Bundled into a colectivo (10-seater minivans that act as buses) crammed with 24 Guatemalans, James and I found our way to San Jose, a half hour around the Peten Itza lake from Santa Elena. We headed out to the small quiet town to learn Spanish and stay with a family. "¿Les gustan los niños? Do you like children?" asked the school director, Glenda, a lady who had an unnerving constant surprised smile on her face, as though someone kept coming around the corner with a birthday cake for her. It was a good job we do like children, because our host family, the Tesucun-Chis, lived in a small house with five of them: Carlita (10), Antonio (9), Oscar (7), Gilder (3) and Marco Vinicio (1). Each child had a very different personality. Carlita, the eldest, was
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