanktop and tweed blazer. He also is missing the majority of his teeth. He helped us rent our boat and do immigration stuff and assured us that our boat would not sink because God would be with us. I would have preferred to hear that our boat wouldn’t sink because it had two engines and good water displacement.

When we got to the little island the next morning, we set up camp. There was quite a bit of trash that had washed up from the ocean and we cleaned up our area out to the ocean and moved tree stumps and logs and rocks around to make a fire pit and benches….all while other visitor were watching us with interest. They were probably thinking, “ Crazy gringas,” when in reality they would later be jealous of our fire pit…and our SMORES!

There was another little group on the island that came as part of a tour group, and they paid a lot more money than we did, and still camped in tents. Ant by the end of our time, they preferred hanging out with our group rather than in their own little pavilion. We shared our things with them (like they came out on dives with the boat we had rented) and in return…we got lots of ICE from them. Seriously, ice was very valuable to us…since it all melted in our own coolers like the first day we were there…

So, we had fires going, cooked on a little camping stove, taught the island how to make SMORES, went scuba diving, danced at the groups pavilion, went night fishing with out poles (just fishing line), caught fresh conch to make ceviche and had a great weekend camping out on the beach!

Of course, as you all know, we were all bitten to pieces by sand fleas and mosquitoes…but I just expect it now, and have resigned myself to fate. An itchy fate.

Scuba Trip to Hunting Caye, Belize.

4 weddings and a funeral... I mean, 2 funerals and a marching band.

Sooooo it’s already Aug 19? Where does the time go?


So rewind, back to the 2nd, a Saturday. Somewhere, during midday, Linda and I decide that we should go to the beach! "It's only 2 hours away," everyone says. "2 hours? Let's do it!!!!" So, we get in to trusty old Kimmy (my beat up maroon 97 Corolla) and head in the direction of the beach...after making a slight detour, missing the exit and having to swing back around again. Then we moved about 2 miles an hour in traffic and watched vendors walk down the highway between cars selling things from inflatable giraffes ( a household necessity), to choco-bananas (yum…almost bought one...), to lampshades and bedding. Why go to Target when you can buy it on the highway?

We finally broke free and made our way down to the Puerto San Jose but... as we entered the small town...we hit another fresh batch of...traffic, however this was caused by a funeral. There was a pick up truck way in front holding a casket and half of the town walking behind it. We turned tried to find another way, then got stuck behind a marching band...practicing and marching...at the hottest time of day. We then went another direction...using our internal compasses (and anyone who knows me, knows that mine is severely broken, no where near magnetic north). And ask a toothless man on the corner for directions to our desired destination. Despite the difficulty of hearing Spanish "gummed out" at us, the hand motions helped and we went on our way again.

Hmmm, someone taps on my window and asks for 5 quetzales. Why? To use the substitute bridge (basically a route through the mud). Sure enough, I look ahead and there road is all ripped up and I basically have to pay 5 Quetzales to off-road in my poor little Kimmy (who by this point is like "WHY MEEEEE"). So we make it to the other side of the road and keep following it like we were told... get caught behind the SAME funeral train (did the casket go off-roading too? it must have since the bridge was out) and then we drive through what looks like a neighborhood and residential area and end up at a big gate with guards.

The old guard stops talking to his buddy and comes around to my window,
"Can I help you miss?"
"I think we are lost. We are just looking for a beach... any beach"
"Are you a resident here?"
"Well, not yet...." (good reply, I thought)
He smiles and says " you can park here right outside the gate and walk down to the beach"

We decide to leave Kimmy with Kind Old Guard, and walk down... to what turns out to be... a resort beach with the volcanic black sands groomed to perfection and people riding horses up and down the beach and others receiving massages at a little cabana. Oh and it is like 4:30 by this time. So we have about....45 min to enjoy paradise before we need to head back so that we aren't driving in the dark.

It was fun!

Oh and on the return trip back... you guessed it, we got caught behind another funeral.

Anyways, we got home, bought supplies to make coke floats and watched "while you were sleeping," to get our chic-flic fix. I fell asleep to it, giggling in my dreams at the funny character of Joe Jr. "Hey Luce, it looks like he was leaning."

India

Namaste!!



So there was a missions conference at my church here in Guate last Saturday, and my friend Erica signed up to be in charge of the kids during the conference. She made sort of a mini-epcot center in our part of the church, converting various rooms into different "countries" so that the kids could get an idea of other countries. They had cute little fake paper passports, and we made souveniers in each country for the kids to take around with them. Anywhoo, I was in charge of the country of India, which in itself is hilarious, since I am the whitest, blondest, ignorant-of-south-asia-girl, but alas, I accepted the position, as Germany and Australia were already spoken for.



Let me just say... I am not gifted leading large groups of children bymyself. Why? Could it be the little boys who decided to jump on the tables during my presentation? Could it have been the pastor's kid (a 10 year old who loooooooooooooooooves negative attention) who called me ugly in the first 2 minutes?.... (be strong, Tracy, you are fearfully and wonderfully made.....this little boy doesn't really mean that....try not to cry in front of the kids.... show no weakness....) Ha ha ha ha ha. Could it be that one poor little boy (about 4 or 5 yrs old) who peed in his pants? His poor little agonized face haunts my dreams. Why didn't he approach me to tell me he needed to go?



So in group rotations, I spoke to about 70 kids (about 20 at a time), and was COMPLETELY dead afterwards.





The next morning after the church service, a little boy who was there the day before, Benjamin, came up to me and said, I" want to go to India!"



Worth it.







A few India facts for the clueless:



National Bird: Peacock



India contains 16% of the worlds population (about 1.4 billion people) less than 2% claim Christ. There are over 7000 ETHNIC GROUPS that haven't even heard about Jesus. That's groups, not individuals! The government does not allow foreign missionaries, and there is conflict between the religious groups.



Please take time to pray for India and the spread of the gospel to the lost.





Oh, and if you are already praying..... don't forget me here, in Guatemala...



Love,



Tracy

Submersion

So I was thinking the other day... Just when I start to feel settled in to things, something comes along and knocks me off my feet. For instance, I was sick with the flu and missed 2 days of work, and was told to take all these weird medicines that have different names than I am used to back in the States... Also, someone I know has received a threat and is leaving the country.... something I am unused to but is not entirely uncommon here... Did I mention to you that one of my friends was held up at knife point (but she didn't have any money or a phone and was then miraculously left alone)...and I realize that I ALWAYS have to be alert about my surroundings and be checking my peripheries until vigilence becomes a part of my persona. I realized that feeling comfortable AND feeling out of my element are all a part of this cultural submersion.


On a parallel side note, I am learning to breathe while submersed. That's right, the girls and I are enrolled in a SCUBA diving certification class and began our first pool dive yesterday. Expect some pictures in the near future of all our nerdy gear, from wetsuit to giant goggles.

Mold

So it is rainy season here. Let me tell you... It rains daily, which gets old to some of us...cough cough.

Everything is perpetually damp, especially since we don't use a drying machine, clothes go on a line to dry. Thus, everything is just, damp. I don't EVEN want to tell you what my bath towel smells like, not that I can really even describe it with appropriate words.

Anyways, as I was doing my quarterly rearranging of the furiture in my room, I noticed there was green mold growing on my back wall, because.... the wall is perpetually damp. Um, gross. Not to mention, my little shoe rack which touched that wall, now has half of all my shoes sporting the same green stuff.

As a home experiment to dry up the area, I sprayed "odor eater" spray on the wall.... that should dry it up a bit? Or at least prevent my wall from getting athelete's foot.

Anniversary

This is the tale of Jessica's father, and what happened 28 years ago, on this day:


Jessica's father was a leader with strong character and vision. Despite his humble beginnings as the eldest of 8 siblings, he excelled educationally and left Guatemala for postgraduate studies in Education in both Argentina and Spain. Although the program in Spain wanted him to stay on and teach there, he felt strongly the call to return to Guatemala and give back to his country. He returned to teach in the research institute of the State University and was open about his opinions of equal rights for the poor, especially in the field of education. At this point in Guatemalan history, however, anyone showing any liberal views regarding the poor was considered communistic, and therefore, a threat to the government that must be eliminated. As many of his friends and colleagues were being assassinated, he expected the same fate, yet continued working, choosing not to flee. On July 8 of 1980, when he was driving in his own quiet neighborhood during lunch hour, two special army vehicles drove beside him and fired their automatic weapons at his car, killing the young, bright husband and father of three.

At a time when so many were killed by the government, there was little opportunity to investigate and hold his murderers accountable. Jessica, only 8 years old at the time of his death, felt the injustice intensely. Today, as a lawyer, she uses her passion for justice to speak on behalf of children who have been sexually abused at IJM Guatemala, honoring both the Lord and the memory of her father.

Shukos (pronounced Shoe-cose)

Shuckos are basically hot dogs, you can get them made with regular hot dog meat, chorizo or bacon. After I went with the lawyers to the Thai Embassy to get their visas, we decided to get some lunch before returning to the office. Their mouths started salivating when someone mentioned shukos and we drove to a famous street lined with stalls of shuko chefs. Right as we entered the strip, vendors swarmed our car, trying to convince us that their hot dogs were superior to the 20 others on the street. Most people eat in the car but we got out to enjoy the air and smell the hot dogs cooking.

I was a skeptic, and I am not afraid to admit it. After my first try, however, I fell in love.

Contents of a Shuko... one hot dog wiener sliced in half long-ways and grilled, amazing bread, also grilled, then filled with guacamole, a little shredded cabbage, and mustard --->i.e. the greatest food known to man.

Neck Pinching Goodness.

So I was able to go to the grand market this week to help one of our clients and her mother in grocery shopping. They make tamales to sell for their livelihood and we were able to provide them with other basic foods like rice, corn, sugar and oil.

This market is so huge, and just like a maze, and they sell everything from produce and meat, to tools and chalk and underwear, a virtual open air wallmart...so to speak. I did see a large pig's head hanging from the meat stall. That was somewhat less than appetizing.

Whilst hanging out in the grain section, a pair of elderly women shuffled over to us and started chatting. The one named Elsa handed me a mango, different than the ones I had seen before. After explaining that I was supposed to mash it a bit in my hands then bit a wee little hole in the top and suck out the pulp, she offered it to me. She first bought some filtered water from the stand and washed it for me!!! This woman really wanted me to try this Mango. It was good, but a bit strange. But after trying it, she gave me her life story, part of it including that she took chiropractic courses and proceeding to pinch the tendons near the base of my neck. (OUCH!!!!) She said that I was tense and probably had back problems, and to not sleep face-down at night. She pinched others necks too, all of them responded with the OW noise. She clucked her tongue at us and our poor spinal columns.

So, that was the market... I would have brought my camera to take pictures of this, but, well they say not to bring anything of value there...

Erica's Birthday at Applebees...but no pictures of Erica....oops.

My Chapin Brothers

Chapin/Chapina is the nickname that Guatemalans use for themselves. Instead of saying someone is Guatemalan, you say they are Chapin (Chah-PEEN). You can also use this to describe their traditional food, dress, etc, comida chapina ....

Anyhoo, that is to say, I have two Chapin brothers here. The marvelous boy on the left is Erica's boyfriend, Christian, and is my hermanito...my little brother. He is very tender and looks out for everyone and their wellbeing. He is the one that helps me with everything from looking for cars to teaching me songs in Spanish. He is also a prayer warrior and is moved to pray for me and his friends. I am so blessed to have him as a younger brother here!

The boy on the right is Joanna's boyfriend, Victor. He is my older brother. He is energetic and encouraging and a patient listener to all problems, both deep and superficial. He is someone who I can look to for advice and wisdom.

I just wanted to introduce you to my brothers, and let you know that people are taking care of me here in Guate!

Alas, Poor Norlan...

So, we have a parking lot, not attached to our building. About a block down the street, we pay to park in this little area. Well this little area happens to be the realm of Norlan. Norlan is a 16ish (claims he is 19 years old, but with 16 I am being generous)Nicaraguan boy who watches the cars and lives in a little house that is part of the Parkeo. He is short, takes great care in spiking his hair up, and learns little phrases from "Sup Girls" (whats up) to "I love you." The latter of the two phrases being used in my presence all to often.

Here is what went down. Norlan had/has a crush on me. He used to always say hi, bye, good day, etc, then I think once he started crushing...he disappeared whenever I was around, but continued to ask everyone else in the office about me. It became sort of an office joke, if you will. Anyhoo, one day, as he was telling Andrea that he though I was soooooooooooo great she proceeds to tell him that I will never know of his feelings unless he tells me.

Picture this, I am at reception, by myself, in the front of the office, answering phones, writing reports....the sliding glass door opens up, in saunters Norlan.

• "Hola Norlan, whats up"
• "Hi there, Señorita Tracy, como estás?"
• "Good, thanks for asking, and yourself?"

(silence)

• Man I am so nervous and flustered around you I can hardly talk"

(clears his throat)

• "Because I am so in love with you."

(I enter into a sort of surprised coughing fit)

• "Um How can that be... Iam way to old for you "
• "No way... um, how old are you?"
• "Old enough."
• "Well, i'm 19."
• "Sure you are, Norlan."
• "So, maybe, we could hang out some time."

(oh no, I'm about to do it, Here it goes....)

• "I don't think my boyfriend would like that very much."

(dejected... and yet optimistic)

• "Well I mean as friends of course."
• "Maybe someday Norlan."

And that is the account of Norlan.

Poor Norlan, you might say. No no no, if I told you how many girlfriends I have seen hanging out with him in the Parkeo, your sorrow would disappear. And thus I tell you, there are A LOT of girls hangin around this dude. (although the last time I walked into the parking lot, he was sitting on the back of this girls motorcycle, and he hopped of that thing so fast....with a forgive-me-please-grin on his face)

They're Getting Artsy...

Hello Brave Blog Followers....

So I went to Rio Dulce two weekends ago with Andrea, and we met up with her fiancee and some of his friends there too. On the drive there, we stopped on the highway to buy "Uvas Frias" or cold grapes, because we passed stretch of road with like a thousand stalls selling them...so we thought they must be good. And they were! And the Lord has still protected my stomach!!! (I now readily eat fruit from street vendors...no one will be able to dissuade me now...especially because it is mango season still)

Well they said the mosquitoes would be bad along the river, but miraculously, I escaped untouched...

But when I returned to my room in Guate, some other insect decided to make up for lost time. Oh yes people, I still have insect problems. And this time they were crafty. Well, artsy really. I have a bug-bite design in the shape of an arrow on my thigh. It is clearly an arrow pointing up. Clearly these insects are a part of a conspiracy, they are collaborating. This can only mean one thing. They are actually trying to tell me something via bugbites in the form of symbolic messages. Obviously. The upwards pointing arrow must be a reminder to fix my eyes upon Jesus, the author and perfecter of my faith... don't believe me? here is a picture....



oh. and if anyone wanted to see how my arm was healing from the moto accident....

You Know You are in Guate when....

you think an old man carrying a machete walking along the side of the road is "cute" or "quaint"

you are good at haggling with taxi drivers, and sometimes even laugh in their face when they quote you the gringa price.

you can't wait for monday lunch, because it is typically Caldo de Res day in all the lunch places, a beef broth soup with a mixture of veggies and rice and avocado, with a hint of lime.

you hear hissing noises when you walk down the street, and realize that it is actually a guy trying to get your attention.

your self esteem is damaged when you don't get any cat-calls for a day.

you go outside in the city, to get a breath of fresh air, then a bus drives by, releasing its black smoke, immediately giving you hideous asthma.

you are almost ok with seeing normal men with their shirts practially unbuttoned to their navels.... almost..... but still a little weirded out.

you have to step over human feces almost daily on your walk from the parking lot to work.

it is not uncommon to see someone herding goats on the road during rush hour.



:::::::TO BE CONTINUED::::::

Roatan pt 2

Hi,
Due to intense international pressure, I am further updating my blog.
My apologies for not having updated every hour on the hour.... :)
This one's for you, Jane.

So as you may already know by the pictures below, I went on a holiday weekend to Roatán, Honduras. Andrea and I rented a car (a royal blue, chevrolet "spark," which I then named, Sparky Pete. It was only fitting...)


We left the city EXTREMELY early in the morning to drive over to Honduras and meet up with Andrea's fiance and fiance's mommy. We hopped the ferry over to Roatan, and island further north of Honduras, and prepared for our time on the beach. Laying in the sun, people watching, Mango-eating, shoreline strolls....It was excellent. There was some sort of International triathlon going on at the time, so it made for very interesting, weird, sometimes gross people watching. Too many speedos for my taste...I mean really, even the men with nice bodies...I am still grossed out by seeing too much, Speedo is a no-go.

You know what else is a no-go? STINKING MOSQUITOES. Yes, those capital letter symbolize yelling. Sometimes, nature just kicks my booty. I don't mind the normal mosquitoes, I guess. You get a bite, it swells a little, it goes away in a matter of days. BUT, there are these other, invisibles....that you don't see, or feel the bite, and it appears as though you have a little red dot on your skin. Until the next day, the red dot morphs into a tiny bump that itches like the dickens. Then they scab/scar and last for weeks. Weeks? Yes, weeks. Needless to say, my arms and legs are somewhat less than attractive.

Another reason for the unattractive appendages....I got in a teensy tinsy motorcycle accident. I was attempting to drive the motorscooter/cycle, and was only going about 5mph and tried to turn up an incline, but since my upperbody strength was found wanting, I was unable. I offroaded and fell, nearly missing a tree, and a fence. I survived with some HUGE bruises on my thigh and arm, and lovely scrapes. So if there was a contest for hottest babe on the beach......wouldn't you vote for the bruised, scratched, bug-bitten blonde? Yeah, me neither.

I bet you are wondering why there is a picture of the police truck in the last entry, maybe I shouldn't publish this, because it will worry you all, but Andrea and I were driving without a map. We called the embassy for directions and all, but no map... so we knew the basic route, but the roads are not labeled well, and we ask friendly people for directions. We asked that truck of policemen (4 sweaty policemen shoved into an un-airconditioned car) how to get to the main road, and they were like "Follow us!" And thus, we had a Honduran Police escort, for about half and hour. How VIP is that? Also, when we got to the border to return, the border patrol recognized us (and Sparky Pete) and didn't ask to see any documents or anything. That was weird. They just asked us about our vacation.

Sometimes being blonde in Central America rocks.

ROATAN!!!

Texas Our Texas

O Happy Day!

I received a postcard from Mema Thurmond, with 10 facts about Texas (some of which I knew, and some I did not...for instance, did you know that more wool comes from the state of TX than any other state...?)

So contained in this little post card is an arsenal of information, a way to teach others about Texas (I can start to compete with Joanna and her Aussie books...) Now all I need is some good tex-mex food.

sigh.

By the by, here is a picture of a Texas Limo.

Things I have encountered recently:

1. At church, a barbershop quartet sang some spirituals in Spanish, the guy with the really low voice was so funny to watch as his eyes grew extremely large when he changed notes.

2. I traveled into zone 18 to eat lunch with a coworker and the house was BRIGHT PEPTOBISMOL PINK, kind of funny, kind of made me dizzy.

3. Went by to see some friends who told us to come over and say hi since we were in that area of town, and Jo and I show up in our super casual clothes and it turns out a quinceñera was going on at the house (kind of like a sweet sixteen party, but it is the 15th birthday) which is a really formal event, as in, the girls where wearing formal dresses....needless to say, I was thoroughly embarrassed to be there in a tshirt and jean capri pants, frump city. Also a funny bit about the party; it was in this enormous yard and by the time we got there the guests were starting to leave, so there were only about 10 kids dancing, but close together which looked really funny to me because there was so much open space.... I had to keep from laughing so they wouldn't think that I was doubley disrespectful, in my capris, laughing at the birthday girl...

We took a little trip.

This past weekend, the chicas and I took a little trip, to the beautiful Coban region in Alta Verapaz, one of the most beautiful states in Guatemala. We left at 5 in the morning on Saturday and traversed in Joanna's new car, which I have dubbed lil' Romeo, because it has a neon-bordered license plates. Hotness.



We stopped to breakfast in Coban, and buy jewelry made out of coffee beans and seeds. I believe we were quite a sight, 4 blondies walking around the local market, mingling with the locals. I bought a knit purse with a llama sewed onto it. I mean, who DOESN'T need a llama purse? Really.



We continued the drive out to Lanquín to put our things at the hotel and then made the trek to Samuc Chempey, a place of lush greenry and limpid pools of blue. Oh and tarantulas.



Below are some pictures of the drive, we gave a grandma and her grandson about a 5 min ride up a very VERY steep hill. I don't know how that lady would have made it.... they gave us a big fruit that I didn't recognize, as payment for the ride.

It was such a blessing to get out of the city for a while and breath something other than bus fumes. We laughed the whole time, saw lots of interesting things (Andrea stretching all the time, a naked man walking down the highway with only a backpack on, goats stopping rushhour traffic, our own feeble attempts at synchronized swimming, crazy old men giving us incoherent directions) It was great.

Other news: this week I have seen the Lord really move in our work. I can't believe how faithful he is to us and our prayers!!!

Trip to Samuc Champey!

Breakfast Blunder

So. I finally did it, on accident.

I forgot to mention that my household here uses powdered milk. You stir it into water...and Ta Dah! You have yourself some....milk? My family here uses hot water to make their milk here for their cereal, which ends up making everything like mush. Enough to where you would be unable to even identify which type of cereal you are eating. After one day of corn flake disgustingness, I began asking for cold water in which to mix my "milk." I pour half the water in my cereal bowl (and save the rest to drink) and mix the power in the bowl.

Well, today folks, I forgot to mix in the milk, and already poured a bowl of fruit loops. So, for the first time in history, probably, I ate fruit loops, in a bowl of water. Applause....clap clap clap. "congratulations, Tracy, you are an idiot."

Tomorrow I head to some pretty caves and waterfalls! YAY.

Newsflash: I just discovered a Schlotzkys in existence here. I will definitely be there tonight! Salt and Vinegar chips, anyone?