Advertisement
Published: April 22nd 2009
My Gate at the Atlanta Airport
I've never before been completely alone in an airport for hours. Not too shabby, I have to say.I'm in San Pedro la Laguna! I arrived Sunday, and I'm finally starting to become accustomed to life here. Apologies for any typos, etc., you might find below--I'm typing fast and furious in a super-crowded Internet cafe. Some tidbits about the last few days ...
After a 3.5-hour layover in Atlanta, I boarded my flight to Guatemala City and had the great fortune of sitting a row ahead of siblings, age 9 and 10, who screamed and cursed (seriously) and hit each other virtually nonstop throughout the duration of the 3+ hour flight. The kids’ mother sat beside them and did such a good job of ignoring them that the flight attendant lectured her twice, thereby prompting the mother to spend her remaining child-ignoring airplane hours crafting a handwritten letter of complaint to Delta. While this went on, the kids’ father, who sat beside me, explained to me that his family is part of an Atlanta-based religious mission hoping to help indigenous Guatemalan peoples strengthen their devotion to Christ. You and your family seem like the right people for the job, I told him.
When I arrived in Guatemala City, I passed through customs and baggage claim in record
time, and Mynor met me right outside the airport. Mynor runs the Cooperativa school in San Pedro la Laguna (where I’m now studying Spanish). Mynor, his friend José, and I made the 4-hour drive to San Pedro on a sweltering, smoggy, dusty day--so dusty that we kept the windows rolled up, which didn’t improve the temps one bit. As we left the city, we passed our share of McDonalds and other familiar joints--turns out fast food is king in GC. After a couple of hours, we passed along dirt roads, and the scenery improved dramatically the closer we got to Lago Atitlan, along the shores of which San Pedro is located.
Once in San Pedro, Mynor took me to the house where I’d be staying and introduced me to the hostess, Alejandra. She gave me the lay of the land and showed me my room. Which, by the way, is fabulous. Simple. No great shakes. And yet it’s all I wanted and more. An orange door leading to a little balcony. Several stained glass windows. Shelves for my things. Outside the room is a sitting room that I’ll share with Sara, another guest at the house.
Now a
My Room
An orange door and stained-glass windows. I love my room. little more about my hostess, Alejandra, la madre. She’s the nicest lady ever. Though she’s 41 and I'm 39, she calls Sara and me her hijas, which makes me smile. Thing is, she has an incredible talent for engaging her house guests in Spanish-language conversation. She speaks Spanish slowly and clearly, looks you in the eye when she speaks, and uses hand gestures and facial expressions to help communicate. She’s also happy to repeat statements and questions as many times as necessary--in my case, usually many, many times over.
Alejandra has two kids, a son who attends a university in Xela and a daughter, Petrona, almost 15, who is obsessed with text messaging. Alejandra spends about 4-6 hours a day cooking, and she also runs a little store at the front of the house where we’re staying. While Sara and I eat dinner around 7:30, Alejandra eats at 10:30 every night with her husband, a doctor who makes house calls in San Pedro and the surrounding villages for 12+ hours a day, 6-7 days a week. Even though he’s highly educated, he makes very little money like the vast majority of people in Guatemala.
Now, Alejandra's greatest passion
Doors and WIndows
Even the most run-down houses seem to have beautiful doors and stained-glass windows. is cooking, and she takes great pride in making food that her guests will love. Sara and I eat three meals a day at Alejandra's house, and she piles massive amounts of food on plates, even after you’ve asked for un pequeño plato, por favor. Pasta, pancakes, fruit, chile rellenos, chicken and rice, tortillas, fruit smoothies, you name it—it comes in shockingly large quantities. Sara eats every bite put in front of her, and she sometimes helps me eat what’s left on my plate. She’s a godsend, Sara is. Really.
Also, surprisingly, shows like America’s Next Top Model and Survivor are always playing on the kitchen TV. Seriously? They have America’s Next Top Model in Guatemala?
A word or two about Sara, my fellow houseguest. When we met, she told me she’s sueco, which I immediately recognized as the Spanish word for “Swiss.” For the record, I love Switzerland. And now Sara knows how much I love Switzerland, as I told her about my travels to her fair land. In great detail. She listened happily, patiently, then informed me she has never once hiked in the Alps. Never? I asked, all shocked. Never, she said. Later, she pulled
Alejandra and Sara
Alejandra, my hostess, and Sara, my friend and fellow student out some postcards and photos of her hometown, which, you’ll be happy to hear, is located in Sweden. Turns out the Spanish word for Swiss is “suizo.” Anyhow, Sara has traveled to just about every European country, as well as South Africa, India, and most countries in Central and South America. Did I mention she’s all of 20? Yep, Sara has seen a whole lot of the world. (Contrast Sara's travels with Alejandra's--Alejandra has never left the Lago Atitlan area of Guatemala.)
Every afternoon, Sara and I attend four hours of one-on-one Spanish language classes at the Cooperativa. My instructor is Flory, a 24-year-old woman, married, one daughter (4-year-old Linda). Flory is wise beyond her years and whipsmart, and her dream is to attend a university one day. At least I think that's her dream. My Spanish is still kind of sketchy. She’s an excellent teacher, patient, kind, encouraging. The last few days, we've been playing memory games so I can learn the past tense of Spanish verbs.
And with regard to Spanish, let me say that speaking all Spanish, all the time, is extremely difficult for me. It's a little exhausting, especially when I don't know how
View from la Cooperativa
The Cooperativa (http://cooperativeschoolsanpedro.com) overlooks Lago Atitlan. It's a stunning area of the country. to communicate my thoughts as clearly as I'd like. My Spanish is gradually improving, however. I'm even starting to think a bit in Spanish.
I'll close with a few notes about late-night San Pedro. No one sleeps in this town. Even if they wanted to, it would be impossible. Every night, I hear street dogs attacking people outside. It happens so frequently that I’m no longer inspired to run to the window. Been there, seen that. (And therein lie the roots of inertia and apathy, I'm sure.) In between dog attacks, I can hear a guy strumming a guitar on the street below. Every night. From what I can tell, he knows exactly one chord, and he has mastered it. No lie, it’s one awesome chord. Nonetheless, I’m regretting that I forgot to pack earplugs.
And, as it turns out, the guitar guy is drowned out each night by post-medianoche Spanish dance music. The Macarena is alive and kicking in Guatemala. How loud are the neighbors’ competing boom boxes? I put in my headphones and kick the iPod up full blast and I still have trouble hearing my own music. This morning, the music stopped around 4 am.
Sara at la Cooperativa
Sara and I take classes for 4 hours a day. At the 2-hour mark, we take a coffee break. The coffee here is better than anything Starbucks serves. Which was awesome. Finally! Sleep! Around 5:30, however, the local marching band began practicing. Which was less awesome. Add to all of this the fact that roosters crow from around midnight to 7 am every day, and their crowing makes the street dogs bark. I can honestly say I have not yet experienced a moment of silence in San Pedro.
Coming Up. I offer to volunteer at a local grade school, and the headmistress assigns me to teach three classes a day. You heard me right. Every time I walk into a classroom, the full-time teacher disappears, leaving me with 25 unruly children for 45 minutes at a shot. Just for fun, pretend that my Spanish is sketchy at best, that I’ve never before taught classes for children, and that I’ve brought with me no lesson plan of any kind. You know, cause I was expecting to work as a classroom helper. Maestra Carolina. That’s what the kids call me. This topic and more in a later blog entry. 😊
Advertisement
Tot: 0.057s; Tpl: 0.011s; cc: 11; qc: 29; dbt: 0.0211s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.1mb
Mg
non-member comment
Roosters and dogs and tubas too?
Sounds perfect. It does. I wish you could record some of the audio for me. love it.