Your daily literary reference in Spanglish. You're welcome.
It's the rainy season here at Lake Atitlan. That means it rains. A lot. The mornings are usually okay. Sunny, temperate, perfect. The clouds roll in after lunch and the rain hits about 4 or 5. The other night it rained so hard that it started raining in my room. We put a bucket under the leak and carried on with our lives. It's a good thing I live in a house in Raleigh that is always on the verge of falling down, one where we've had our fair share of dramatic roof leaks. I was able to cope pretty well.
This morning it is raining so I've ventured out to my favorite place, Moonfish. Moonfish is a hippie restaurant right on the lake that serves lots of tofu, tempeh and other delectable hippie food. The coffee is amazing, and I can get a good Internet connection with my cellular modem. The only drawback to Moonfish are the hippies. Actually, I should say hippie posers. These are those insufferable blowhards that talk about how bad and wrong everything is, like money, work, mankind, the man. (Think the Tim Robbins character in High Fidelity.) What they really are is privileged, lazy jackasses who just want to get high and pontificate. Somehow, they are able to enjoy the relatively expensive coffee and food while "dropping out." Puh-leaze. I've started surreptitiously taking pictures of them for later enjoyment.
I want to note that I love a genuine hippie. I think I have much in common with them - concern for humanity, concern for the planet, embracing diversity. Stuff like that. I have a little more trouble with the composting toilets. I get how great they are in theory. However, here at Moonfish when you go to the toilets you must declare your business before going in. There are two toilets that are not separated for mujeres y hombres, but by what you intend to do. The two basic actions are separated. The whole business makes me a little uncomfortable. Except for this blog, I'm not very public about these kinds of declarations. (I realize that I have spent an inordinate amount of time discussing the various bathroom situations but it's a really important part of everyday life. It has been a daily focal point for me on this trip. My apologies to those who may read this while eating.)
Well, the rain is lifting and I may head out to get my homework done for tomorrow. (Yes, I have homework. It's a study abroad program, not some hippie boondoggle.)
Peace out. More later.
KF
domingo, 26 de junio de 2011
lunes, 20 de junio de 2011
Antigua
Last Thursday our group of17 students met in Pana to board two vans to Antigua. A weekend of R & R was the only thing getting me through last week. Antigua is a beautiful town with colonial architecture (which makes it look a lot like Europe), tons of shops, excellent restaurants and many ex-pats. We arrived just in time for lunch and from that moment on it was like a dreamy, perfect vacation.
My roommate Erin and I had a fantastic room - clean, very comfortable beds, satellite TV, WI-FI, and the biggest benefit of all: a shower with tons of hot water. I luxuriated in a hot shower every day I was there. When we went out exploring the first thing that caught my eye was the Mayan Day Spa. They were running a special of a 60-minute massage, a manicure and a pedicure for $58. I think you all could write the rest of this story. I signed up for the works on Friday afternoon. It was amazing. The massage therapist used hot stones and left me feeling like a noodle. After the challenge of living with the parasites, the one bathroom for many, nine kids and the rats (which I know I haven't told you about yet. I just can't really talk about it) a spa day was exactly what I needed.
Later that night I also got a bona fide martini. A delicious, cold glass of gin, perfectly made, in a very large martini glass. I walked miles and miles throughout Antigua, taking it all in and really enjoying the break.
As a part of the trip we visited an NGO (non-governmental organization) called God's Child. It's a comprehensive program that provides schooling, health interventions, housing and other services to the poor in the Antigua area, and, despite its name, is not religiously-based. We toured their very impressive compound and visited the center for malnourished babies. We saw little ones from a very preemie 1 month (who would have been in the neo-natal ICU if she had been in the states) to a three-year-old who weighed 13 pounds and whose hair was falling out. They intervene with these babies, bringing them to the center to get them to 110% of their ideal weight. While the kids are there they have educational programs for the parents, explaining nutrition, sanitation, hygiene and other important skills. (Many of these parents are extremely young - 14 or 15 - and have no education at all. They love their kids they just have no knowledge or skills.) They also will not send a kid home to a house with a dirt floor. They will provide a new house, or at least pour a concrete floor in the existing house so the kids can be reunited with their families. The importance of the floor is that 70% of the bacteria and parasites that make the kids sick come from a dirt floor. This simple change can make a huge difference in the health of the child. It's a great program and I was so glad we got to tour it. (By the way, a "new house" would be the equivalent of a garden shed here. You know, like the ones lining the parking lot at the Home Depot.)
All for now. More later! Tons to tell you.
kf
Guatemala has the second highest infant mortality rate in the Western hemisphere. The only country with a higher rate is Haiti. That should tell you something about how bad the poor in Guatemala have it.
My roommate Erin and I had a fantastic room - clean, very comfortable beds, satellite TV, WI-FI, and the biggest benefit of all: a shower with tons of hot water. I luxuriated in a hot shower every day I was there. When we went out exploring the first thing that caught my eye was the Mayan Day Spa. They were running a special of a 60-minute massage, a manicure and a pedicure for $58. I think you all could write the rest of this story. I signed up for the works on Friday afternoon. It was amazing. The massage therapist used hot stones and left me feeling like a noodle. After the challenge of living with the parasites, the one bathroom for many, nine kids and the rats (which I know I haven't told you about yet. I just can't really talk about it) a spa day was exactly what I needed.
Later that night I also got a bona fide martini. A delicious, cold glass of gin, perfectly made, in a very large martini glass. I walked miles and miles throughout Antigua, taking it all in and really enjoying the break.
As a part of the trip we visited an NGO (non-governmental organization) called God's Child. It's a comprehensive program that provides schooling, health interventions, housing and other services to the poor in the Antigua area, and, despite its name, is not religiously-based. We toured their very impressive compound and visited the center for malnourished babies. We saw little ones from a very preemie 1 month (who would have been in the neo-natal ICU if she had been in the states) to a three-year-old who weighed 13 pounds and whose hair was falling out. They intervene with these babies, bringing them to the center to get them to 110% of their ideal weight. While the kids are there they have educational programs for the parents, explaining nutrition, sanitation, hygiene and other important skills. (Many of these parents are extremely young - 14 or 15 - and have no education at all. They love their kids they just have no knowledge or skills.) They also will not send a kid home to a house with a dirt floor. They will provide a new house, or at least pour a concrete floor in the existing house so the kids can be reunited with their families. The importance of the floor is that 70% of the bacteria and parasites that make the kids sick come from a dirt floor. This simple change can make a huge difference in the health of the child. It's a great program and I was so glad we got to tour it. (By the way, a "new house" would be the equivalent of a garden shed here. You know, like the ones lining the parking lot at the Home Depot.)
All for now. More later! Tons to tell you.
kf
Guatemala has the second highest infant mortality rate in the Western hemisphere. The only country with a higher rate is Haiti. That should tell you something about how bad the poor in Guatemala have it.
martes, 14 de junio de 2011
Settling in
With the random Internet availability and the intestinal parasites I haven't been able to post lately. Now that both situations have improved I'm back in business. My service placement is a two-minute walk from my house at the Clinica Naturista. It's a medical clinic that focuses on traditional Mayan medicine. There is a large herb garden and they make all of their own medicines.
Since my Spanish is still pretty limited I've busied myself with re-doing their website, with help from my friend Maura. Glad to be able to do something to help out. I'm planning on a little online fundraiser for the clinic once the website is up, so you have been warned. However, any little bit helps - a $10 donation is extremely valuable.
Yesterday I had my weekly field class in San Juan la Laguna. Took a tuk-tuk over there. A tuk-tuk is a three-wheeled taxi. I had mentioned to my host mom that my friend had gotten taken for 75 quetzales for the same ride and she was horrified. When I was leaving to go catch my ride she came with me and made sure, in no uncertain terms, that I was not to be charged more than 10 quetzales. She's awesome! It's nice to know my family here has my back.
A week ago Sunday I got stricken with parasites. It happened in the middle of the Chichi market. Very intense. Running through the crowded market, looking desperately for a bathroom, trying to keep my pants from falling down. Found a bathroom, so crisis was averted. However, it was the beginning of a week of surveying every location I was in to make sure I knew where the bathroom was at all times. (Considerate as ever about some people's delicate sensibilities, I will not go into detail about sharing an open bathroom with 13 people while wrestling with the critters in my gut. I'll leave that to your imagination.)
Throughout the week I kept thinking I was getting better but the parasites would have a different idea and I'd be back at square one. I talked to the people at the clinica and they gave me some tea made out of chamomille, star anise and something else. It did help settle my stomach but did nothing to get rid of my enemies. There was talk of some kind of preparation of papaya leaves that would make my system bitter and coax most of the parasites out. However, by this point I didn't want to play nice. There would be no coaxing. It was kill or be killed. I took the boat over to Pana and with the help of Veronica, our program assistant, got to the doctor. I got a sample (again, I'll spare you the details. I will say just one thing: film canister) and had it sent to the lab. Within two hours we knew what we were dealing with. I got sixteen tablets that are the medicinal equivalent of an AK-47 and went to war. Took 8 last night before bed and I am like a completely new person today. I take the final 8 tonight and the war is over. Shock and awe.
One final note: I read a really interesting book for my field class called Silence on the Mountain. It's a history of the Guatemalan civil war. I can recommend it to anyone interested in learning more about what happened in Guatemala during the last part of the 20th century. (I'll give you a hint: the U.S., unfortunately, does not come out smelling like a rose.)
Love and miss everyone -
KF
Since my Spanish is still pretty limited I've busied myself with re-doing their website, with help from my friend Maura. Glad to be able to do something to help out. I'm planning on a little online fundraiser for the clinic once the website is up, so you have been warned. However, any little bit helps - a $10 donation is extremely valuable.
Yesterday I had my weekly field class in San Juan la Laguna. Took a tuk-tuk over there. A tuk-tuk is a three-wheeled taxi. I had mentioned to my host mom that my friend had gotten taken for 75 quetzales for the same ride and she was horrified. When I was leaving to go catch my ride she came with me and made sure, in no uncertain terms, that I was not to be charged more than 10 quetzales. She's awesome! It's nice to know my family here has my back.
A week ago Sunday I got stricken with parasites. It happened in the middle of the Chichi market. Very intense. Running through the crowded market, looking desperately for a bathroom, trying to keep my pants from falling down. Found a bathroom, so crisis was averted. However, it was the beginning of a week of surveying every location I was in to make sure I knew where the bathroom was at all times. (Considerate as ever about some people's delicate sensibilities, I will not go into detail about sharing an open bathroom with 13 people while wrestling with the critters in my gut. I'll leave that to your imagination.)
Throughout the week I kept thinking I was getting better but the parasites would have a different idea and I'd be back at square one. I talked to the people at the clinica and they gave me some tea made out of chamomille, star anise and something else. It did help settle my stomach but did nothing to get rid of my enemies. There was talk of some kind of preparation of papaya leaves that would make my system bitter and coax most of the parasites out. However, by this point I didn't want to play nice. There would be no coaxing. It was kill or be killed. I took the boat over to Pana and with the help of Veronica, our program assistant, got to the doctor. I got a sample (again, I'll spare you the details. I will say just one thing: film canister) and had it sent to the lab. Within two hours we knew what we were dealing with. I got sixteen tablets that are the medicinal equivalent of an AK-47 and went to war. Took 8 last night before bed and I am like a completely new person today. I take the final 8 tonight and the war is over. Shock and awe.
One final note: I read a really interesting book for my field class called Silence on the Mountain. It's a history of the Guatemalan civil war. I can recommend it to anyone interested in learning more about what happened in Guatemala during the last part of the 20th century. (I'll give you a hint: the U.S., unfortunately, does not come out smelling like a rose.)
Love and miss everyone -
KF
miércoles, 8 de junio de 2011
Chichi
Every Sunday the town of Chichicastanengo (Chichi for short) hosts a huge market that winds through its streets. While it is a mecca for turistas, it is also used by locals to buy anything from live chickens to housewares to jewelry. I set out with a small group of fellow students to explore and buy. As you walk through the market you are constantly accosted by people wanting you to buy things. I cannot count the times I said, "No, gracias, senora." Then when you do find something you are interested in the inevitable haggling ensues. Can I just say that I have mastered the art of Bugs Bunny haggling?
"It's 20 quetzales."
"I'll give you 25."
"30."
"35. And that's my last offer."
Even though I paid embarrassingly high prices by Guatemalan standards I still feel like I made out like a bandit. I have a treasure trove of things and still have some quetzales in my pocket.
The economic downturn has hit the Mayan people very hard. There simply aren't many tourists around. It adds an extra dose of humanity to the plea of an old woman trying to sell woven bookmarks that she needs food. I realize these vendors are well-versed in triggering white guilt and will say anything to pull on your heartstrings so you will open your wallet. However, I am also well aware of the back story: things are really hard for these people, who were so poor to begin with. Is that 25 or 50 cents really worth going to the mat over? Maybe I'm a pushover, but there is a fine line between manipulation and desperation.
Desperate times mean desperate measures. I'm handing over the 50 cents. I hope you all enjoy your bookmarks at Christmas.
xoxo
Kate
"It's 20 quetzales."
"I'll give you 25."
"30."
"35. And that's my last offer."
Even though I paid embarrassingly high prices by Guatemalan standards I still feel like I made out like a bandit. I have a treasure trove of things and still have some quetzales in my pocket.
The economic downturn has hit the Mayan people very hard. There simply aren't many tourists around. It adds an extra dose of humanity to the plea of an old woman trying to sell woven bookmarks that she needs food. I realize these vendors are well-versed in triggering white guilt and will say anything to pull on your heartstrings so you will open your wallet. However, I am also well aware of the back story: things are really hard for these people, who were so poor to begin with. Is that 25 or 50 cents really worth going to the mat over? Maybe I'm a pushover, but there is a fine line between manipulation and desperation.
Desperate times mean desperate measures. I'm handing over the 50 cents. I hope you all enjoy your bookmarks at Christmas.
xoxo
Kate
sábado, 4 de junio de 2011
The kids are alright
This morning, as I was drinking coffee alongside a two-year-old drinking coffee, while a seven-year-old lit a fire by lighting a piece of paper on fire from the gas stove, a twelve-year-old balanced on a second story balcony railing to get clothes from the clothesline and a thirteen-year-old did laundry for 13 people on a concrete version of a washboard, I started thinking maybe kids in the U.S. are a little mollycoddled. I'm not advocating for any of the above activities; I had to actively hide my shock. However, it does seem like there could be some middle ground where kids in the U.S. have chores and responsibilities, and along with that they have certain freedoms from a judgmental and overprotective culture. I'm all for seatbelts, bike helmets, sturdy railings and admonitions to be careful. It's just that kids have to learn to take and manage risks sometime. I fear that too often kids are turned loose at 18 or so, and never having learned how to live without someone protecting them from every possible negative outcome, they end up drinking too much beer as a freshman in college and falling out of a window at the ATO house.
Disclaimer: I know that I have no children of my own so it is easy for me to make recommendations that someone else's child risk cracking his head open by standing on railings.
All of that said, my family here is extremely warm and loving. And funny. The kids are like kids anywhere. They like to tease and play Uno and argue about property rights violations for various coveted items. They are so nice to me I get embarrassed. I'm not used to having someone cook for me every day. I'm not used to someone doing my laundry. It's pretty nice but when I see how hard everyone works, including the kids, I do feel guilty. I've been pitching in where I can. I make the world's ugliest tortillas, but they are getting better. I like to think that my tortilla making is the evening's entertainment. The other day I also bought a pineapple and five mangoes on the street. I've never been a big fruit person, and now I know why. The fruit in the US typically has no flavor and the texture is terrible. Here, I could eat fruit all day long and be perfectly happy. The mangoes are sublime and I crave them.
Being here is like a do-gooder's Canyon Ranch. I eat simply but am fully satisfied. For example, this morning I had beet greens and tortillas for breakfast. What, you say? That sounds terrible. No, mi amigo. You would be wrong There were so good. Eating like that, combined with walking everywhere and no booze has me feeling pretty good. Losing weight, helping people. A perfect program. However, I now have a pair of pants that I can down pull down without unzipping or unbuttoning so I think I will buy a belt when we go to the market at Chichi. I do not want to cause an unnecessary, and potentially damaging, scene by having my pants fall off in the middle of the street.
More later -
kf
Disclaimer: I know that I have no children of my own so it is easy for me to make recommendations that someone else's child risk cracking his head open by standing on railings.
All of that said, my family here is extremely warm and loving. And funny. The kids are like kids anywhere. They like to tease and play Uno and argue about property rights violations for various coveted items. They are so nice to me I get embarrassed. I'm not used to having someone cook for me every day. I'm not used to someone doing my laundry. It's pretty nice but when I see how hard everyone works, including the kids, I do feel guilty. I've been pitching in where I can. I make the world's ugliest tortillas, but they are getting better. I like to think that my tortilla making is the evening's entertainment. The other day I also bought a pineapple and five mangoes on the street. I've never been a big fruit person, and now I know why. The fruit in the US typically has no flavor and the texture is terrible. Here, I could eat fruit all day long and be perfectly happy. The mangoes are sublime and I crave them.
Being here is like a do-gooder's Canyon Ranch. I eat simply but am fully satisfied. For example, this morning I had beet greens and tortillas for breakfast. What, you say? That sounds terrible. No, mi amigo. You would be wrong There were so good. Eating like that, combined with walking everywhere and no booze has me feeling pretty good. Losing weight, helping people. A perfect program. However, I now have a pair of pants that I can down pull down without unzipping or unbuttoning so I think I will buy a belt when we go to the market at Chichi. I do not want to cause an unnecessary, and potentially damaging, scene by having my pants fall off in the middle of the street.
More later -
kf
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