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Published: February 22nd 2010
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trinket seller
...we only buy from the unaggressive ones. Post cards
The last day we shopped for more gifts and sent post cards. We loved eating outside by the street but the vendors can be annoying, coming up to, putting bracelets on your wrist, draping scarves on your arms and neck, placing trinkets on the table. One very old lady pushing pot holders that look like chickens placed them on our table. By that time we had been trained to ignore them because saying “No thank you, please” is interpreted as being in conversation. Only when we got up to leave did we notice that she had left one. My mother loves it.
Mo's postcards were sent to seven different countries. The number upped to nine a couple days later when, out of jealousy, I stopped counting. I felt so parochial, sending mine as far away as Grass Valley. Except, on Christmas Eve I did receive a surprise email from Juan K, our indigenous guide in the Ecuadorian Amazon. He shared his polite joy in finally talking his Quito sweetheart, Gabriela, into joining him at the eco-lodge. I responded that Maureen and I were again spending this New Year’s Eve in the jungle.
Early evening
looking west
We sat by the lake writing post cards. we went to a “sports bar” -which any bar with a TV—to see with great anticipation the Cal game. I noticed that they had showed the Oregon State game the night before and advertised the Poinsettia Bowl, but after we ordered our guacamole and shooters the Latin American version of ESPN chose to air Spain's first round match in the World Cup. No es importanta. In Latin America "it happens if it happens when it happens." Turns out missing the game was a blessing.
Spanish translations on TV
We watched a variety of TV at night:“The Three Tenors” singing Christmas Carols, “As Good As It Gets,” and some awful Ben Affleck/Sandra Bullock trash. I’m convinced the English dubbing is computer generated so the translations were as entertaining as the film. The poetic “Oh Brother, Where Art Thou” was translated in the more prosaic “Donde Estas, Hermano?” The singing group “The Foggy Bottom Boys” therin became “Las Calzones Empapados.” Oceans Twelve begins in Holland, translated as “Los Paises Bajo.” Get it? = “The Countries Below” = The Nether lands.
I had bargained to stay an extra day here. Let me honor my great traveling companion. Maureen explores
with humor, resilience, and patience--unruffled and unhurried. She read
Lonely Planet for me because half the information is correct and useful. Reading was done before we got there so we could walk with our eyes open.
That night I dreamed of returning to Atitlan some day. I would stay in one of the more isolated pueblos on the north shore, hoping that they would have electricity (and internet connectivity?). Rent or buy a scooter if I can get to Panachel by road. My days would be four hours Spanish and four hours of writing. I would read
One Hundred Years of Solitude in Spanish and English by candlelight and absorb Mayan vibes.
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Marcia Billings
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I got a post card from Atitlan and I hope to get a chicken pot holder or something for reading every word of your blog.