What a nice snout you have

I just came from Laura’s birthday party. The cake was delicious and so were the chuchitos. Yes, as you know that literally means the little dogs. They were spicy. And yes, the literal translation of the Spanish word for spicy is “it bites”. Therefore, Los chuchitos que comi picaron mucho. Which means something like “The chuchitos that we ate were very spicy”. Of course, this literally translates to “The little dogs that I ate bit me a lot.”

Well, I found it hard enough to keep a straight face when my host family members would say that their food was biting them before I realized that we were eating little dogs. Now I cant help but laugh when someone says their food is biting them. But it’s okay, because in Central America it’s considered good flavor when your food bites its eater and you are thus considered a good cook. It may, however, make you look bad if your bed bugs are spicy. (don’t worry, no bed bugs here)

So, while I’m explaining the funny things about the party I might as well tell you about the jokes somewhat at my expense. Our host families found it absolutely riotous when Doña Yoli told them about the time that I thought I had seen bank robbers in the street. Well they were wearing ski masks and trench coats and carrying shotguns so what else was I to think. But in reality, they were actually the equivalent of the neighborhood watch. They patrol the streets at night to keep the bad guys out. Of course that means they stop you when you are walking around at night or driving into town, and ask you what your business is.

It’s a good thing they didn’t stop me, because I might have just handed them my bag and ran away, before they had time to explain they were the good guys. And if I was in a car, and someone tried to stop me with a shotgun and a ski mask after midnight, I would probably try to run them over. Not kidding. So it’s a good thing I’m not going to be driving in this country. Really, how are you supposed to tell the good guys from the bad guys if the good guys dress up like the bad guys? Do the bank robbers dress up like priests? I don’t know. Wouldn’t that make it more dangerous if you mistook the real bad guys for the good guys, then they could rob anyone? Imagine if the cops showed up to your house, and when you opened the door they made off with your flatscreen. There must be something about this that I’m not understanding.

They pretty much thought my explanation of this was riotous. But I’m not sure what portion of the humor came from the story I was telling, and what portion came from my struggle to tell the story combined with my pantomimes for words like shotgun, ski mask and armed robbery. They seemed to think that my self-depreciating humor was funny. Especially when they tried to tell me I was “de buen humoro” (oomorro) which literally means in a good mood but I think they must use it to say you aren’t afraid to laugh at yourself. Which is good. Because when they told me that, I mistook them to say that I have “un buen morro” which just left me confused, so when I asked what “un buen morro” is, they all burst out laughing. Really they burst into absolute hysterics, much to my confusion, and never did answer my question.

Well, as it turns out “buen morro” means you have quite a nice snout.

I just came from Laura’s birthday party. The cake was delicious and so were the chuchitos. Yes, as you know that literally means the little dogs. They were spicy. And yes, the literal translation of the Spanish word for spicy is “it bites”. Therefore, Los chuchitos que comimos picaron mucho. Which means something like “The chuchitos that we ate were very spicy”. Of course, this literally translates to “The little dogs that we ate bit a lot.”

Of course, I found it hard enough to keep a straight face when my host family members would say that their food was biting them before I realized that we were eating little dogs. Now I cant help but laugh when someone says their food is biting them. But it’s okay, because in Central America it’s considered good flavor when your food bites its eater and you are thus considered a good cook. It may, however, make you look bad if your bed bugs are spicy. (don’t worry, no bed bugs here)

So, while I’m explaining the funny things about the party I might as well tell you about the jokes at my expense, because I found them hilarious. Our host families found it absolutely riotous when Doña Yoli told them about the time that I thought I had seen bank robbers in the street. Well they were wearing ski masks and trench coats and carrying shotguns so what else was I to think. But in reality, they were actually the equivalent of the neighborhood watch. They patrol the streets at night to keep the bad guys out. Of course that means they stop you when you are walking around at night or driving into town, and ask you what your business is.

It’s a good thing they didn’t stop me, because I might have just handed them my bag and ran away, before they had time to explain they were the good guys. And if I was in a car, and someone tried to stop me with a shotgun and a ski mask after midnight, I would probably try to run them over. Not kidding. So it’s a good thing I’m not going to be driving in this country. Really, how are you supposed to tell the good guys from the bad guys if the good guys dress up like the bad guys? Do the bank robbers dress up like priests? I don’t know. Wouldn’t that make it more dangerous if you mistook the real bad guys for the good guys, then they could rob anyone? Imagine if the cops showed up to your house, and when you opened the door they made off with your flatscreen. There must be something about this that I’m not understanding.

They pretty much thought my explanation of this was riotous. But I’m not sure what portion of the humor came from the story I was telling, and what portion came from my struggle to tell the story combined with my pantomimes for words like shotgun, ski mask and armed robbery. They seemed to think that my self-depreciating humor was funny. Especially when they tried to tell me I was “de buen humoro” (oomorro) which literally means in a good mood but I think they must use it to say you aren’t afraid to laugh at yourself. Which is good. Because when they told me that, I mistook them to say that I have “un buen morro” which just left me confused, so when I asked what “un buen morro” is, they all burst out laughing. Really they burst into absolute hysterics, much to my confusion, and never did answer my question.

Well, as it turns out “buen morro” means you have quite a nice snout.

Neighborhood Watch Reform

Originally Written October 29, 2009
I’m walking down the street. My laptop hidden in a Nike string backpack underneath my coat. US$120 in my pocket because I had just been to the bank and hadn’t split up my money yet.

As I turned the corner out of the alleyway from my house, I see two men coming out of an alley with shotguns. I continue walking. They’re in front of me. They’re walking slowly. They’re talking quietly to each other. As I’m walking towards them, slightly faster, they take the trench coat off their arms and put them on. I’m getting closer now. I’m starting to feel scared. At this point, I was petrified. These men were going to rob someone. I’m thinking, “Who better than the white red head walking down the street with a laptop and 120 bucks in his pocket.”
Well. I kept walking. As I pass them, they add ski masks to their disguise. This is the point where I wanted to call 911. Now I really appreciate the Police. Oh how I love America.
If this had happened in America, the police would arrive by the time I reached the end of the street. Here, I know the nearest police station is 30 minutes away. So I did what they say to do if your being followed in a car. Instead of continuing to Marguerite’s, down a darker portion of the street and a hundred yards from the nearest person, I walked farther down the street to where I saw several people standing outside a store and bought minutes for my phone. Cause you know you’re not supposed to lead them home. Or walk down dark streets with people sporting ski masks trench coats and shotguns following you.
They kept on walking. Right past the tienda. Down the street. I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. At least they weren’t going to rob me. Yet. At this point I left the tienda and ran up the street to Marguerite’s house. I went inside, shut the door, and flipped out. I was about to cry. At this point, more than any in my life, I wanted to go home. I wanted to go home. I was scared. I had felt true fear for my safety. My first real fear for my safety.
Of course, all of my fear had been for naught. I went and talked to Yoli, Marguerite’s host mo. As I explained to her what I had seen she only nodded and eventually began filling in my words before I said them. Turns out these men are good. These are good bank robbers with ski masks and trench coats. I was still confused. And scared.
Turns out, the men of Santo Tomas have a neighborhood watch association. They ban together to protect the town. Meaning they actually arm themselves, and protect the town. Six to eight men per night, in groups of 3 or 4, arm themselves with military grade shotguns and patrol the streets. When they see a car they stop it and make them explain who they are and why they’re here. And they patrol until 3 in the morning.
This system is fascinating to me. There is no local police presence in Santo Tomas, so before they started this vigilante neighborhood watch, my host parents say petty crime was rampant. Violent crime and organized crime were present but not very frequent. After they began this system, the crime all but disappeared. This crude system seems to be very effective. Scary to foreigners and but very effective. I certainly wouldn’t rob anyone with this system in place.

And Then I Carried Cat Litter to a Funeral

Written October 17 2009

Today was a day full of surprises. Monday Thursday and Saturday are market days in Antigua, whereas Sunday is the only day there is a market in Santo Tomas and even then the market is smaller than the market in Antigua on an off day.

Zuleika and I planned to go to the market to buy me a sweatshirt, a pair of scissors and a soap dish. When I mentioned to my host sister that we were planning to go to the market she offered us a ride with them because they were leaving in an hour to go shopping for the baby shower of the baby that might be being born right now. That is, my host brother’s wife (my age) might be at the hospital and might be in labor depending on whether or not I interpreted correctly the frantic dash out of the house by my host mother and her mile-per-minute Spanish.

So anyway, this was pretty exciting right, a free ride to Antigua with my host family and not having to take the camioneta and spend forty minutes commuting to Antigua.

Well, Car turned into pickup truck and pickup trucked turned into we’re leaving get in lets go. So regardless of whether it was a good idea or not Zuleika and I rode to Antigua in the back of my host Grandfather’s truck with a bunch of other people.

We got to the market and they were like “meet us back here at twelve” but Doce in Spanish means twelve and Dos means two and when people speak in really fast Spanish I get them confused and I thought we were supposed to be back at two. Thank goodness Zuleika was there to correct me an hour and a half later.

Pretty much we wandered around AKA got lost in the market for an hour and a half and didn’t find any sweatshirts that I liked but we did find my soap dish, a DVD for a dollar, and a box of trash bags I needed. I almost bought a small backpack but I couldn’t tell if I was getting the gringo price or not so I decided not to.

We then decided to go get some lunch at 11:15, me thinking I had plenty of time and Zuleika just not knowing how long it would take to eat in a Guatemala pizza restaurant. It ended up being really cheap pizza an absolutely delicious to eat good American food for a change.

We finished lunch with enough time run back to the market to meet my family, unless of course we decide to look for some cat litter for the kitten that Marguerite got for free yesterday. Next thing I know we are heading to the bodegona to buy cat litter. And by head to the bodegona I mean we went and got French fries and a coke at McDonalds on the way.

Let me tell you about this McDonalds. Antigua has regulations requiring every building to be constructed in authentic colonial style, so this is like the nicest McDonalds you have ever seen. Exquisite tile floors, chandeliers, and an entire outdoor courtyard complete with an ornate fountain and shaded tables with luxurious seats and a picturesque Ronald McDonald statue overlooking 4000m Volcán Agua.

After we finished eating for the second time, Zuleika wanted to sit in the McDonald’s and read her book so I went looking for what literally translates as “a type of sand that a little cat can make the bathroom on”. In other words, Zuleika didn’t know the word for Cat litter. I soon learned that the reason the cat was free to foreigners is that it’s the only store in town that sells cat food (the locals just feed their animals chicken scraps or let them fend for themselves…) and so if a foreigner gets a free cat they have to buy the food and cat litter from that one single store. Monopoly anyone?

So, after that we went walking to see the church that Zuleika insisted she wanted to go see, which turned out to be closed. But on the way, we were just walking down the street and this man who was running a lemon and orange cart on the other side of the cobblestone street calls out to us and says “ay yo, you look like you should buy some weed. You want? C’mon it good” which was probably the last thing I was expecting. For one it was one of the longest phrases I had heard a street vendor memorize, but also, I was not expecting to have someone ask me in English to buy weed in Guatemala, especially not because there’s generally a much larger stigma against drugs amongst the people who live here. It just caught me off guard, that’s all.

After this, I had to use the bathroom so Zuleika was just like “that looks like a good place”and leads me into a very fancy private bed and breakfast and just starts wandering around inside looking for a bathroom. After we find one, she just starts exploring the hotel. She goes and finds the pool, through the back rooms, peeks in all the windows. I felt so uncomfortable. She claims she asked permission but I’m not entirely sure I believe her…

After we spent 16Q and two and a half hours in the internet café, most of which talking to the Senegalese fellows and Adri on skype, we caught the camioneta back to Santo Tomas. The bus driver scammed me out of a Quetzal saying that it was 5 Quetzales to ride the bus on the weekend which according to Yoli and my host mom was a lie.

When we got off the bus, the camioneta dropped us off in the middle of a funeral procession of over 500 people. It was pretty cool to see the casket being carried throught the streets by hand to the cemetery which was down the street and up the hill from my house. We looked pretty odd. We were the only ones not wearing black, and I was carrying a bag of cat litter…

After we finally got home, my house was a frantic mess because they had just learned that the baby was on the way and everyone was going to the hospital…

Chuchos

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I had a pretty exciting encounter with a chucho today. A chucho is a wild dog. So as I was panicking that I couldn’t find my phone, I walked down the street to Zuleika’s house (one of the other fellows who happens to be staying with my host mother’s sister, or something like that). I needed to find my phone because I was worried I had gotten pick pocketed on the Chicken bus. As you know from my last post, this would be very easy place to get pick pocketed on the chicken bus, because there’s obviously a lot of other things you’re thinking about, like not falling out the open door… or putting your butt in some stranger’s face by accident. You know, like the usual stuff people worry about on their daily commute.

So anyway, I’m in a kind of frantic state, to say the least, and I’m walking briskly down the street to Zuleika’s house consciously thinking about how cold it was and how its not supposed to be cold in Guatemala, and unconsciously thinking about how I could have possibly lost my phone.

As I got near her house, this dog about the size of a small lab came running at me growling fiercely as though it was protecting its house. Of course, Zuleika’s host family doesn’t have a dog, they only have about 30 chickens and 10 turkeys in their front yard. This dog was vicious too, all growling and baring its teeth and all.

This scared the daylights after me because I actually thought it was about to jump and bite me, and it was acting ridiculous, so I wasn’t sure if it was rabid or not. I wasn’t sure if it was better to run and try to make it to jump on the large cherry picker that Zuleika’s host father keeps in his front yard (don’t ask me why, I don’t know the word for cherry picker in Spanish, or I would ask…) or if it was better to take a good solid kick at it’s side.

Well instead of deciding one or the other, I just kind of stood there hoping the dog would like stop running at me or something. Cause you know that’s what all mad wild chuchos do when they’re about to attack someone.

Well. At the last minute I remembered back to our training when Luis was giving us an overview of Guatemalan greetings and we somehow got to talking about wild dogs. He actually warned us that wild dog would be everywhere. At the last minute I remembered an offhand comment he had made about the dogs then.

So I did something I honestly never thought I would do, I raised my hand up to my ear, like I’m about to throw a huge rock at the chucho. I felt like a cruel person to throw a rock at a dog (so, I didn’t really have a rock but whatever).

But it didn’t matter because instantly the dog melted. Like slicing through butter with a hot knife. Or some expression like that. You have to bear with me cause my English is getting worse as my Spanish improves.

Seriously though it was like some super large intimidating person was standing behind me with a huge cleaver.

I guess its not too scary given all the new experiences I’ve been through recently, but it was pretty scary at the time. To tell you the truth I spent the first day scared of the chuchos, but then I realized they were harmless (or most of them were harmless I guess) and that they just wanted food.

Let me tell you something about chuchos. Chucho is the Guatemalan slang word for street Mutt. They are all over Guatemala, and they all look EXACTLY the same. They are all slightly smaller than a lab, have pointy ears that stick out to the side, and are all a slightly more yellow color than the typical golden retriever. But with short dry fur.

And they are absolutely everywhere. For example. When we stopped to eat lunch on our way down an 8000 foot volcano, 1000 feet or so of which was barren volcanic rock, 3 chuchos came up to us to beg for food. 3 On top of a volcano. I tell you they are everywhere. And they are very persuasive. They do their whole cute dog thing, and lay up against you trying to be nice and cute but in reality giving you a whole host of fleas.

What The Heck Are You Doing You Crazy Fool

Original Post Date: October 13, 2009

Today we commuted entirely alone for the first time ever. Just the five fellows living in Santo Tomas Milpas Altas. The world didn’t seem to like that idea.

Today Zuleika and I left the house twenty minutes late, knocked on Ian’s door to make sure he had left, and got to the bus stop at exactly 7:50. We got lucky and got on the micro bus that was waiting near the stop. If you’ve ever been to the Air and Space museum in Washington DC and seen the miniature van that the McDonald’s stand out front uses to move food around (come on, I know you have), this is what a microbus is. Its like a mini-van version of a golf-cart, and today there were 9 people inside, with 4 on the back row and one standing up bent over near the sliding door.

We got dropped of at the Antigua stop, not needing to walk across the highway this time, what a luxury. Soon the Antigua-Guate bus pulls up, with literally people standing in the stairwell. The ayudante motioned for us to come to the back because there was space (he spoke too but he said something in Spanish that I didn’t understand).

Well, if Doña Yoli had been there she would have known to tell us to wait for a different bus. We should have probably known better. We got on anyway.

Whatever space the Ayudante motioned about was almost non-existant. I found myself standing on the rear ladder clamoring inside while the bus drove off.

When we got to Antigua, we missed our stop, and got off down the street when we thought the bus had stopped. Turns out it was just waiting to make a left hand turn and started driving off just as Ian was about to jump out the back door. Some kind Guatemaltecos silva’d (silvar being Guatemalan slang for cat call) to the driver that the stupid gringos didn’t know what they were doing, and we pretty much made a scene out of things as we got off the bus in the middle of the street, the bus at a 30 degree angle stopping all traffic.

This afternoon, after enjoying nice umbrella shaped chocolate icecream pops with Luis at la parada de busses, we got on another extremely crowded bus. There were 3-4 people to every seat and another dozen or so in the aisle. I found myself literally standing back to back with another person in the aisle between a row of 3 people and a row of 4 people. The whole bus was like this. Ridiculous right?

Well when we got off this bus, we stood for awhile waiting for the bus to Santo Tomas. Two elderly women and a granddaughter walked up carrying large bales of cabbage (Repollo) on their heads, getting in line for the chicken bus.

When the bus pulled up, it was an old American Short bus. Like the ones my school has that have a legal limit (in the USA) of 20 people… Well there were at least half that many at the stop waiting to get on an already full bus. Okay, so maybe THIS was the most crowded I’ve ever seen a chicken bus.

Well every block we stopped to pick up another two or three people, and by the time we got to Santo Tomas, there were literally 9 people standing forward of the yellow line which represents yet another completely disregarded American safety “suggestion”. There were quite literally two or three people hanging out the door being held in by the Ayudante’s arms. We pulled up to my stop, and the other fellows got off, but I couldn’t because the other ayudante hadn’t been able to scramble to the front yet to take my money and I was afraid I would get beat up or something if I got off the bus without paying. As they were crawling out, the other ayudante yelled “andele” from his precarious perch out the front door.

I panicked and started yelling in Spanish because my friends were climbing out the back door, and the bus was starting to take off. I have absolutely no idea what I yelled but it was some combination of the words no, parrada (bus stop), alta (stop), atras(rear), and various incorrectly conjugated verbs and strings of words generally meaning what the heck are you doing there’s people climbing out the back of the bus you crazy fool.

It seemed to work. The bus stopped. But everyone else on board looked at me like the completely out of place gringo I am who really has no idea what he’s doing riding a yellow sardine can in the developing world.

All this after I walked out of the house and left the wonderful lunch my host mom had painstakingly prepared for me on the kitchen counter.

P.S. I wrote this blog last night, and this morning I was one of the people standing in the wheel well of a chicken bus holding on very tight. (Its actually safer than it sounds).

The Chicken Bus Has Changed My Life.

Original Post Date:  October 11, 2009

The chicken bus has changed my life.

As you read this post, please keep in mind that on my commute home yesterday, I was carrying a bag of 12 eggs in my right hand. 3 of which were already broken.

The “camionetas”, as they are affectionately called by Guatemalans, are a great way to start the day. Each ride on the camioneta is a brand new experience. They speed off as soon as you step your foot off the bus, sometimes soaking you in water. To get to seats at the back of the bus, you often have to pass through a nonexistent gap between two people who are leaning against each other because they are both sitting three to a row and falling off their seat, or sometimes even slide past someone who is standing in that nonexistent space.

Today I got on a bus which clearly had the words “pasajeros 54″ painted on a small symbol near the door. I lost track when I counted 85… It wasn’t even the most crowded… The thing about it is, it reminds me of a team building activity where you put everyone in an uncomfortable scenario, and they inherently bond.

Sometimes if you are standing in the aisle, you have to squeeze in front of the lap of the nice (or not nice) lady who barely fits on the tiny edge of the seat near you in order to let the ayudante pass (the attendant who collects your money and gives you change). He also takes your large bags if you have them, and climbs on the roof while the bus is moving to tie them to the top… Did I forget to mention, there is usually either super loud 80’s music, or super fast Spanish pop music blasting from customized.

The thing about it is the whole system is very efficient. They use much less fuel per person than the American system, you get there a lot quicker than you would in America because there are no stoplights what so ever, there are less cars on the road (each bus has mas ó menos 50-100 people) , and of course the speed limits are not enforced. Its also super cheap. I spend Q11.5 (Q8.22=$1) every day commuting 30-45 minutes each way… I would spend at least that on gas at home.

However, Chicken bus is a bad name for them. The reputation they have only applies to half of my commute. To get to Antigua, I spend Q2 to commute from Santo Tomas Milpas Altas, to Santa Lucia Milpas Altas (literally 6 minutes) on a really rickety old American school bus from the 80s (clearly always in mint condition). Yesterday the license plate said North Carolina… I then get off the bus, walk the length of a football field and across a one way interstate highway to the bus stop for Antigua.

I wait 5-10 minutes for the bus, hoping for an actual seat (a window seat is WAY too much to ask…) and usually am disappointed. When the bus arrives, sometimes it is a few years old, sometimes it is brand new, always it is pimped out. The “Antigua-Guate” buses are the most efficient buses in the country. They are subsidized by the government (I think, someone explained this to me in Spanish, so consequently I can only guess what the complicated words meant, but I’m pretty sure that’s what he was trying to say). This means the government subsides the bus owners so they can afford to comply with the government regulations for the interstate highway routes. The buses to Guate (pronounced Whahtay) are nice new American school buses, outfitted with actual metal hand rails, actual reliable engines, and certain reliability standards. I think hotrod sardine can is a much better name for them.

OH, and half of them have been upgraded with “racing” engines so that they can accelerate faster between stops and pick up more fares… in case you were wondering, they definitely don’t comply with emissions standards.

They then cram them with even more people, and go speeding down the mountain, with la gente (the people) being thrown left and right every time the bus goes around a corner. Remember, these are one-way, two lane mountain highways, which they take at twice the legal US speed-limit.

Let me also say that before you get on a bus, you need to make sure all your valuables are either in your front pockets or deep inside your bag, and put your bag on your front like you’re carrying a baby. You then have to try to balance standing up.

To get off the bus, you simply stand up and force your way to the front of the bus before your stop. Sometimes you make it in time, sometimes you cant get there in time and the bus speeds off and you have to get off at the next stop and walk. This has only happened to me once, in Santo Tomas, and it wasn’t that bad but apparently it has happened to volunteers on the Guate bus and they have had to catch a bus going the other direction.

So pretty much, the chicken bus has changed my life.

Pasteles y Trajes de Baño

Original Post Date: October 3, 2009

This morning I awoke gradually in utter darkness because there is no outside window in my hotel room. I woke thinking there was a frequently traversed railroad track behind the hotel, when in reality it was just cars on the cobblestone streets outside the hotel.

Thus began a day of exciting exploration. We first went to a very quaint little commedor where I ate eggs and beans. Something new on my breakfast menu.

After we had finished our rules and regulations discussion, we ate at an awesome restaurant called Gringo Chapin. Gringo is the word for niave foreigners and Chapin is the word for native Guatemaltecos. Thats right, they took us to an authentic native restaurant with an out of place foreigner flair. It was actually a pretty good fit.

We spent the afternoon acting out security skits and Laura and Ian proved themselves to be good thieves. Now I know how to ride a chicken bus safely and how to respectfully decline very relentless street vendors.

They then unleashed us on Antigua for two hours, and we innocently decieved Luis, telling him we were going to go check out the ruins of a 17th  century Catholic church and browse the local marketplace. In reality, we spent the afternoon shopping for his birthday present and trying  to buy a cake with 34 candles. It was quite an adventure.

First, we spent the first half looking for a neon colored bathing suit, because he laughed histerically at the one I brought which is straight out of the 80s, he says. Unfortunately that really did not translate very well and we ended up in three different childerens clothing stores and a rediculously overpriced American surf shop (Q700 for one bathing suit…not happening). Thats when we called it quits on the bathing suit. We got some pretty odd looks here when we asked for a bathing suit. Apparently men don’t wear them or something because we had to keep explaining what it was and everyone thought we were confused and that we really meant a bikini. We just explained it as a crazy joke we were playing on our leader for his birthday and then our desire for such an item made perfect sense to them.

So about a block after we bailed on the bathing suit idea, we passed una pasteleria (cakery) and Ian stopped me and we decided to buy a cake.

Two gringos with very limited spanish pastry vocabulary trying to buy a cake in a foreign country was pretty much hilarious. I probably asked the poor woman 10 different questions, each with about 4 or 5 clarifying questions just to understand what she was talking about. After that she started describing the cakes with English words… But we managed to buy the cake successfully. It cost so much less than even the smallest Harris Teeter cakes (or Safeway, Whole Foods, Kroger, Ingles,take your pick).

Which brings me to my next point, they only have one size cake there. HUGE. For the price of a very small American cake we bought a cake that fed the 6 of us plus the entire kitchen and wait staff at restraunt and we still have  more than half the cake left.

After we bought this cake, I stuffed it in my backpack and carried my backpack in my hands so as not to dump the cake out. We met up with Luis and he just thought I was walking funny. And was in some huge rush, but had no idea I was carrying his enormous birthday cake. He even saw us give the lighter to the the waitress and still was completely oblivious to the fact that we had bought him an enormous birthday cake.

We presented him with the cake, sang Feliz Cumpleaños and gave him our present. Which was a book by his favorite Brazilian author. We just wanted  him to have a great birthday and I think we did a pretty good job.

After dinner we returned to the hotel and skype talked to Alec, who was sleepless in Dakar. He was having jet lag problems so he couldn’t sleep. Lucky for us though, we got to have a nice connection to the other half of our group on the other side of the Atlantic. It was awesome!

Oooh Baby Baby it’s a Wild World.

Original Post Date October 2, 2009

Oooh baby baby it’s a wild world.

This famous Cat Stephens song, Wild World, unofficially became the GCY founding class theme song the other day after Marguerite requested it a million times over on every van ride. I don’t think any of us have been able to get it out of our heads yet. Seriously everyone keeps singing it and if I didn’t like the song a lot, it would have gotten really old by now.

But that’s not the case because as I’ve gotten to know the lyrics very intimately, it turns out to be one of the most appropriate theme songs Marguerite could have possibly chosen for this momentous occasion. Completely at random, I might add. Here goes a play-by-play explanation of how deeply this song resonates with what I am experiencing:

“But if you want to leave, take good care. I hope you meet a lot of nice friends out there.” I almost cried this morning when someone sang that line as the Senegal group pulled out of IONS at a grand 330 AM. The immediate meld of the group was so natural, it made our goodbyes that much more meaningful, as we said goodbye to our friends at an early 330 AM.

Not one of us got a full night’s sleep beforehand and we are all currently running on the adrenaline of the experience. After we finished packing, some of us at 9, some of us at 2:30 (Victoria didn’t even start until 1:40), we then spent the rest of the time writing personalized notes for the other fellows to open after they got on the plane, reluctantly awaiting the departure of the Senegal team in a mere few hours. I personally got an hour and a half of sleep after our friends departed for the airport, not even bothering to take my shoes off.

This all leaves me nervous and excited to meet all the “nice” new friends and connections I will make in Guatemala over the next seven months and am excited to see how my perceptions are shaped by the bonds I will form. I can’t wait to be received into the local community and start forming connections with my host family!

*** Breaking news update*** As you now know, I have been writing this post from the cushy Continental 737 complete with direct TV and free headphones. Unfortunately our flight was delayed and we arrived in Houston at 6:40 for a 7:15 flight on the opposite side of the airport. Fortunately they kindly provided us a golf-cart ride to the terminal, but unfortunately there was only room for 4 on the cart and Marguerite and I had to run behind the cart in order to make our flight in time. So much for our plan to make a last stop at McDonalds before we move into our rural homestays. Although, word on the street is that gross American fast food might be more common than I would have expected.

I am now safely on the 7:15 flight to Guatemala City, which I believe was the last one of the day but I am not positive. Laura and I are next to each other, watching our final movie before we head off to our Global Citizen Year. How exciting! Back to my original story.

“But if you want to leave, take good care, I hope you have a lot of nice things to wear.” Well, for the select few of you who heard about my experience in the airport this morning, how could this line NOT describe it perfectly? The slight sarcastic tone pretty much encompasses the embarrassment I went through as I first weighed my enormous bag in at 15 lbs over the 50lb weight limit. For many of you who have traveled with me before I’m sure this comes as no surprise. I pretty much have a reputation for over packing which seems to follow me around. So essentially I brought too much stuff and had to stuff 1/5^th of the weight of my bag into my carry-on and the group bag. Already I was the only one who had a second carry-on suitcase, and completely doubled the weight of one of the other Fellow’s stuff, weighing in at a grand total of 85lbs… Maybe one of my grounding questions for the year needs to be how in tarnation I can pack less stuff when I travel.

I then had my bag searched in the airport because I forgot to take a bottle of prescription medication out of my carry-on before going through security. I really created a spectacle out of myself this morning, but at least I have a lot of nice things to wear, as Cat Stephens so kindly puts it. Of course, he then goes on to say that “a lot of nice things go bad out there” but I think we’ll stick to the lyrics for their analysis of the situation, not their forecasts.

Oooh baby baby it’s a wild world, it’s hard to get by. As I reflected on our experience at the US Training Institute at the Institute of Noetic Sciences (IONS) on the plane into Houston, I had a similar realization as the astronaught who founded IONS. One of the stunningly beautiful effects of being in orbit is that political and geographical associations dissolve immediately, and many astronauts return with the glaring realization that we are all in this together on one earth. As I was staring out the window trying to decide if we were over Nevada or Texas, I had the bizarre feeling that there really was no difference between the two at all. That Nevada was entirely indistinguishable from Texas and therefore it mattered very little which state I was in. It makes all this fighting and conflict, from the healthcare debate in America to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, seem insignificant and petty. It makes me imagine a world where all nationalities, religious affiliations, and languages can stand unified in cooperation. The only thing keeping us apart is our preconceptions of our differences. From above, the differences are entirely indistinguishable.

Hopefully during my Global Citizen Year I can make an impression which helps both my home community and my host community realize our human similarities and make a small contribution towards human solidarity.

Ooh Baby baby it’s a wild world, and its hard to get by.

Ohh Baby baby it’s a wild world, and I’ll always remember you. This is perhaps the line which resonates with me the most as I embark for my experience in Guatemala. The lasting relationships which I have developed over the last eighteen years in all my home communities, as well as the bonds formed between the GCY Founding Community during the US Training Institute will be in my mind the entire time I am away and will serve as a constant source of inspiration and support as I move into the challenging situations I will face in the coming months. Knowing that my people are keeping me in their thoughts will help to ground me when I am struggling and encourage me when I am feeling success. I greatly look forward to hearing from everyone soon!

Love, Michael

P.S. Incoming calls to Guatemala cellphones are free, so call me anytime if you’d like, but keep in mind the time difference! If you want to call, get my number from my mom or I will be posting it to my facebook.

Dear Family

Dear Mom, Dad, Matt, and family,

These last few days, weeks, and months of my time at home have really brought out the depth of our familial bonds and have served to emphasize the significance the last eighteen years has had on my life. The frantic packing escapade managed to distract me from some of the more profound and emotional realizations taking place at the moment.

The most significant of which dawned on me while I was sitting on a fallen log in a captivating oak grove in Petaluma California with the ten other fellows as we were beginning to discuss our plans for the upcoming year. This is the moment when it really set in that the relationships in my life will never again be the same as I move into this new and exciting chapter of my life. I guess my delayed realization of this obvious fact came out of naïve confusion on my part. I mistakenly related leaving home with going to college and in the logical continuation I failed to realize that my “moment” of leaving home would come when I left for Global Citizen Year. I had unconsciously connected this moment to leaving for college and naturally I completely missed the boat so to speak.

And so it was that as the five of us sat in the Panoramio coffee shop in Terminal C of the RDU airport this morning, I was caught off guard by a sudden wave of reminiscent feelings. As we sat laughing and joking as a family one last time, I started to reflect fondly on the memories of the last fifteen years.

I remember staying with Annette waiting for Matthew to come home from the hospital. He was still Matthew at this point so I can still call him that in public. I remember the first time I had to deal with loss when our dog Sundance died when I was really little, the time we went fishing with Papa and I don’t even remember if we caught any red drum or not. I fondly remember all the many days spent at both the lake house and the mountain house with grandparents and lots of extended family. These are the kinds of lasting memories that have shaped me into the person I am today and will continue to fuel my drive to be who I am in the future and for that I am truly grateful.

All of these experiences and the rest of them add up to create a childhood full of fond memories and ever since I waved goodbye for the final time from the other side of the TSA checkpoint this morning, my unconscious mind has been a continuous reel of flashbacks from my childhood experience.

As I began to think about the next year and all the questions and uncertainties that I have at this point, I began to overlay them with my constant stream of recollections and began to realize the shear appreciation for the depth of the relationships that I am so blessed to have. As I was showing the other fellows on the plane the photo album you helped me put together last night, I realized how much I rely on those relationships as a constant source of guidance as I face the challenges I am presented with.

Thinking forward about my home stay experience, I really anticipate reaching out to my home stay family to create new bonds modeled on the bonds I will continue to maintain at home. I look forward to the new and exciting things I will learn about myself as I begin to gather “my people” around me in Guatemala as I have done so affectionately over the last 18 years at home.

Already I am inspired by the new relationships we are forging and have been forging with the GCY founding community over the summer and the lifetime community which we will be growing over the next week. I truly appreciate the strong relationships I have developed with my family and friends and I will consider myself quite fortunate if I am able to even closely rival the tight bonds that I will continue to cherish for the rest of my life. For this, all this, I am thankful. And most of all this is just the begining of a very rich future!

I love you all!

Michael

Smile in Every Picture

Original Post Date: August 10, 2009

This expression “smile in every picture because that may be the only one people see” is one that came  to mind a few weeks ago as I was sitting in the staff room of a YMCA residential camp, a small room with two computers with Windows 95, three dilapidated couches, and an old television that doesn’t have a DTV box and wont get reception. I was sitting there on my “short night off”, a two hour period when half of the counselors at a time can hang out in the staff lounge or do laundry, and I got in a rather heated discussion with some of the other counselors. I overheard some of the pool lifeguards complaining about one of my campers, an eleven year old who lives in Caracas, Venezuela and came to camp speaking no English what-so-ever. For the purposes of my story I will call him Antonio.

I butted into their conversation to try to work this out, completely confused as to how anyone could dislike Antonio, as he was one of my favorite campers. This camper was enthusiastic, respectful, and was pretty much always having a blast at camp. For a camper who’s English vocabulary consists of “sir” “please”"thank you” and “pass food”, that’s phenomenal. So you can probably understand my frustration when several lifeguards were complaining that no matter how many times they blew their whistle and yelled at him Antonio continued to grab and hang on the basketball goal in the pool. They were saying he had a bad attitude, was incredibly disrespectful, and even accused him of “pretending not to speak English”. Well our short night ended before I could convince them he was a good kid, and so I asked him in Spanish to apologize to the lifeguards and taught him how to say “I’m sorry” and wrote down the word basketball goal in English for him to remember.

As I thought about how easily your perspective of someone can be corrupted by the limited interaction you have with them, I thought of the phrase “smile in every picture” and I started comparing campers to photographs, counselors to cameras, and the whole shoot and match to the world as a whole. In the “photograph” the “cameras” at the pool had of Antonio, he was a disrespectful, uncooperative camper. In the photograph I had of Antonio, he was one of the best kids in my whole cabin! The language barrier  had a catastrophic effect on Antonio’s experience at the pool and the snapshot experience of him was very negative as a result.

This makes me excited for my experience with Global Citizen Year and the opportunity to work to create a world where these kind of barriers don’t exist and everyone has the ability to “smile in every photograph” because we have worked to overcome the barriers in their way. It also makes me eager to see how it will open doors for communication and positive interaction across physical, language, and social barriers. I can’t wait to learn more Spanish and start creating this new and exciting world where everyone can look their best for the camera!