San Pedro La Laguna:There is a cantalope in my purse

Hay un melon en mi bolsa

Hay un melon en mi bolsa

Estaba huevos tambien

Pero yo aprende que

La bolsa no es un buen lugar para mantener los huevos

A menos que le gusten huevos revueltos

There is a cantaloupe in my purse

There used to be eggs too

But I learned that

A purse is no place to keep eggs

Unless you like them scrambled.

This post is pretty much just about food and the simple life here in San Pedro La Laguna.

This is my house in San Pedro La Laguna. It has a stove, a table, shelves, and a bed. Turns out, that is all I really need.

This is Lake Atitlan from the shores of San Pedro La Laguna.

This is the volcano right by my house. It is called, not surprisingly, Volcano San Pedro.

There are several other volcanoes that circle the lake as well.

This is the Volcano San Pedro and the town of San Pedro La Laguna from the town of San Marcos La Laguna.

This is me in San Marcos La Laguna with San Pedro La Laguna behind me.

About 13,000 people call San Pedro La Laguna home. There are two parts to San Pedro La Laguna, Gringo-landia (I am not making this name up) and part the Mayas live in up on the hill (there are very few, if any, folks of Spanish decent here). Gringo-landia is kinda like Pearl Street in Boulder or any other hip, young, hippy playground. And the gringos, like the folks in Boulder, must be reminded with frequent signage that drugs are generally not allowed.

Gringo-landia is pretty much the entire lake-front. Someone told me that the Mayas had no moral problems selling the land to the first enterprising visitors as the land regularly floods and is pretty useless for agriculture. Who knows if this is true though. Nevertheless, it is absolutely gorgeous and so very serene. The other day I got this at sunset in a café where I knew better than to order red curry, yet did it anyway:

In general I don’t really hit up gringo-landia much cause it is so much more expensive, but occasionally I will eat on one of the many many restaurants there cause sometimes you just need spaghetti carbonara and a brownie sundae (those, for those of you who are counting, were great).

I kinda fell in love with this painting the other day at the artists house right on the lake, so I bought it on the spot, which is something I never do. I think I really just like the symmetry and texture in it.

Most days I get up around 7:15, boil an egg and some water for oatmeal then slice up a mango or banana. Then I do all the dishes, check my email, tidy up, and am usually studying on my patio by 8:30. I study for a couple hours and then walk up (and I mean up) to the market which is generally the highlight of my day cause the food is so good. I buy veggies and fruit and tortillas, to make my typical meal of diced tomatoes, avocados, beans, tortillas and a fruit of the day.

But every now and then I buy some prepared food like beans and rice, fried chicken, tostadas, or today, tamales. They call tamales something different here, so it took me a good week to figure out that’s what they were trying to sell me.

Then one of the teachers here told me they are made with horse meat, and he didn't crack up like he was kidding. So I guess I don't know, I suppose I kinda believe him but also really don't. I am gonna choose to think they contain cow or pig. Although if I really think about it, I think I like live pigs more than live horses, so perhaps if it is horse, it might be ok. And if it was a horse, that horse was dead long before I came along, I was just making sure it wasn't going to waste...waste not, want not...

I also frequently get fresh OJ (which is definitely not from a horse) which in its to-go form comes in a plastic baggie with a straw and my god is it ever good. The oranges are green here, at least on the outside, and so so sweet.

This is my typical haul from the market.

Don’t worry, I don’t usually eat all this in one day. Usually.

When I am at the market, I usually buy things and place them directly into my purse, no plastic bags required, but there are limitations on what I can squeeze into there. For instance, today I bought a cantaloupe first. It was kinda small, so it fit no problem. Then I bought a pound of tomatoes. And again, no problem. Then I bought three tamales, eight tortillas, two mangos, a packet of refried beans, honey, a box of pineapple juice, and three eggs. It was then that I had the problem. And as I learned the hard way a few days ago, under no circumstances should eggs be placed into your purse. Even if you think you are careful, there is no way you are careful enough.

You walk by this building and this cornfield on little footpaths to get Gringo-landia. I don’t have pictures of the Mayan part of town as I don’t want to get accosted for steeling souls again.

The market is pretty awesome. You can pretty much get whatever your heart desires, though I have been staying away from the meat. I’m just not ready to try to order parts of a chicken or cow (or horse?) and then cook it. And honestly, based on the smell in that part of the market, doing such a thing might be pushing my intestinal luck a bit much.

After I get back from the market I study some more, usually for an hour at most, and then my class begins at 1pm. It goes ‘til 5. For the most part, we just talk or read out loud. We hit up some grammar, but honestly, I know the grammar already, and I just need practice putting the thoughts together. I prefer to write as it gives my brain time to work though a whole sentence, but we mostly just talk, which is probably what I actually need help with the most.

This is an outdoor classroom, though not one at my school. But it gives the general idea. I need a picture of me and my teacher, but I don’t have one yet.

I am somewhat frustrated though as I don’t feel like my brain has frantically switched over to Spanish yet like it did in Panama. Perhaps it is because speaking Spanish isn’t a frantic task anymore as I have gotten pretty used to it (though not good at it). However, I rarely have trouble getting what I need in the market, the store, the restaurant, on the street, etc. so I suppose I am making progress. And in fact, the other day when I was on the bus over here to San Pedro, a preacher got on the bus and gave a 15 minute sermon and I pretty much understood every word. Granted he was a preacher so spoke very clearly and most of the words were “god” “jesus” “love” “devil” and “save”. But I did it.

After class I cook dinner. Usually it is some derivative of my lunch including tomatoes, beans, and tortillas or pasta. I cooked up this great pasta the other night: sauté/boil half a giant carrot, two roma tomatoes, half an onion, and salt in about a half a cup of water until the carrots are soft-ish and you are sure you killed all the bacteria on the onion. Add boiled pasta. Eat. Deliciousoso.

At night I often study for a bit more or read. There are some kicking places to go out in gringo-landia but I am pretty content just sitting at my house, going over verb conjugations, and listening to the crickets and frogs. Well actually, there are hardly any tourists around these parts right now. Its the off season, and I think with the crappy economy, most people just aren't traveling. Oh, and there are lightening bugs here too! How cool.

Sometimes I do cool things though. Like on Sunday my neighbor and I went to the festival in San Marcos (across the lake). They had been having a fair for four days and we went on the final night. It was a pretty great experience. First we saw this dance.

I asked a number of people what was going on, but no one really seemed to know. We watched for about ten minutes and then left. When we came back an hour and a half later, the exact same thing was still going on, so yeah, the only thing I really know about it is that it is an endurance sport.

They all have masks that resemble the faces of Europeans, and their costumes, to me look like 16^th century noblemen , but not one person told me anything about the Spanish or the conquistadors or anything, so who knows. But I do know, there is one very small man dressed like a bull and all the conquistador-like gentlemen sometimes take turns pretending to be bullfighters. Hmm.

In addition, at the fair there was this Ferriswheel. It was run by an old tire hub, a rope, and a diesel generator. I did not go on it.

Then we got this phenomenal sunset. I did not change the color in this picture one bit.

Then we ate. I love carnival food. Tacos and corn on the cob and cookie thingies. Yummy. Then we watched a bunch of drunk men dance with one another. Apparently the ladies are too reserved to jump in and the men too drunk to be trusted.

So to get to San Marcos we took a boat. But, the last boat back to San Pedro is at 7 pm which is well before my neighbor wanted to go back. I petitioned for the boat because it was safe and easy, but he convinced me to try something new. So we took a pick-up back. Basically these run as unofficial busses around and between towns. There is a pick-up truck, outfitted with a frame on the back. Everyone climbs in the back, and rides, standing up, holding onto the metal frame. It was exceptionally nice last night, fresh, and clear, so it was a lovely experience. Most of the roads are one-lane, and have speed limits of 25 mph so it was relatively calm with the wind blowing through my hair as we wound up and down the hills between the two pueblos. No pictures of this either, sorry.

Xela, the rest of the story.

I’m currently sitting in San Pedro La Laguna at Lake Atitlan (where the picture in the title block is from). This is not where I expected to be yet, but plans change sometimes.

First of all, I spent most of Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday speaking absolutely no Espanol. Why? Cause I’ve been hanging out with Americans and doing very little in the way of studying. This is not usually the way I roll, but I just happened to find a great group of kids (well, adults) from the states and we’ve just been kicking it here, enjoying life, and there isn’t much wrong with that.

Me and Joe.

So as we’ve already established, I know Joe from Seattle where we used to work together. We go way back, like four years, but as it turns out, we really don’t go way back because he only started there 8 months before I quit. But it feels like we go way back. We were some cool kids back at Herrera. That is until they laid him off and I quit. Man, that company has really gone downhill since we’ve left...

Joe. I sincerely enjoy putting up bad pictures of him.

Joe’s Spanish school was a lot more social than mine, so I mostly just hung out with him and his friends in Xela. His classmates at the school mostly consist of doctors and other engineers so in general, we were a pretty nerdy bunch. However, despite being nerdy, we managed to tie a few on. More on that later.

Gus, Me, and Joe at the bar.

So, I am gonna go ahead and say that I really didn’t like my school all that much in Xela. Everyone has their own tastes and preferences, but I didn’t really click with my teacher (lessons are one-on-one for four hours a day so that is kind of important) and the school administrators were kinda abrasive. I know they have the best interests of everyone in mind, but it just wasn’t working for me.

On Thursday, as I was walking home from school, I was feeling kinda down about my experience there, and then I ran into Joe’s friend Gus on the street and he told me to meet up with the kids from their school at 2:30 for a little bit of afternoon happy hour. I happily obliged. That lingered on into an evening happy hour (after a break for dinner with the family) and then into a night happy hour. It was fun and reset my attitude about being in Xela. It was that night that I realized it was just the school that was the bad fit, and that it was not necessarily the city.

Xela from the rooftops.

Speaking of the city, and how it is actually quite lovely, though really big, I found an excellent café with wi-fi that serves blended mojitos (that’s a different experience) and legit American nachos. It’s so gezellig (that’s for all my Dutch speaking blog readers). I love it.

Taking matters into my own hands, I ate three dinners on Thursday. I was so satisfied. I had nachos at the café, little tostada things at home with the family, and then bacon pizza with the hombres later that night. And by the way, these Guatemalans can do pizza right. Its none of that crap pizza I was eating in Panama and Costa Rica. No, this is honest to god pizza. And then just when you think it can’t get any better, they put bacon on it.

The center at night taken from the Bacon-Pizzeria.

On Friday we got a rather intense thunder storm and lost electricity for most of the afternoon. I had lunch at the school with the folks there, and we all brought the different pieces necessary to make burritos. Again, it was a super satisfying meal, and I feel like I am needing those now. I mean, this eating like a bird thing has its merits and maybe I’ll look just a little better in my swimsuit by the time I get to the beaches in Honduras, but it’s really testing me.

I napped through most of the power outage and then met up with Joe’s amigos at their potluck dinner. After dinner, Joe ditched us (for a lady…), and the rest of us went out to this bar that folks were handing out fliers for on the street and that is always a great method for choosing anything. Its name was Ojala Que or “I hope that” (that’s a pseudo literal translation) so really, how can you not want to go to a place with such promise.

The best part of the place was the cocktail menu. Something like 50 choices, all of them with crazy names, not one of them listing the liquor it contains, and all of them under 4 dollars.

We convinced ourselves to pick at random. I got the “Walter”, Matt the “Prince Alexander” and Gus and Suresh things I can’t even remember. The “Walter” was quite good, and when I asked the waiter what was in it, his response, was “good question...” Ha.

Matt with Walter.

Unfortunately, we didn’t even get to try to everything we ordered as the waiter forgot half our drinks and we just went home after forty minutes of waiting.

When I got home, I found out that I was locked out. Matt and Gus had walked me home (chivalry is not dead) and we arrived at my house a bit after 11. We said our good-byes, and the boys walked away (not waiting ‘til I was safely inside, since they are kinda out of practice in terms of implementing actual chivalry). I stuck my key in and heard the deadbolt click. Immediately I knew I was done for because that lock cannot be opened from the outside. I tried turning the key anyways and it wouldn’t go and wouldn’t go as I expected. I thought maybe that it was ‘cause my wrist is broken, you know, because I have a hard time turning keys still…seriously, I do…So, I yell to the boys who are about 100 yards down the street by this time that I need help with opening the door, and Matt yells back,

“I thought you were a fulbright fellow”

Thanks, doctor.

They do come back and none of them can get it either (sweet redemption), so I have to ring the door bell--four times--until someone comes and lets me in. I felt so bad about waking Pilar and the kids up. 11 o’clock is late down here; only the drunks and robbers are awake at that hour.

Mannequin with booty.

Saturday I spent the morning walking around the city. My plan was to take some pictures, and I took a few (see the following) but I ran into a little problem that kinda shook me up.

So I was walking down this empty street in the touristy part of town and thinking: oh, how beautiful, I should take a picture. I get my camera out and I take the photo and then a woman walks into the very upper part of the frame from around the corner. She sees that I am taking a picture and lays into me for being a f’ing gringo bitch, and good for nothing whore, and that I needed to f’off and go home, etc, etc…and yes, I know how to say this stuff in Spanish so her point was not lost on me. And all of this for taking a picture of an empty cobblestone street.

The offending picture

So I know that there are some indigenous folks around these parts who believe cameras steel your soul or something. I respect that. I never take portrait pictures unless someone asks me to and generally if people are in any of my pictures, it is an unavoidable as I would prefer them not to be there. But I have to say, this was a picture of an f’ing empty street.

And furthermore, she was wearing shorts. To a lot of you that last point doesn’t make sense, but if you know life here, it is somewhat obscene to kick around the city in shorts, especially if you are a woman so really she couldn’t have been that offended by me taking a picture, could have she? I really wanted to tell her to shut up and f-off (‘cause how often do you get to practice those words in the real world!?!?!). But I didn’t; I just walked away. And she just kept yelling at me. Everyone tells me she was just crazy. But still, the experience kinda stuck and now I am scared to take photos of anything.

That afternoon into evening into night, we all went to the hostel nearby and hungout on the patio and drank and talked and joked and loved our lives. I don’t drink beer, so I was pushing the cheapest rum we could find on anyone who was capable of making bad decisions. We wandered over to the hostel around 5pm and I didn’t leave ‘til about 12 hours later (I napped at the hostel with some new friends and then went home after the sun had risen and the robbers had gone to bed).

Mural at the hostel.

We started with about 6 folks drinking beer basking in the late afternoon sun, and later, well into the night, we had acquired about 15. For the most part, we were all American which is somewhat odd (usually I come across many more Europens on the tourist trail).

For the record, I also would like you all to know that I gave a brief lesson in fluid mechanics to everyone at sunset as we admired the fantastic clouds (subject matter: thermal stratification in the atmosphere and turbulence, however, not stratified turbulence).

Here are some photos of the evening and you can tell these pictures were taken at a fiesta:

I woke up to a 5.6 earthquake Sunday morning at 7:30. Actually I was laying in bed already awake when the earth started shaking under me. It was strong but gentle shaking (not very violent). It lasted about a minute and I kept thinking to myself, “At what point do I start to worry about this?” I was in that 6.9 in Seattle in 2001 and then I’ve been in some more 4 and 5 point ones in Cali these last few years, but really, I still don’t know what to do. I suppose I was waiting for something to fall off a table and that would have been my cue to take cover under the desk with my water bottle, cell phone, and snacks, but that never happened so instead I just remained laying in bed.

Saying adios to Diego, who slept through the earthquake.

I tried to come here to Lake Atitlan Sunday, but it turns out there are no busses on Sundays, so I stayed in Xela another night. No big deal. I love taking life just as it comes and I am relishing in being able to give up my Type-A personality for a while. We did nothing on Sunday but wander and eat. I took a full body shower with hot water, which is worth noting. I also ate some fried chicken. It was so great. I love that fried chicken is the go to meal down here.

Joe and new friend Sarah

I’ve been here a week now, so I am venturing into the world of street food. I know it’s a bad idea, but it all just looks so good. You can all say “I told you so” when I am laid up with parasites in three weeks.

Fresh squeezed OJ in a bag with a straw from a street vendor.

I actually got to San Pedro La Laguna today at 3 or so. It took a lot longer than expected. I took a “chicken bus” named as such because sometimes people bring chickens on them (its a gringo term, the locals do not use it). It is really just an old school bus from the US that is pimped out and possesses questionable stopping capabilities. A lot of the busses have phrases like, "My God Help Me" painted on the windshields which do not make you super confident about the things going on inside. However, I was exceptionally impressed by the skill of the driver today. We were on some tortuous one-lane roads and it was handled very well.

Chicken Busses

Crazy market next to the bus station.

So now I am here, and I am staying in a little one room bungalow at the new Spanish school (cost of house= 25 dollars per week). I will start classes here tomorrow afternoon. I already feel that this is a better fit for me. There is a significant part of this town that is very tourist-ified (e.g. there is a yoga studio), but first of all, it is a town, second, I am about 100 yards from the lake, and thrid, I am a bit out away from the main drag and I feel very more based in nature (yes, I just wrote “very more” and there is nothing you can do about it).

Speaking of my excellent English, I am gonna try to limit my English exposure to one hour a day here (writing, reading, and listening) and not physically speak ANY at all for a week, starting tomorrow. This of course is going to be impossible, but I am going to try. My new friend Sarah came over here with me, but she is staying somewhere else and she speaks el Espanol well enough that we can speak it to one another to practice. Aside from her I might try to just not make any Anglo-phonic friends here. And with that I must away before I become totally unintelligible in my native tongue.

Xela

I am living with a family here in Xela, as a part of this whole Spanish immersion experience. The mom, Pilar, is my age, as is the dad, Jose, and there are two kids. Fatima is two and Diego is five. I adore them. Fatima and Diego are kind of polar opposites. Despite being two, Fatima cannot walk or speak. She had a brain tumor when she was younger and is a bit developmentally delayed. She is also so tiny, and I am serious when I say she probably is no more than 20 pounds. But she does understand when you ask her some questions as she nods her head or raises her eyebrows in response. So precious.

Diego is the smartest five year-old I have ever come across and pretty much my new best friend. He is in the second grade and is already completely literate. I am pretty sure he could count to infinity if I asked him to and I wouldn’t be surprised if he already knew long division. But he is still a five year old and loves to run (and I mean literally run) around the house and bother his sister. One of Diego and my favorite games is Pictionary. He has this little magna-doodle and we take turns drawing things on it. Normally, he is spot on with his pictures. But occasionally, he does things like this:

and I have to ask him to explain. This was a word I didn’t know in Spanish, so I looked it up, and from what he told me, it was “revolt”. Now, I’m not sure that is actually what he meant, as that seems too abstract and complex even for his brain. But he is great cause he is patient with my spanish and if I say something wrong, he corrects me.

I spent yesterday afternoon volunteering at a high school teaching English. It was actually a lot less scary than I expected. My lesson was to teach the English words for fruits and vegetables and I feel like it went well. I’m not even lying when I say that I enjoyed it and there is even a chance I might do it again. And, as it turned out, I taught pretty much the whole class in Spanish (except for the English vocab, of course) without even thinking about it. So yeah, that was surprising. And even more surprising is the fact that the kids understood me. One of the other classes had presentations today, so there were a bunch of 14 year-olds running around in suits which is just kind of hilarious to begin with. But then I saw this:

Yes, that is an explanation of how to launder money.

Apparently, the rainy season is about four months early this year as it is pouring right now, complete with thunder, and I got caught in a downpour on the way to the high school today. It was one of those rainstorms in which any effort at protection is futile. Yes, I had a jacket, and yes, I also had an umbrella, however, I was drenched from head to foot when I arrived at the school. I’m freezing cold, still, and I would love nothing more than a hot shower but, that isn’t really an option here. All the shower heads are electric and they heat the water as it comes out (I should take a photo of this too), however the water never really gets hot. Maybe it is lukewarm-- at best--and on a cold, rainy night, that just isn’t good enough. So, I am thinking about just wearing a blanket the rest of the evening. And shaving my head so I don’t have to deal with wet or dirty hair anymore.

After teaching English this afternoon, I went to a Pupusa making class. It was good. Pupusasa are fat tortilla-type things that usually contain a cheese or bean or meat filling. I can make them the Guatemalan way now, but I have to say, Las Pupusas Salvadoreñas (from El Salvador) are a lot better, and that is what I really need to learn how to create. Especially now that I know I am moving to Europe in the fall and I am sure that any type of Mexican/Latin American food is going to be impossible to come by anywhere outside of my kitchen.

Here are some photos from around Xela.

Volcano Santa Maria, I am thinking about doing a full moon hike up this.

The market, check out the size of those carrots! I kinda want to, when I come back to Xela in two weeks, not live with a family so I can go to this market and buy food and cook every day. But then again, I do love this family I am with, so maybe I will ask to be back with them.

But I have to say, they just don’t feed me enough. I eat what they eat, when they eat, and in the proportions they eat, but it feels like it is about half as much as I actually need. Wow. I’ve never been so hungry for so long, ever. I swear I don’t eat that much food in general, but I feel like a giant pig here. Maybe I just need twice as much food because, in general I am twice as big as all the people who are native to this area.

I should remind you all again, that I am a giant here as the average height of the men is at least 6 inches shorter than me and the women are at least 10 inches smaller (if not a foot or more). There was a woman today who serious only came up to the bottom of my rib cage. Man those Mayan descendants are pequeñisimos. In that respect I am really looking forward to Holland where I will finally be able to live a life in which I am an average height.

As for Xela, I do like it here. It is a gritty city, though it feels like a town in Europe (though in a very thrid world way). And in fact right now I am sitting in this cozy little cafe that you'd expect to see in Spain, not Guatemala. Granted, it is full of gringos and not really a local hang out, but hey, it has free internet, mojitos, and nachos, which is really all I need. Its hard to believe Xela is the second largest city in the country because the streets are small and winding, made of cobble stones, and rarely two lanes. The last few mornings on my way to school (classes start at 8am, which is killing me as i have a half hour walk to get there) I was sincerely reminded of Tibet just because of the smell. Turns out it is the smoke from the wood fired cookstoves that the folks who live on the outskirts of town use to prepare their meals.