愉快 Viajera

Add Oil!

2008-08-20T03:40:00.000-07:00

I never had any aspirations to go to the Olympics. I don't know why it just wasn't something that ever occurred to me as a possibility. But now that I'm here in Beijing, and getting to see five very different competitions, I'm not complaining. Nope. I'm yelling "Jiayou!" (that's Chinese for "add oil") just like everybody else. Even if I didn't have any event tickets it would be hard to be in Beijing and not get pulled in by the spirit of the event. Riding on the bus and on the subway, and even visiting the idyllic outdoor summer palace, people are all gathered about together completely rapt by whatever sporting event is going on on the ubiquitous TV screens (and in the case of the summer palace, all with their backs to the gorgeous scenery) and everywhere you look people from all over the world are roaming the streets decked out in their country flair. China is multicultural all of a sudden; it's truly a sight to behold.

I've been thinking that in many ways the Olympics are a weirdly fitting end to a year spent abroad. I've never felt more American than I have this year living in Guatemala and China. We spend a lot of time in class and with friends talking about American politics and apologizing for our government, as well as discussing American culture. Here at the Olympics I'm getting the opportunity to express some positive patriotism. Last night I wore the American flag and sported China's flag in face paint. We rooted for China's women as they defeated Russia in volleyball, and then got the same support from the Chinese fans sitting around us as the US underdogs battled it out with Italy. Ethan led everyone in a chant of: "Mei Guo! Jaiyou!" (America! Add oil!) The cliches are all true: One world, one dream and all of that.

I've put together a little slide show medley of our time in Beijing so far. We've seen three events: Soccer (Belgium vs. Italy), Gymnastics (men's and women's floor, women's vault and men's pommel horse), and Women's Volleyball (China vs. Russia and USA vs. Italy). They were all fun and exciting in their own way, and especially fun of course because we got to see two of our women gymnasts win silver and bronze, as well as the USA women volleyball players pull out a win against Italy in an exciting 5 set game. In our event down time we've been visiting with some ex-pat friends in the area, eating great food (including an Imperial-style meal of venison, lotus seeds, lilies, and other unusual goodies) and seeing the sights we missed our first time around in April. Today we took a beautiful (and hot!) hike on the Great Wall at Simatai and yesterday we went to the Summer Palace. We have two events left: Diving and Athletics (hurdles and sprints) before we make our long pilgrimage home via San Francisco and then Vermont. At some point in there I'm hoping to get pictures up of our amazing travels in Cambodia and Thailand. But until then: Beijing and the Olympics!

Gorgeous Guangxi

2008-08-05T21:36:00.000-07:00

What a difference a day makes! Yesterday I was biking around beautiful Yangshou in the southern Guangxi province my mouth agape at the stunning Karst scenery and rice paddies spread out before us and today, after a 12 hour sleeper bus ride, I'm sitting holed up in a hostel in the middle of a typhoon on the border city of Shenzhen. Ethan and I thought we might be able to stash our stuff somewhere and hop on over across the border to Hong Kong for the day before our flight to Bangkok tonight, but with the typhoon and all we decided to lay low and recuperate after a night spent "sleeping" in our bunks on the bus (I woke up about every half hour wondering where something important was, though I couldn't remember what that something was. And I'm pretty sure Ethan was worse off than me.). At this point we're not even sure if our flight will be able take off on schedule - we hope, we hope!

The silver lining: with future plans up un the air, and Ethan taking a nap, I'm loving the chance to loaf around, reflect a little and post some pictures from the past few incredible days we've had exploring Yangshou. Yangshou is a small city by Chinese standards, but it's grown a lot recently catering to the tourist/backpacker industry. There are all sorts of things to do there: from biking, hiking and caving to a live late night light show involving six hundred fisherman that was dreamt up by a Chinese movie director apparently (we didn't make it there). Ethan and I kept it pretty simple. We spent one night in the city with the nicest couple at the West Lily Youth Hostel and then moved about 5 kilometers just outside the noise where we stayed at the Giggling Tree Hostel - a renovated farmhouse in a really spectacular spot.

In our two days in Yangshou we spent as much time as we could outdoors. The first night we got there we went on a an early evening walk out of the city among the limestone Karst domes that surround the bright green and gold farms. A lot of the scenery and the people reminded me of the rural areas in Guatemala quite a bit. The weather was very hot and very humid, and the crops that we could identify included rice (and plenty of it!), peanuts, chile peppers, squash, corn, bananas and grapes.

The next day we took a bamboo raft down the Yulong River - home of the image on the back of the 20 RMB note - but we liked it better in person. We spent about three hours on our river raft soaking up the scenery and ducking from the Chinese boys who were packing super soakers. After our trip we walked around the village, bought a few pieces of calligraphy from a local artist and walked by the peanuts laying out to dry in the afternoon sun.

The next day, after a night at the Giggling Tree, we packed up early and headed out on rented bikes. The bike trail took us all over the area, across the river three times (once on a bamboo ferry) through tiny farming communities and past idyllic swimming holes that we took full advantage of whenever the sweat became too unbearable.

Both nights in town we avoided the expensive western style restaurants and ate in this little hole in the wall spot where you go up to the stove and place a small portion of whatever you want in your dish on a small tin plate and then you sit communally with whoever else is waiting to be served. You eat the spicy dish with a small clay pot of sticky rice. Delicious.

Depending on whether or not our flight is delayed or cancelled, we will be heading to Bangkok next and then directly on from there in the wee hours of the morning to Siem Reap in Cambodia for a visit to Angkor Wat. The typhoon looks like a breezy drizzle right now, so I'm feeling optimistic. We'll see...

Artist shoots down her own sculpture with a pellet gun

2008-07-30T19:35:00.000-07:00

"Clearly art by women in China is not confined to “women’s issues,” like family and home. Much of the art is about excavating a personal past and bringing it into the present, and about examining that present and how women are living it."

I wish I could have referenced this article when I was still tutoring the VIP and arguing over "natural" male supremacy in the arts, academics, etc., etc.

click here to read about China's emerging female artists.

The photos are from the 798 Art District in Beijing, taken during our trip in April.

Packing up

2008-07-28T20:23:00.000-07:00

It's hard to believe that it's almost time to go. Friday Ethan and I are leaving our home in Qingdao. We'll head to Beijing first, than travel a bit in the south of China, and on down through Cambodia and Thailand, and then of course back up to Beijing for the Olympics (Ethan's gonna have the gory details up on his blog soon). I'm sitting among the piles of stuff that are waiting to be dealt with, packed up or given away - but I still can't quite get a handle on the fact that we're leaving. On the one hand, I'm ready to hit the road and do some traveling but I'm also feeling a little sad about leaving behind our life here. There are so many BIG things that I will miss. But, here's a list of the smaller things that have been rattling around in my head this week. In no particular order...

1. The old men. I just love the old men here. For one, now that it's hot out they all wear their shirts tucked up above their bellies. Oh, how I wish I had a picture of this to show you. And for two, here in China they spend their twilight years working out. Seeing septuagenarians idly stretching a wiry leg on a railing above their waist or doing humorless pelvic thrusts is just part of the summer park scene here. Is it wrong that this makes me smile?

2. Taidong and the tailor. With the help of a very patient tailor and various friends who have come with me to help me bargain and spend way too much time looking at pretty fabrics, I've been obsessed lately with getting clothing made. So far I'm toting back a wool winter jacket, two silk dresses, two silk tops, and a skirt. Pretty, pretty.

3. Smiles from strangers. Sometimes I get grumpy walking around Qingdao. People stare at me on the bus, random people shout, "hello?" at me like they're answering the phone - being anonymous is just not part of the deal living in China. However, as much as I get annoyed when I see a camera-phone pointed at me surreptitiously, I kind of respect the straightforward curiosity and delight in difference here. And on my better days when I remember to smile back, I love the recognition and connections that are made in these small moments with strangers.

4. Tsingdao Beer. It's light and summery and comes in a bag.

5. Green city. I'm looking forward to Beijing, the excitement of the Olympics and seeing some foreigners I like. But, the smog, congestion and general craziness scares me a little. After a couple of days I'll probably be mourning tranquil Qingdao. Our two favorite places to escape: Fu shan, a rugged little fang of a mountain that sits just behind our campus, and in the other direction, the yellow sea.

6. I Almost forgot! - Hand holding. There's a lot of PDA among friends here. Women, and sometimes even men, walk arm in arm or hand in hand , down the street. I've even seen some of my male students just holding hands in class. I love it.

Bye Qingdao!

You should buy this book

2008-07-25T05:08:00.000-07:00

When I went home for my sister's graduation in May my friend Julia at Simon & Schuster gave me a copy of one of her new books, "Out of Mao's Shadow" by Phillip P. Pan. I read it non-stop on my flight back to Beijing, unable to put it down mainly because it answers the question Ethan and I have been repeatedly asking ourselves and each other during our time in China: where are all the voices of dissent? Do they exist? Pan's answer: yes, they do. His book chronicles the stories of a number of individuals who in one way or another have gone up against the government and not backed down. Included are the stories of the doctor who blew the lid off SARS and later spent time under house arrest for speaking up against the Tiannamen massacre, a disillusioned young communist revolutionary who died in prison and was famous for the poetry she left behind written in her own blood, and a journalist who opted for prison instead of towing the party line...and many more.

For anyone interested in finding out more about where China's been and where it's going this book is a must read. I loved it - and Ethan's loving it now.

The torch and I are in Qingdao

2008-07-20T20:03:00.001-07:00

The VIP couldn't help me with a pass to the torch relay so I followed the masses to nearby Qingdao University where we had a great view of the very tips of the flags lining the streets and the helicopter buzzing the pre-selected crowd - who do they know I wonder?

Apparently the torch has arrived.

Spirit...

Style...

Innovation...

{The other waiguoren who was snapping photos had to delete her shots of the officer. I was more sneaky. And quick.}

Here it is: the torch!

Boo for the torch relay?

2008-07-19T00:50:00.000-07:00

So, Ethan's in Iowa having fun at a wedding and I'm here in Qingdao being "productive". This morning I was OK with that because on Monday the torch relay is coming to Qingdao and, because E and I are the only teachers in the summer program, I have the day off to go witness all the madness. However, this afternoon I heard from my friend Zhang Rui that "normal" people won't have access to the torch wielding fun. Zhang Rui works right near where the festivities are going down and she said that police are planning on setting up barricades barring pedestrians from participating. Apparently only a handful of people have been granted access. Hi-Sense, one of the prominent Chinese companies here in the city, has only given out 20 invites to its 20,000 employees! Not only that but Zhang Rui and her co-workers received an email this week stating that anyone who opens their office windows on the morning of the torch relay will receive a fine!

What the heck?!? I wasn't planning on boycotting but now I might have to.

I'm teaching the VIP as usual tomorrow morning - we will be practicing how to ask for and respond to requests: Can you get me into the torch relay? I'm crossing my fingers it's a yes. If I have to I will wear my "I heart China" t-shirt, but at this point only grudgingly.

In other news, this week in teaching Ethan and I went back to our roots herding teenagers. We took our students on a field trip on Monday and had them search for "bad English" throughout the city {the winning find: "Be your own brain" worn on a t-shirt}. After the scavenger hunt we went to a restaurant for pizza and then returned to the school for a screening of Men In Black. It was a fun day, but it threw everyone off - mostly digestively poor things - so much pizza!

Here they are. My favorites...

Acting Crazy

Training for America - for some, their first pizza experience

Inventive pizza eating

Country Time

2008-07-13T08:15:00.000-07:00

After class on Friday Ethan and I hopped a train and then a bus to the crumbling village of Zhujiayu (Jew-Jai-You) for some country time. We ambled around the 500+ year old cobbled streets, climbed up to the pagoda (a newer version of the one destroyed during the Cultural Revolution), and started training for travel in the clingy summer humidity that has finally hit us here in Shandong province.

Zhujiayu, about the size of a postage stamp, is unlike any other place we've seen here in China. It is inexplicably well-preserved AND free from hordes of tourists - a very rare treat here. Many of the mud-brick houses are turning back into earth these days, but two hundred or so residents still remain. Some are elderly and have been living there their whole lives, and some are enterprising young families, like the one we stayed with, who are working away at serving the burgeoning tourist industry and banking on increased business during the Olympics.

Here are some pictures from our time in Zhujiayu. Highlights include: village scenes, bug eating, and a visit with an elderly couple who took us into their home, fed us a delicious lunch (no bugs this time) and then proceeded to drink us under the table. (This is the second weekend in a row that old folks have put us to shame with "ganbei" after "ganbei".)

Double Happiness

2008-07-06T09:05:00.000-07:00

Life is very happy these days, maybe even doubly happy. For starters, I'm almost done computing final grades for the semester - just a few more hours in front of the computer screen to go! On top of that, I'm loving teaching right now. I admit that I dreaded signing on to teach an additional six weeks, but now I feel like I made the best trade ever: 200 students of mixed ability (and mixed motivation) for 15 energetic, interested and interesting new students - I didn't realize how hard I had it this semester! But most of all, I'm just loving spending time with friends from Qingdao and am relishing our time here before we have to go.

This weekend was full of friends. First off we went to Yantai, a smaller nearby beach city, to celebrate the wedding of friends, Mike and Monica (English names). In fact, Mike and Monica were our first friends here in Qingdao (Mike saved us on that first icy, somewhat hopeless day here), so it was very special to be able to celebrate their marriage - as well as their new pregnancy - double, double happiness! Of course, even though it was their wedding, we were treated all the way from the hotel room to dinner with their family the night before, and even breakfast in Monica's family's home the next morning - they insisted. The wedding celebration was one of three, this one hosted by Monica's father, and like most events here it was straightforward. We ate, we "ganbei-d" (a Chinese toast where you drain your cup to the bottom), we ate some more, we "ganbei-d" some more, and then it was over and we were left to the rest of our day in Yantai: a walk along the seashore, with bellies full of delicious food and baijio, a Chinese grain alcohol. We were the only foreigners at the wedding, but thankfully everyone was very nonchalant about our presence (excluding the group photo when a couple of the guests forced the waiguoren {that's us: "foreigners" or, literally, "outside person"} to sit front and center!).

The Happy Couple Laughing at the Uncles

The Uncles and The Spread - in the foreground: pig's stomach (not too bad, but not my favorite either)

Yantai's shore and a giant beach ball you can climb inside and flop around in

I will be climbing into one of these before we leave

Mike and Ethan

When we got back to Qingdao we hung out with more good friends. We had Korean barbecue and played pool with Ethan's Chinese tutor, Lavender and her boyfriend, Foster. That's cow tongue on the griddle.

And I went shopping in Taidong and back to the tailor with friends Ezra and Julie. So many good friends and these days almost all are Zhonguaren (Chinese people). It's been interesting that way. Aside from our friends in Beijing, and the Australian-Turkish couple who left for Thailand last week, our Chinese friends here in Qingdao are the most dear.

Can't Say Fairer Than That

2008-07-01T22:43:00.000-07:00

My first "American Culture" class with my new group of Alabama University-bound Chinese students. Here's how they finished the sentence: "American Culture is..."

In no particular order...

Bill Gates... Wall Street... Hollywood... Elections... Edison... Multicultural... oil policy... plantation... terrorism... anti-terrorism... cola... company... immigrate... 911... basketball... hero... Watergate... racial discrimination... diplomacy... NASDAQ ... individual... travel... buffalo... jeans... Dr. Lee... shopping mall... beef steak... Rockies... white house... colonize... punk... negro... black... outer space... CO2 (greenhouse effect)... Nixon... information technology... movies... discovery... Neverland... religion... God... Overbearing... Iraq... Bible... automobile... TV series... friendship... West Point... Hawaiian Dance... Blues... Party.... Jazz... Hip Hop... Old School... Country Music... Army... Human Rights... Festival... Disney... flourishing... Armstrong... drugs... Yellowstone... BBQ... Gun... Sex... Slave... Korean War... constitution... democratic

With a list like this I know I'm going to enjoy teaching this class. Personal favorites: "overbearing" - pretty right on the money with that one, and also: "old school" just because.

Lao Shan

2008-06-29T17:46:00.000-07:00

This weekend after our week from hell E and I had some homey time in Qingdao which included celebrating a friend's birthday, experiencing China on the big screen watching "Kung Fu Panda" - we both loved it, and climbing Lao Shan.

Here are some pictures from Lao Shan in an area called Bei Jiu Shui (North Nine Waters) just a half hour from our apartment in the city; the mountains here look so different from any I've seen in the States. Looking at them I'm always reminded of making drippy sand castles at the beach.

It felt like summer finally to get out and spend a day getting dirty.

Singing Zai Jian to the Semester

2008-06-26T04:09:00.000-07:00

Why is it that goodbyes always seem to take place when you're in a state of total exhaustion?

This week at least, it's because I've been teaching double. In exchange for a tricky visa extension that has allowed us to stay in China for the Olympics as planned (and a little more pay), Ethan and I have signed on to teach for six additional weeks at OU in a summer program for Alabama-bound students. The new group of students is dreamily small (only 12 so far!), but this week we've been juggling the teaching commitments of getting this new program up and running as well as finishing out the final week with our other 200+ students. But for me at least, the madness is over. Poor Ethan still has to get up and teach at 8 AM tomorrow, sorry honey!

Last night though, tired as we were, it was time to say goodbye. For the past couple of weeks we've hosted a couple of "movie nights" for our 70 or so first year students who have come to be our favorites (mainly because we can gossip about them together). We've showed them "The Shawshank Redemption" and also the most recent "Pride and Prejudice" which were both well loved and deemed "perfect" by resident movie buff, Hebe. And, last night we took over the media room once more for a goodbye party and to share by request some of our pictures. Ethan put together a great sampling of our adventures over the last three years that included beautiful scenery from the US in Yosemite, Zion and the Whites as well as pictures of our travels in Guatemala, Belize and Honduras, many of which have appeared on his blog. We've been so lucky to have such adventures!

When our show was over, though, no one really wanted to leave. Even the slacker boys who have all but stopped breezing into class these days (but amazingly came to look at pictures!) remained. I don't know who demanded it first, but what they wanted was a song (or a dance, it was up to us). I have to admit in my exhausted state there was a part of me that felt like I had sung and danced enough over the course of the semester for this group, but as there was a microphone attached to the media console, Ethan and I gave in. Ethan sang "Yesterday" and then we did a duet to that song from "The Breakfast Club" (I managed the "hey-hey-hey-heys" but drew a blank on the verses, sorry Ethan). So terrible! But I'm glad we broke the ice. One by one, and with a little coercion, our braver students came up to the mic to sing us goodbye, leaving me with some of my fondest memories of this semester. Not only that but Hebe and a few others stayed later to present us with two wall hangings to remember them by - very sweet.

Here's a a video of three of our songbird students singing the official Olympic song, "Welcome to Beijing" - you can hardly see a thing (that's Costa Rica in the background), but hopefully you can hear their sweet voices. I will miss them.

"Welcome to Beijing" - Sunny, Olivia, and Hebe

Night Lights

2008-06-24T17:12:00.000-07:00

A few weekends ago our friend Sarah paid us a visit from Beijing. Our weekend adventures included beer bags (finally!), epic karaoke (with a group of 10 other ex-pat Bejingers), and this late night walk in 54 Square (one of my favorite places in Qingdao).

Ethan and Sarah

Getting Ready for Lift Off

Up, up and Away: A paper lantern fueled by fire makes its way up into the city sky

Just another typical Sunday in Qingdao...or, why I have a hard time deciding what to blog about

2008-06-23T19:19:00.000-07:00

China is complicated.

7:50 I wake up to see the sunlight streaming in through the curtains of our bedroom balcony. Fog has enveloped Qingdao for weeks (some date it back to the earthquake in Sichuan in May), so I decide to make the most of the morning sun and go for a jog by the seaside.

9:10 I get back home and Ethan is up and making apple pancakes (topped with real maple syrup) from our favorite Korean import store, Silver Garden - the best weekend comfort food! We scarf them down and I head out to my side tutoring job with "The VIP".

10:30 The VIP, one of the local directors of the Danish shipping container company, Maersk, is a little tired and annoyed because 1) his company is forcing him to take more English classes during the week at his office and 2) we will be stopping our lessons at the end of July. Five days enough to see family! Then come back to China! We've practiced this conversation many times. This time I change the subject to his business and learn that one shipping container leaves Qingdao's port every ten minutes, and over 30,000 of the world's shipping containers transport bananas - gross!

12:00 After class I find Joanna, one of the young Chinese office ladies who manages payroll, in the teacher's lounge. After chatting with her and sharing my concerns about the VIP's lack of motivation and his pronunciation she asks me about her English which I say, honestly, is very good. "I don't know how to improve!" Joanna complains. "Maybe I should get an American boyfriend?" We laugh and then she says, "But I don't think my Chinese boyfriend will like that very much!"

Joanna: But maybe you can give me your opinion on something?

me: Sure!

Joanna: Many young Chinese are now dating not one but two people! Both men and women and they are not tell the other one! Many of my friends in fact. What do you think about that?

me: Well, um, I guess it's important to be honest.

Joanna: Could you do that?

Me: Probably not.

Joanna: I could but I wouldn't want my boyfriend to - I would be too jealous!

12:30 I go across the street to the indoor mall in search of a bra. All of mine have been mangled by our vigorous top-loading washer. I duck into a tiny store and begin to browse. I try to communicate what I'm looking for to the two saleswomen displaying increasingly frightening options but I don't know how to say no padding please. A young woman in the shop offers to help translate. "Do you want...?" she asks while squeezing her breasts together. "Cleavage? No, no...I'm boring." I explain. Finally they find a black bra with removable stuffing, the only questionable detail being a t-neck link chain in the back. I decide to try it on anyway because I've come this far.

In the tiny dressing room/storage closet, my dress around my belly and mid-way through clasping the bra I get a call from the friend I'm meeting this afternoon. I take the call with one hand and continue wrangling with the bra with the other.

"Where are you?" she asks. "Do you still want to get together?"

At this point I feel a presence behind me. Before I know what's happening the saleswoman has raised my left arm and is now smearing my flesh into one of the two rigid cups. Dumbfounded, I raise my right arm obediently so she can work on the other side. So that's how you do it!

"You'd never guess," I answer. "I'm getting A LOT of extra help trying on a bra. If you could only see me now..."

We agree to meet in ten minutes in front of the large department store across the street. I extract myself from my encasing and head out of the shop still in good humor, albeit a little surprised by the early afternoon manhandling.

12:50 Crossing the street to our meeting place I catch the eye of about twenty curious east Asian foreigners. "Hello!" One of the braver women calls out after a few shy smiles, and then the rest begin to huddle around me. They ask me some questions about what I'm doing here and they explain that they're here in Qingdao visiting from a much smaller town in Shandong province where they are studying Chinese and textiles. They tell me they're from Turkmenistan. "Do you know where that is?" I admit that I do not and tell them that for me the "'stans" are the hardest countries to place on the globe. They pepper me with questions: Where are you from? What are you doing here? With your boyfriend!?! Ahhh (satisfied squeals). I like to think that after six months in China I'm pretty good now at holding court. I ask them about their time here and also Turkmenistan. It's a beautiful country, they say, you should visit! One of the women crowding nearer on my right, spots my piercing on whatever that tiny part of the ear is called. "Ooh," she says fingering the small hoop. "Painful?" I tell her no and she pats my belly muttering something in Russian. "I know," I say. "All this time in China has made me fat!" "Oh no!" chorus the ladies. "She wants to know if you have a..." I understand them to mean belly-button piercing and I tell her no. After two large group pictures observed by about a dozen Chinese pedestrians they leave me to see the rest of Qingdao.

1:15 Disappointingly, my friend pulls up in her cab after the large pack of Turkmenistanis have already left. She is dressed in a linen blazer, a pink sequined scarf and cute espadrilles that she is now complaining about, explaining that she tripped last night at a Jamaican themed party and has a hurt ankle. She is also carrying a gold Prada purse. My shopping partner for the day is from Qingdao originally, and now lives in the States with her husband who she refers to as an "ABC" or American Born Chinese. She has generously offered to take me shopping today in Taidong to buy fabric, and visit a tailor.

3:30 Measures taken, silk fabric selected, haggling through, and two beautiful dresses ordered, we are pooped. Although we had lunch together yesterday and ordered jellyfish and bean curd, today my shopping-guide is in the mood for Mickey-D's. She orders me ice cream and I feel guilty eating it - my first American fast food abroad!

3:45 My friend and I talk for a bit in the brightly lit restaurant and she describes the sometimes hard negotiating that goes on as a Chinese-American. She and her husband are living with his parents, saving money. "It's hard right now," she explains, "One minute his parents are American and want us to support ourselves and buy a house with our own money and the next minute they're Chinese and demand we listen to their every word and follow their orders. It's not fair. My parents would buy us a house and his parents refuse. What can they do? It's Chinese tradition that a husband's family support him and his wife. Naturally, my husband's under a lot of pressure." I'm learning that my Qingdao friend is a rich girl. Her Prada purse is real, and her Dad is a CEO of a shopping mall downtown. But in the US despite her LV bags and gucci glasses, she is scrimping and saving, working hard.

5:20 Home again, home again. Ethan and I do some lesson planning in preparation for a busy week (one program is ending while the other is beginning) and we decide our busy schedules warrant a treat.

7:00 For our third time since arriving in Qingdao, we are dressed in matching flannel pajamas getting $7 70-minute massages. I decide to try a foot massage and Ethan goes for the full body. We sit side beside in the no-frills private room chatting in Chinese to our masseurs - well, Ethan, more fluently than me - and relax a little before Monday.

Let Me OK!™

2008-05-30T19:53:00.000-07:00

This week after watching and discussing some TV commercial parodies I found online (my favorite: a comedy sketch that I found on YouTube from Left of Center for "Invisi-bandages"), I gave my first year classes the assignment of writing and acting in their own TV commercials for products like toothpaste, shampoo and deodorant. Along with providing an excellent excuse to capture my students on film, it turned out to be a worthwhile, although definitely challenging group assignment. The students needed a lot of input and help, but after two class periods many of them ended up with some very creative products and incredibly funny commercials.

Some of my favorite products included:

Olympic Sneakers - "One world. One shoe."

Sunshine Toothpaste - (A toothpaste that turns your teeth different colors) "Light up your life. Light up your teeth."

Magical Laundry Detergent - A detergent that can change your life. Literally. It could change you into a polar bear.

And:

Dark Child Sneakers - "Street ball is my job"

Amazing.

But my favorite came from the superstar trio: Victor, Olivia and Amy - who, whenever I headed their way to check in on their progress demurred, refusing to give me any details - it was going to be a surprise. During their secretive rehearsals they could barely hold it together. I couldn't help sneaking peeks as they pumped their fists, chanting quietly in unison "Let Me OK!" - before dissolving into hysterics.

I've uploaded their commercial for Let Me OK™ Deodorant below. Victor plays the stinky fly ("I feel lonely and ashamed"). Olivia plays God (who kills and eats poor Victor the fly - which was actually a delicious, seasonal cherry - we are gorging ourselves these days). And Amy sells it while struggling to keep a straight face. Olivia introduces the product at the beginning of the clip, and Victor's buzzing signals the commercial's start. I hope you find this as hilarious as I do, but chances are that this is only something that a teacher, or that teacher's mother could really love.

P.S. Victor is the aspiring rock star in Ethan's post about teaching.

Where has the time gone?: Pictures from a bad blogger

2008-05-20T00:15:00.000-07:00

Here are some things I've been doing recently...

Controversial Topics

2008-04-03T06:14:00.000-07:00

This morning after an unusually heated class debate on the topic of gay marriage, I ran into one of my students, Mars, at the bus stop. Contrary to his namesake, Mars perpetually sits in the back row beaming benevolently upon the rest of the class and occasionally making wisecracks. He is one of my most outlandish students, and easily one of my favorites. This morning the God of War and I sat together on the bus chatting about class and the usual topics: the weather, pollution, and inevitably, the Olympics -- Qingdao will host the Olympic sailing events this summer. "You know the smokestacks downtown?" Mars asked me chuckling. I nodded a little guiltily. Ethan got a great picture of one towering above a sign that reads: “Clean Energy Supply for Better Environment.” "Well, the government is destroying them now." He was still laughing. "Why?" I asked, smiling too, wondering what the joke might be. "Well, they don't want the foreigners to think bad about China so they are taking them all down, but...they even take down the ones that are giving off steam, not just smoke, because they worry about what the foreigners will say." We both laughed at this, the government taking down supposedly innocuous "steam-stacks" simply because they are worried about the impression it will give foreigners. But at the same time I had to wonder: who was I laughing at exactly? The government's less than thoughtful efforts to gain favor with foreigners, or the extreme environmental demands imposed on China by westerners? Where did Mars get this story in the first place? And how benign could these smokestacks, er, steamstacks really be?

Mars sighed and then looked at me intently, "But you know," he began seriously. "The real threat to China right now isn't pollution, it's the bad gangs." I paused to think. "Bad gangs? Like bang-bang?" I asked pointing my finger at him and firing. "No, no," he answered. "Bad gays." Oh, no not this again! I didn't think I could summon the energy to patiently address this issue for the second time that morning. "Bad gays...?" I asked forlornly. "No! Bad guys!" Ohhhh. Bad guys. "What bad guys?" I asked, relieved. “You know, the ones who want to divide China.” I knew at that point that we were talking about Tibet. Since the March 14th riots and the flurry of Chinese newspapers that had begun appearing in class, I hadn't broached the topic with any of my students, colleagues, or even our Chinese friends. I had read and heard enough to know that the accounts that the Chinese were following in the news were wildly different from the stories I was poring over in the New York Times through a serendipitous crack in the great firewall of China (many of our ex-pat friends can't access the site), and if I did mention Tibet and talk about my views I wasn't sure what the consequences might be. Sitting on the bus outside the classroom, I felt safe enough to at least utter the T-word, so I asked, "You mean in Tibet?" Mars nodded. After that, I didn't add much to the conversation. What could I say? Debates about gay marriage aside, the last thing I want is for a student to go to the administration with a list of grievances claiming that I'm a threat to Chinese security; I could be fired or sent home. I listened to what Mars had to say and recognized the familiar rhetoric plastered all over the China Daily, China's English newspaper. Mars, like China's journalists, was distressed that these "bad guys" were trying to divide the Chinese people.

If I were Mars, and all I had to read were Chinese publications like the China Daily, I'd probably be worried about the "bad guys" too. The headlines read more like "slam book" entries (think Babysitter's Club) or messages scrawled on bathroom stalls than actual news coverage, and the vast majority of the stories focus on vilifying the Dalai Lama and his "clique", critiquing the western media's supposedly "biased" coverage (one article dripping with irony angrily thanks the Western Media for "teaching" China about freedom of the press - click here to read.), and emphasizing the victimization of the Han Chinese without asking the question at the center of the violence - why is this happening? I've begun to collect headlines as souvenirs. Here are just a few from the China Daily web site:

Voices Rise to Counter biased Western Media

Evidence of Dalai clique's role in riots released

Don't see Tibet through tainted glasses

Do you call this peaceful?

Facts exposing Dalai clique's masterminding of Lhasa violence

Dalai clique racks brains to sabotage ethnic unity: living Buddha

China urges int'l to see true features of Dalai clique

Dalai Lama's 'Non-Violence' Stance Disproved by Lhasa Riot

The epicenter of lies

I wasn’t exactly surprised by the China Daily’s skewed news reporting. Early in our stay Ethan and I spent six hours riding around in a cab as a favor to a student who asked us to help her young journalist friend with an investigative report on whether or not taxi drivers could understand and respond to English-speaking tourists. The poor cab drivers had all learned the same unfortunate phrase -- “welcome to my taxi driver” -- but other than that only hand miming and the generous guidance in Mandarin from the back seat got us around town that day (Ethan wasn’t allowed to use his Chinese – one of the rules of the game). When we got a hold of a copy of the Qingdao Morning News the next day, we had a Chinese friend translate it for us and learned that 1) it was apparently us who had called the paper asking them to report on the topic, and 2) the cab drivers had passed their impromptu exam with flying colors. Not only that, we discovered we had missed out on the generous compensation that people usually receive for providing information to newspapers.

Just a few hours after talking to Mars I read an article in the NYT that traces China's reaction to the riots to a sense of injured nationalism (click here to read the article). China's nationalism, a nationalism I am struggling to understand, seemed to be just the issue in my conversation with Mars. Mars was saddened and concerned that "separatist" groups would want to hurt China in this way. He couldn't understand it. After reading the article I immediately clicked on the icon to share the link on my Facebook page - I hadn't realized you could do that before. When Ethan got home I found out he had read the article too, and was planning to send the link back home. When I mentioned that I had already linked to the page on my Facebook account with a description of the conversation I’d had with Mars, he did a double take. “You did what?” We spent the next fifteen minutes frantically deleting it before some phantom censor could read my comments, all the while joking about losing our jobs. The thing is we feel safe here, but we just don't know. We don't know what our colleagues think and we don't know what the consequences would be of sharing our views. Maybe our colleagues don't know either. So, between secret visits to the NYT website, Ethan and I talk about Tibet at home in our university apartment, trying to ignore the stories we heard from ex-pat friends recently over brunch. Like the one about the American couple who after having a blow-up fight one evening about on of them forgetting to call to get the refrigerator fixed, received a knock on the front door first thing the next morning from the refrigerator repairman. Sometimes surveillance can be convenient, but I think I’d opt for the broken refrigerator.

This is where I live

2008-03-29T03:07:00.000-07:00

Qingdao is famous for a couple of things: 1) Beer in a bag (only a few short weeks, I'm told, till I can wander around the city sipping on Tsingtao through a straw) and 2) It's beautiful coastline. Here's a video from Sexy Beijing about the latter, and the brides-to-be who come to Qingdao to pose on its shores.

Qingdao University Jiaozi

2008-03-22T03:12:00.000-07:00

Vivian and Miggie Chopping Cabbage

Saturday morning was lazy and gray. I woke up slowly, and spent an hour eating breakfast, re-reading the photo-copied pages of this month's ex-pat book club book, Reading Lolita in Tehran, and chatting with Ethan's parents on Skype, rather than lesson planning. When Ariel, a teacher who lives two floors down, knocked on the door with an invitation to make dumplings, I happily accepted, eager to escape the silent censure of my unopened course books. For the next couple of hours Ariel and I played sous-chef to three students from the university with the English names Vivian, Amanda and Miggie (maybe a British name?). Miggie is the class monitor in one of the large speaking classes that I teach twice a week. Teaching a class of 35 it's difficult to get to know my students individually so it was a nice surprise to spend time with her outside of class and especially fun, for a few hours, to play the student for a change. For all three girls this was their first time making dumplings, or jiaozi in Chinese, on their own, and certainly their first time teaching foreigners how to make them. Miggie, coming from a long line of dumpling making women, rolled up her sleeves and took charge of the operation with gusto. But every now and then, hands covered in pork juice, she held her mobile between her elbows for brief consultations with the master, her mother, reminding me of my own frantic calls to mom for advice on Christmas cookies, Lemon Cake, or Butternut Squash Lasagna.

For the better part of an hour we made the kitchen hum banging against its surfaces with our chopping knives, eviscerating each ingredient one by one. Miggie kept a watchful eye on our progress. Nope, not quite there yet. Keep chopping. From the empty stairwell it sounded like Stomp had invaded our echoing apartment building.

When all of the ingredients were ready we squished together the pork, spicy ginger, green onions, soy sauce and egg. Then we squeezed dry handfuls of chopped cabbage and threw that in too. Working with especially fine, wheat flour, Amanda stretched out the dough in beautiful coils, and sliced it in half every now and then to examine its consistency; after conferring with the others, she would chop and reform the blob, until it felt and looked a lot like plasticine. Hunking off chunks the size of gumballs, Vivian and Amanda, kept the dough pinched between two fingers as they twirled and rolled each little mound into a thin palm-shaped coin. Then, handing them off to Miggie and me, we heaped the pork mixture into the middle, pinched the sides together, and scalloped the edges, setting it upright on the floured tray like a fan, or a swan. We fell into the rhythm of our work quickly, and must have made a hundred dumplings as we chatted and listened to music. From Miggie, Vivian and Amanda I learned that jiaozi is the most traditional northern Chinese food, and for all three, a favorite. They explained that it is a food that they closely associate with time spent with their families. During Spring Festival in February families get together and spend most of their time in the kitchen making and devouring jiaozi. Because their shape is similar to ancient Chinese money, they are thought to be very lucky and symbolize wealth. Some families hide a small silver coin in one of the dumplings during a jiaozi-making session. The lucky winner who eventually bites down on the coin, it is believed, will have a fortunate new year. This time we kept the RMB's out of the mix.

After the first batch was boiled, we invited Ethan down to go to town, and although we tried one or two while they were hot, we returned without a beat to the satisfying repetition of our work rolling out the dough and filling the soft bundles, one by one. When we had exhausted most of our ingredients we finally called it quits and sat down to feast, chopsticks poised, not caring that the table was still littered with the afternoon's mess. The girls whipped out the other dishes they had been hiding: spicy cabbage salad, egg drop soup, and a plate of quivering, brown poached duck eggs. Miggie held a sliver of duck egg to my mouth. "Eat it!" she commanded sweetly. "Really?" I meekly replied. "Yes, it's delicious. It smells bad, but it's delicious." Held under my nose, it smelled faintly like a mixture of vinegar and old cheesy socks; without thinking too much about it, I ate the duck egg for Miggie, my teacher, and it tasted a lot like it smelled. But the dumplings, bathed in a bit of vinegar, were perfect - the best I've ever had - and they did what I'm told they're supposed to do; they kept me warm all day.

Qingdao University Jiaozi

The filling:

1/2 pound of ground pork

Two green onions chopped, and chopped some more

One Tablespoon of fresh, minced ginger

The better part of one head of cabbage, chopped and drained of all water

One egg

Soy sauce to taste

The dough:

Flour & Water

Dressing: Vinegar

Diversified Attractive Activities Await Your Participation!

2008-01-31T00:23:00.000-08:00

The above proclamation was printed on one of the tourist maps for Yunnan Province in southern China where Ethan and I are headed tomorrow for a couple of weeks of travel before the semester starts and our teaching duties at Ocean University begin. Finally, after arriving in China more than a week ago, I'm starting to feel ready to participate - bring on the diversified attractive activities!

Qingdao's shore

Adjusting to life here and settling into our new apartment - let alone getting to our new apartment - was full of, the mostly expected, ups and downs. When we arrived in Beijing we didn't have any concrete plans to get ourselves to our new home in Qingdao and we quickly learned that winging it in the winter in China was a whole lot different than winging it in sunny Guate. After we landed at the airport it took us a while to find a cab that would agree to take the two of us, along with our embarrassingly enormous pile of luggage (this was my fault), to the train station. And then the cabbie who was finally willing to do it must have only agreed because he was too tired to say no and approaching hour fourteen of his work shift. Every now and then on the highway as his eyes started to close, and his speed slowed, he would smack himself in the face and scrape his fingernails over his bald scalp to stay awake lifting his weary eyes to shoot me an impish look in the rear-view.

Once at the station we planned to get an overnight train to Qingdao so we lugged everything over the overpass and inside the enormous terminal where I hunkered down to wait on our enormous pile of stuff. Every now and then fellow travelers would gather around and scold me about all of my luggage. "That's too heavy for you!" At least I think that's what they were saying. And, yes, it was. Ethan took a couple of stabs waiting in the freezing cold lines for the ticket window but after a couple of hours we decided to call it a night and stay at a nearby hostel. We would get the first train to Qingdao in the morning where we would call our contact, Steven, at the University to come and get us. However, when we finally did arrive in Qingdao - we couldn't believe we had finally made it - and plopped ourselves in another busy terminal, we were unable to reach Steven after several tries and ended up deciding to take a taxi to the school. After a Mandarin mix-up between the words for East and South (if it wasn't for Ethan's Mandarin I'd still be wandering around Beijing's airport) we finally made it to the University, well the gate leading to the massive campus, and Ethan set out to look for Steven while I hopped around pathetically in the freezing cold waiting with our luggage. Finally, with the help of a saint-like Western Literature Professor, we were able to track down Steven's office and in moments were transported to our new apartment. Setting down our suitcases never felt so good.

We loved our apartment immediately. It's enormous with three bedrooms and a balcony, and fills up with beautiful morning and afternoon light. But settling in and making our new place live-able was harder than we thought it would be. First, it took a few days for the apartment to heat up; now thanks to an insulation project involving a bedspread, two sleeping bags, and some rope spearheaded by Ethan it's feeling much more comfortable. Then we discovered that our water heater was broken so if we wanted a shower we had to douse each other with water from the kettle heated up on the stove. Adding to the general discomfort we were required to undergo "physicals" in order to apply for our teaching permit which included a mysterious ultrasound, getting hooked up to an antique EKG, and a trip to the radiology department. And then, after our first delicious (now suspicious) seafood lunch with our co-workers, as I was just starting to feel a little more human and a little more comfortable, I got slammed with a stomach bacterial infection.

Anyway, now that I'm not vomiting and can take a hot shower I'm starting to feel human and hopeful about our time here. Yesterday, Ethan and I explored the old part of the city for the first time. We tromped around the fish market, got great views of the coast from a hill top park, and also visited several churches built during the German occupation as well as a Buddhist temple. After seeing the sights we had Mike, our hero/Western Literature Professor and his wife, Monica, over for dinner. We cooked a "western" meal of buttery lemon chicken, mashed potatoes and broccoli, and Mike and Monica brought homemade dumplings as well as a traditional soupy dessert made from fermented rice that was full of tasty sesame flavored gelatinous bubbles (which despite my description really was yummy).

It was fun to get to know Mike and Monica and hear what they had to say about China. They're both from Qingdao, love their country, and expressed an interesting mix of political opinions: censorship and control of the media = bad; cultural revolution = overly criticized. It was all really fascinating and surprising. I have to keep reminding myself that China is still very much a communist country - probably because I feel surprisingly surrounded by consumerism, and rows upon rows of stores and mega-stores with pretty things to buy.

Below are some pictures of old city in Qingdao. I wish I had pictures of the newer modern part of the city which is less Bavaria and more Las Vegas or Times Square. For a "small" Chinese city Qingdao feels immense and also surprisingly modern. (the buses here are fully equipped with flat screen TVs playing non-stop clips of Yao Ming!) After living in Guatemala it's hard for me to think of China as developing, but maybe our visit to the south will change this perspective. I can't wait to travel south and into Spring weather tomorrow!

Slimy delicacies at the fish market

Duck?

The city's Christian church

Temple decked out for Spring Festival

Los Muertos

2007-11-08T05:39:00.000-08:00

Around mid-October my daily commute through the cemetery began to get a little complicated. At first I didn't realize what was going on, so I simply slowed my pace to avoid the ever increasing number of swinging paint cans, wheelbarrows, shovels and rakes slung over shoulders. Little by little the cemetery began to bloom. Tombs displayed shiny new veneers, beautiful flowers and wreaths. High above the blue sky flashed with soaring plastic homemade kites. Walking my bike past picnicking families perched atop their dearly departed, I eventually connected the dots. Xela's living was readying its dead for what is now my favorite holiday here in Guatemala, El Dia de Los Santos, or All Saints Day, celebrated on November 1st.

In a country scattered with clandestine burial grounds and whose death toll reached a horrific 200,000 during the 36-year civil war, I can only imagine that for most Guatemalans celebrating El Dia de Los Santos is more than a little bittersweet. Still, the mood in the cemeteries is friendly and even festive. Families honor their deceased loved ones by flooding their resting places with life. Prayers are sung, candles are lit, and enterprising animals feast on the treats laid out for the dead to enjoy: tamales, oranges, and opened cans of soda.

Ethan and I honored Guatemala's ghosts in our own sort of way. Two weeks before the holiday hit we visited the ancient Mayan ruins of Copan, Honduras, climbing its crumbling staircases and gazing up incredulously at the gigantic ceiba trees and intricately carved stelae. On our first day in Copan we entered the park after 3 PM which allowed us to return the next day for a repeat visit. We wandered through the park well into the early evening, and as most of the other visitors drained out and the witching hour began to glow, I sat quietly watching the valley fill with wildlife. Squawking macaws filled the trees and a handful of other brightly colored tropical birds chirped elaborately. Far below, overgrown rainforest rodents chittered and fought, racing over the ancient altars. Looking out across the Copan valley and watching the light hit the rock shaped thousands of years ago by Mayan hands, it wasn't a huge leap to imagine a time when the kingdom was full of market noise and ball court battles.

A week later, taking our first break from volunteering, Ethan and I signed up for a seven-day trek with Quetzaltrekkers, an organization that donates all of its profits to a school for street kids here in Xela called SEDELAC. The trek took place in the Ixil Triangle, a remote area in the Cuchumatane Mountains, home to some of Guatemala's most remarkable natural beauty as well as some of its most brutal massacres during the civil war. Ethan and I had been looking forward to the trek for weeks, not only because we were eager to hit the trail and leave the city, but also because the trek happened to end on El Dia De Los Santos in a town called Todos Santos, where we had heard the festivities were approached from a uniquely lunatic angle. Our guide book promised that the day-long drunken horse race was not to be missed. But even our most wild imaginings of riders wearing long red cloaks and beating their poor horses with live chickens (!) could not eclipse the six days of beautiful trekking in the Cuchumatane mountains, or the fun we had with our 16 other fellow trekkers from all over the world.

From Nebaj to Todos Santos we hiked through tiny towns, remote homesteads and spectacular countryside. Temperate rainforests gave way to interesting desert flora, and idyllic green valleys led up to impossibly craggy peaks. We visited a cheese farm, hiked by full moon to watch the sun rise over the mountains, and swam in the frigid early morning river. We slept in rural schools and ate dinner in families' homes. We sweated out our long days in Teamascals, or Mayan saunas, throwing hot water on the red hot coals and breathing slowly as our lungs clenched tight against the forbidding mixture of steam and smoke.

We met a lot of people along the way. Outside the cemetery in Nebaj we applauded as a graduate in cap and gown paraded past flanked by a sobbing mother and a beaming father, and a large extended family bringing up the rear. "Come to our house for tamales!" the father shouted.

Later, sitting inside the town's church Ethan and I accidentally crashed a wedding. No one seemed to mind so we stayed to watch as the bride walked down the aisle dressed in traje and a long white veil. On our way into the church I had noticed an older indigenous woman kneeling and crying in front of an altar just inside the church's entryway. We decided to leave before the "I do's" and so on the way out I stood where the woman had been kneeling. The altar was set back into the wall behind a large blue wooden cross. Behind the iron gate hundreds of small wooden crosses were fixed to the cement and scattered along the floor. Each bore a name and a date. A brightly colored painting hung above the gate depicting the plaza just outside the church's doors, but this scene was different: men, women and children were hog tied, blindfolded and bleeding. The altar was a memorial created to remember the innocent victims of the war. I scanned the crosses to find the most recent year: 1992 - just four years before the peace accords were signed.

Hiking through the foggy wilderness of the Cuchumatanes it was easy to see why the Guerilla Army used the Ixil Triangle as a base of operations; it must have been easy to remain hidden here indefinitely. Every now and then hiking past a fence or beneath a ridge I would look up in time to see a pair of quiet eyes fixed on mine. Sometimes the face would smile, but most often it would disappear quickly out of sight.

On our last day of trekking we summited La Torre, the highest non-volcanic point in Guatemala, with our host from the night before (pictured above in traditional Todos Santos traje). Sitting under the hot sun, surrounded by stunning views of the volcano chain, he told us his story, the story of his family and of his pueblo during the violence of the 1980s. Under the command of General Efrain Rios Montt, the fighting during the 1980s was particularly brutal and indigenous campesinos were regularly caught in the crossfire between left-wing rebel guerrilla groups and the Guatemalan army. Rios Montt is known for deliberately targeting thousands of indigenous Mayans who were suspected of harboring sympathies for the guerilla movement. Terrorized by regular acts of rape, torture and genocide, many indigenous populations, like the residents of La Ventosa, were persuaded to support the guerillas in exchange for protection from the Guatemalan army.

During one of the guerrilla army's regular visits to the town, many of the villagers of La Ventosa decided to add their names to the list of guerilla sympathizers. However, our host and his father remained ambivalent and ultimately decided not to join. After putting their names to paper, the residents followed the guerilla army's instructions agreeing to down power lines and destroy bridges in order to help disable the army's hold on the region.

Weeks later, our host was awakened before dawn to the sound of screaming. The army had some how gotten hold of the list of guerrilla supporters from La Ventosa and they were rounding up the entire village. Families and neighbors were forced to watch as one by one the guerrilla supporters were tortured and killed. One of the army's victim's that day was our host's uncle who was mistaken for someone else on the list by the same name. Because of an unfortunate scar his uncle had slicing his eyebrow, the army was convinced that he was not only a supporter but also a guerrilla commander. Despite the gruesome torture he was subjected to that day, his uncle miraculously survived, as did the man who shared his name. Our host expressed his grief and his anger at the guerrilla army for letting this happen to the people of La Ventosa. No one on the list had been protected. Later, stuck between the invisible protection promised by the guerrillas, and the terror committed by the army, many residents of La Ventosa agreed to join the army as civilian patrols. Once word spread to the guerrillas, they returned to La Ventosa to set and example. Like the army, they rounded up the civil patrolmen and lynched them in the town's center.

Hearing our host's story was of course heartbreakingly sad, but I was grateful for his candor and willingness to share it. I was grateful too for the way his teenage sons could sit on the mountaintop, aware of the tragic story their father was relating, but mostly enjoying the day and listening to their i-pods.

Later that day we reached Todos Santos where the festival had already begun. We arrived at around 4 PM and men in traditional dress were either already passed out in the street from drinking or weaving around to the tinkle of marimba like zombies. We learned that during the rest of the year the bars are required by law to close early because of the widespread alcoholism in the town.

More than anything else, the festival was strange and sad. Like everyone else I went to watch the 12 hour horse race the next day and stood along the edge in the muck watching the men race back and forth, back and forth. As it turns out they thankfully don't use live chickens anymore to spur on their horses, but many of the riders were swilling beer, or riding hard and fast with their arms held out like airplane wings.

The crowd watched mostly in silence. There was no applause and no cheering. My nerves prickled with the knowledge that at any moment the worst might happen. And then it did. Around the middle of the day one drunken rider left from the wrong end of the track heading toward a line of charging horses at full speed. Two horses crashed with a god-awful sound and flopped upside down onto their backs. The riders lay still and the crowd surged around. Eventually the men stood up and the horses were led spastically out of the track. It's hard to imagine that the horses could have survived the collision. One indigenous woman turned to me and with rare emotion said, "They can kill themselves, but it's horrible - why do they have to kill the horses?"

The race continued for the rest of the day, and after the crash the spectacle seemed a little more subdued and the mood a little lighter. After experiencing the horror of the crash, what was left to fear?

After the trek I have more or less continued at a break-neck pace. I biked to Zunil the day after we got back to Xela, saw the wooden Mayan deity San Simon, and then the next day I climbed volcano Santa Maria just outside Xela with Ethan, Fernando and Jose. The 4,500 foot climb was unrelenting but the views at the top were spectacular. We could see everything: the pacific shore, the volcanoes that jaggedly lead to the lake and Antigua, Tajamulco and, of course, the still active Santiaguito puffing away every forty-five minutes. Far away in the distance we could even see the Cuchumatanes covered in a blanket of cloud.

Half Time

2007-10-18T11:33:00.000-07:00

It's October 18th, which means that I've been in Guatemala for almost two months...which means that we are just about half way through our time here! Before I panic or get mopey, I thought it was high time to reflect a little on volunteering with Manos De Colores and post some cute pictures of the kids.

The work week

Our volunteer schedule begins on Monday evenings when Ethan and I set out to meet with the other volunteers from El Nahual/Manos De Colores at a nearby cafe, The Blue Angel. Once gathered we gobble down their weirdly addicting vegan chocolate chip cookies, discuss the school's events for the week and share our lesson plan ideas. Every day El Nahual offers some kind of activity for the students and volunteers. My favorite: Wednesday night soccer! We rent out an indoor court and blow off our mid-week bike-transit steam by blasting soccer balls at each other - so fun! A close second would be the weekly community dinner (i.e. gorge fest) on Friday where students and volunteers get together in El Nahual's kitchen to attempt to outdo one another. Last week's feast included: Swedish meatballs, lasagna, and garlic bread made by me, Thai noodles with tofu, cinnamon buns and apple pie.

Although Manos De Colores runs an on-site afterschool program based at El Nahual, due to my schedule I'm currently teaching a total of eight English classes in three different off-site school programs: La Cuchilla (which refers to the shape of the neighborhood and means "razor"), Canton Candalaria, and Telesecondaria. Right now I'm happy with my schedule especially because it allows me to get to know three very different programs and three very distinct groups of students - however, after biking all over Xela, by the end of the week I'm wiped.

Some whining about getting there

In order to get to all of my school placements I first walk to El Nahual traveling past headstone shop row and a corridor of open doorways filled with women standing behind huge hot metal skillets, talking quietly and slapping out the tortillas that will be warm and ready to sell in the afternoon. If it's a nice day I cut up through the graveyard, the city's largest expanse of uninterrupted green, peppered with colorful cerulean tombs and wildflowers. As I get closer to El Nahual, the pavement gives way to rutted, eroded dirt roads. It's not uncommon to see a neighbor teasing milk from his goat, or the very same goat looking pleased and prancing (do goats prance?) having escaped from his tether. On this hill the children stop and shout: "Goodbye, teacher!" literally translating what is commonly used as a passing greeting here, Adios.

After the fifteen-twenty minute walk uphill to El Nahual, which never fails to wind me, I hop on my bike and head up to Canton Candalaria (in the morning) or La Cuchilla (in the afternoon). If I'm lucky I've managed to avoid the bike with the flat tire, or the one with the uncontrollable swiveling seat, or my favorite, the one with the brakes that drag against the tires on the uphill climb. The AM ride to Canton Candalaria takes us past the city dump on a steep, wet pocked road and brings us up near the base of the volcano, Santa Maria, on a path flanked by corn and small one-room houses. La Cuchilla provides a slightly more urban experience. We ride up towards the city's zoo and turn to go uphill past one of Xela's recent luxury developments, and then continue on up until we've reached the edge of the "razor." Each thirty minute ride leaves us sweaty with black boogers - thanks to the ever present car fumes.

On Wednesday's I walk five minutes from El Nahual to Telesecondaria. Oh, how I love Wednesdays!

La Cuchilla

For the past couple of months, every Tuesday and Thursday from 3 PM - 5 PM, we have offered afterschool programming for the kids in the community of La Cuchilla at the school, Escuela de La Republica de Holanda (the school receives a good amount of financial support from Holland). We divide the students into two groups, Kindergarten through second grade in one, third through sixth grade in the other. Each group receives an hour of English and an hour of Art. Starting last week, however, many schools let out for their three-month vacation which means that we now have many more students interested in attending the program. As "coordinator" I work closely with Betty, the director of the school and her husband, Jaime who happens to be the director of El Nahual. Last week I visited the school during the day to hand out announcements about the vacation program and give a little spiel in Spanish. This past week our numbers have swelled - we now have 70 students (in two very small classrooms) currently enrolled in the program. And, I expect even more to enroll today. Next week we will begin to offer programs at La Cuchilla in the morning from 9 AM - 12 PM (trading time slots with Candalaria), and after hiring a Guatemalteco teacher, we will offer Spanish Language instruction and Math in addition to the gringo-led English and Art.

At the Zoo for El Dia Del Nino

Vacation program registration began last week. Students wanting to participate in the program were required to come to class with a parent and what Jaime refers to as a symbolic 10Q ($1.50), which is intended to give students and parents ownership of the program. It was great to finally meet many of my students' parents, and learn a little more about La Cuchilla through the adult community members, i.e. the mothers - no fathers were present, which is something they all joked about. At La Cuchilla the children are sweet, smart, fun and relatively well-dressed with sturdy shoes and backpacks. Because none of the children dress in traje, or traditional indigenous garments, I assumed that they were by and large ladino - a mix of Spanish and indigenous descent. However, after meeting their mothers, many of whom were dressed in traje, I realized that that was not necessarily the case. It's difficult to reconcile my students' joy and enthusiasm for learning with their apparently difficult lives and the realities of learning in a school with little resources. Speaking with Betty I learned that most of my students live crammed in a one-room house with a large extended family. Many of my older students are depended upon to care for their younger siblings while their parents work long, extended hours. Lunch includes a stop at the tienda across from the school which is stocked with candy and salty snacks. The school itself is friendly but barren, lacking classroom art or decoration, and basic supplies like books and playground toys. However, when teaching a song or playing a game with the students at La Cuchilla it's easy to forget the details. Even when sweeping out the rainwater that has gathered in the classroom overnight I have to stop and pay attention: my students’ lives are hard, yet here we are laughing, shooing out the several inches of water that has collected under their desks. Speaking with the students' mothers during registration I could feel the impact of our program in the community, and the hope and the excitement the opportunity to learn generates. Many of the mothers of my brightest students couldn't sign their name, nor provide me with a numbered street address.

Our latest project in English class at La Cuchilla is writing mini-biographies including photos to post on the classroom walls. I'm also really interested in starting a pen-pal project with a school in the states, hopefully Lansdowne Friends School, where I went to school and where my mother works. Tuesday we came up with classroom rules (all 70 of us); the vacation program is giving us a wonderful, fresh start.

Canton Candalaria

Canton Candalaria is an indigenous community just outside the city with stunning views of Volcano, Santa Maria. Unlike La Cuchilla, Canton Candalaria's poverty is overt and in your face. The children wear the same clothing to school every day (most of them wear traje) their shoes are riddled and worn, and without running water, hygiene and health are huge issues.

I teach two English classes here, one in the second/third grade class, and one in the sixth grade class. The ages range wildly in both classes. In the first class the students are anywhere from eight to eleven. In the second class most are fifteen and sixteen and will be faced with the difficult decision next year to work or continue their studies.

Teaching at Canton Candalaria is hard to say the least. With the help of volunteers from El Nahual, the community is hard at work on a new school building that can house all of the students. For now, the students learn crammed in small classrooms separated by plastic tarps or in families' houses. Hearing, seeing and participating in class is a huge challenge. And, it is virtually impossible to respond to individual students' needs. With the younger class I've been focusing on the alphabet, singing, playing bingo and doling out precious stickers as prizes. In the older class one of my favorite projects was in art class. I gave them a blank comic template, a couple of Calvin and Hobbes comic strips in Spanish as examples, and they created their own beautiful comic book characters and stories. We've compiled them all in a book titled by the students, "Las Estrellas" ("The Stars"). However, my favorite time with the students is during the break between classes. We sit out in the sun opposite the clanging construction of the new school building and play. We teach the students playground games like ring around the rosy, and songs like Bingo. They put their arms up for hugs and plead, "subeme!" ("lift me up!"). Ethan attracts the biggest line.

Like La Cuchilla, we'll be starting vacation programs soon. I'm hoping that the older group will continue to come. I'd like to start a community photography project with them where they can take pictures and describe their community in English.

Finally, Telesecondaria

Telesecondaria is a five minute walk from El Nahual. Every Wednesday I teach two English classes to students ranging in ages 13-17. As a teacher the classes at Telesecondaria are a lot of fun and in many ways easier to control because we teach during regular school hours. I've taught a lot of Side By Side curriculum in these classes as well as incorporated a lot of games. Unlike the teenagers at Canton Candalaria, who needed a huge amount of prompting and explanation to pass a ball around the circle for a name game, the students at Telesecondaria will gladly don a blindfold and spin in circles (this did have a connection to English class, I swear).

My second class at Telesecondaria takes place in Don Angel's classroom. Don Angel teaches Spanish every now and then at El Nahual and works with Jaime to coordinate the English program at the high school. Before teaching at Telesecondaria, I had heard a little about the program. Basically, Telesecondaria uses televisions in the classroom to cut educational costs. From 1 PM - 6 PM the students attend school and learn through educational videos and programming primarily. Not sure what to think about the program, I asked Don Angel to tell me more. In describing the school to me, Don Angel cited progressive Brazilian educator, Paulo Friere, saying that Telesecondaria is one of many similar school models used in developing countries to help make secondary school possible for more students. Does it work? Don Angel firmly believes that it not only works, but also encourages students to be critical thinkers. How it does this, or whether or not I agree with Don Angel is TBD. I'm also a little confused about the role of the teacher, who Don Angel referred to as a "mediator." I know the teachers participate in teacher training and now, because the school is a polling place for the segunda vuelta in November and has removed all of its primary teaching tools - the TVs, the teachers are the only teaching mediums. How the classes differ when the TVs are present and functioning in the classroom is unclear to me.

For the next couple of classes at Telesecondaria we will be coming up with presentations for their end of the year performance. My students will be using hip-hop in one class, and animals in the other to talk about what they've learned in English.

Well, my internet is being temperamental and tomorrow morning Ethan and I are headed to the Copan ruins in Honduras. I will upload more photos of the kids when we get back!

Ojalá

2007-10-15T10:16:00.000-07:00

Last weekend the owners/landlords of my (not yet open) restaurant/apartment ("Ojalá") hosted a benefit dinner for a friend who recently suffered a bad accident. The event included an amazing sushi dinner made by my landlord, Georgie, a drumming performance including my other landlord, Kike and roommate, Mark, a blues band performance and an absurdist theater production - which was absurd indeed. The roommates and I all helped out at the event and I got to work at the bar which was a clumsy, hilarious adventure, although everyone did love my "special" mojitos. Anyway, I thought I'd use the event as an excuse to post some pictures of where I'm living and my roommates. Enjoy!

Carolina and Emily in the bar

Georgie making sushi

me and kunal

Not pictured: Benta and Mark, and Ethan (who was back in the states for a wedding)

Just Fever

2007-10-02T08:34:00.000-07:00

On Sunday, Ethan and I went on a hike with our housemates, Emily and Kunal, to one of the most sacred lakes in Guatemala - Laguna Chicabal. Laguna Chicabal is a crater lake nestled at the top of an old volcano (I'm not sure if it's technically active or not). In order to avoid the niebla (fog - one of my favorite words in Spanish), we left at around 6 AM to arrive at the top of the volcano at around 9 AM, panting from the altitude and the steep climb. Our timing was perfect. From one side we got some great views of Santa Maria - the perfect cone-shaped volcano that you can see from just about anywhere in Xela, and its still active little sister, Santiaguito that erupted in the early 1900s burying the surrounding towns in several feet of pumice and ash. Looking over the other side, we could see straight down to chicabal, blue and shimmering.

In order to reach the lake we had to climb down some 600 steps, through a corridor of lush green foliage and mossy trees. Once at the base, we followed a trail around the water's edge taking us past Mayan altars, big blue crosses laden with flowers, corrugated metal and what looked like fireworks remains. We did our best to catch a glimpse of the misanthropic quetzal - to no avail - but we did see humming birds and heard plenty of el canto de los aves. As predicted, after lunch on the shore, the fog started to pour in over the lip of the crater swirling over the water and passing in between the trees. It's incredible how quickly the weather changes here. On the hike back we could see our breath, but little else - everything was softened and obscured by a heavy curtain of fog.

Our next stop at Hiper Paiz, the city's mall/walmart was not so sacred. After the hike Emily, Kunal and I stopped in to get some essentials (yogurt, jam) and while in line I smashed both accidentally (?) in the eerily bright white aisle (Kunal caught all the awkwardness on film). The check out lady was very nice and let me go replace them, but I'm not going back to "Hiper" (ee-pur) any time soon. I'd much rather do all my purchasing from the ladies in the outdoor markets who lower their jacked up extranjera prices once when you ask, "y por lo menos?" and then again in response to "con discuenta?" Anyway, since our hike, or as a result of the Hiper mishap, I've been laid up with the flu and a fever. I'm feeling a little better today and am hoping that I'll be able to get to La Cuchilla at 2 PM for El Dia Del Niño. October 1st is Guatemala's Dia Del Niño (Day of the Child) so throughout the week El Nahual has planned some special events for our ninos. Today's fiesta will take place at the Zoo for both students from La Cuchilla and Manos De Colores - we managed to get a piñata, a cake and collected and wrapped over 300 gifts for all of our niños - I don't want to miss it. Time for more tea.

Feria Fever

2007-09-28T11:00:00.000-07:00

Last week Ethan and I got our first real dose of celebration Guatemalteco-style. Having studied abroad in Valencia, Spain during Las Fallas, I was prepared for a siege of serious committed partying, the smell of gunpowder in my nostrils and enormous flames. Though light on the gunpowder and the fire, the streets of Xela hummed with excitement and the city swelled with out-of-towners during La Feria and El Dia De La Independencia. Every day we were treated to epic parades of countless marching bands drumming out old military anthems, the sounds of Marimba, modest fireworks, free outdoor rock concerts, and of course the Fair - a sprawling spectacle with rides, food, hundreds of games and vendors.

Ethan and I decided to visit the fairgrounds on the most popular day, Saturday. We hopped on a chicken bus and rode all the way there crammed in the aisle. No big deal. Getting where you're going, both on the large chicken buses and the mini-buses that race through the city, requires a kind of yogic balance and concentration - sometimes straddling an elderly person, sometimes arching over the lucky ones crammed three to a seat. When we arrived at the fair, we followed the sea of people down a dusty road lined with hundreds of vendors selling everything from tupperware to ice cream. When it came time to enter the actual fairgrounds and the labyrinth of amusement park stalls and stands, we did what everyone else did, nudged our way into the enormous snaking mob, our hands out in front of us, forming a kind of a-rhythmic conga line. We took a couple of breaks from the masses, once to play foozeball (a young Guatemalteco helped me beat Ethan pretty bad) and two more times to hop on rickety rides. The Ferris Wheel was off the table as it looked like it was pieced together from an erector set and was careening at unchecked speeds by its prepubescent controller - I'd never before seen people screaming on a Ferris Wheel. We opted for the Round-A-Something that spun you around very fast and then thrust you up towards the sky at a 45 degree angle - kind of like an outdoor "Gravitron." I never would have gotten on one of the rides had it not been for Ethan's insistence, and now I'm glad I did. The view was incredible: the sea of people, the Ferris Wheel framed against the volcano, the blue sunny sky. We went on the Pirate Ship next and afterwards I began to relax into the experience, walking with my arms out in front, slowing with the pace of the crowd, chatting with the other fair-goers, mostly indigenous, standing in line and laughing nervously before the enormous gears began to turn.

Not unlike our experience at the fair, after a month living and volunteering in Xela, Ethan and I have begun to relax into our lives here. Since the Feria a lot has happened! Last weekend Ethan turned 30! To celebrate we visited beautiful Lago de Atitlan to swim in its turquoise waters, sun ourselves on the warm volcanic rocks and hike six miles along the shore from Santa Cruz to San Marcos (getting lost along the way in corn and coffee plantations perched on mountaintops). It was wonderful to finally get to the lake but by the end of the weekend I was eager to get back to chilly Xela and the niños at El Nahual. Getting to know the students in the four different programs where I've been teaching at El Nahual has been the most rewarding part of my time here - hands down. Not only the students, but also the Spanish teachers and my fellow volunteers make El Nahual a very special place. With my prior teaching experience I've found that I've already been able to contribute a lot to the program. Jaime, the Director of El Nahual, bestowed me with the title of "coordinator" of La Cuchilla, the academic afterschool program where I teach twice a week and has asked me to continue on after the holidays as school programs coordinators - there are a lot of "coordinators" here. If it wasn't for my ever-diminishing quetzales, not to mention my ticket to China in January, I would seriously consider staying. I'm hooked. Every day I'm constantly mulling over lessons and activities that can engage 50 students at once, encourage Donald to take a seat, and satisfy pint-sized Juan's already impressive grasp of the English language. We play bingo, draw comics, play charades and "gotcha," sing bilingual songs with gusto, recite the alphabet, sing out the days of the week, and for this we receive a million hugs and kisses. One thing I'm looking forward to in the weeks to come is compiling curriculum resources and a guide for El Nahual's volunteer teachers. Many volunteers join us without prior teaching experience or Spanish ability, which gets interesting in a classroom of fifty boisterous niños. All of the programs where I am currently teaching are slightly different and unique, and each come with their fair share of obstacles namely, a lack of resources (from pencils to shoes and uniforms) and funding. Ethan has just finished a post that briefly describes El Nahual's ever-expanding programs and services and how you can support them. In an effort to avoid redundancy, if you have a moment please check out Ethan's blog, and if you can, consider giving. I'll weigh in with my thoughts on volunteering, and some pictures in my next post. For now - Lago de Atitlan!

A view of the twin volcanoes from Santa Cruz

Me, swimming and chatting with a fisherman, Diego

View from our hike from Santa Cruz to San Marcos

Ethan being 30

Seguimos

2007-09-11T12:16:00.000-07:00

Mi maestro Carlos y yo at Sakribal: Siempre Platicamos

Luis Spinning

Telma and her daughter in the kitchen

Curious Chicken

Sunday's national elections

Children line up to vote, while other children check their identification and take their fingerprints.

On Friday Ethan and I finished up our studies at Sakribal (for now). In two weeks we attended 50 hours total of one-on-one Spanish classes. It was intense and exhausting! My teacher Carlos, a young law student, was very good despite the fact that he roared with laughter when I told him I had been proficient in college. He helped me re-sort the subjunctive from the conditional, the differences between por y para, and was a great resource in learning more about Xela and Guatemala, and especially as the elections were approaching - local politics.

Until this Sunday, election day, we have experienced Xela through the steady bombardment of campaign slogans and jingles blasted from the backs of pick up trucks. The faces of candidates were plastered everywhere: the sides of houses, billboards and even mountains. For the presidential race there were a total of eleven candidates, each with their own party and logo. Ethan and I went to a conference about the election at a volunteer center, Entremundos, and we learned that every year new political parties surface bearing a brand new shiny logo. In fact, the same political party has never been re-elected. But only the candidates supported by one of the seven most powerful families in Guatemala have any real chance of winning. Despite the fact that only seven families control much of Guatemala's wealth and politics, the turn-out on election day is huge, and civic and national pride is simply part of being a Guatemalan (even the children vote in las elecciones infantiles!). Most see the national elections as an opportunity to make change at the local level, their most important vote being for mayor. The mayors have been decided, but in November there will be a "segunda vuelta" for the presidency. The presidency will either go to Alvaro Colom (of UNE: Union Nacional la Esperanza) or Otto Perez Molina (Partido Patriota, whose slogan reads: Mano Dura - or - Firm Hand). Molina is less of a favorite in our circles. A former General, he was present during the signing of the Peace Accords in 1996, and he controversially usurped "mano dura" from a campesino revolutionary slogan, neglecting the other lines the campesinos had included regarding brains, and heart. Colom lost the last election, and historically, the following election goes to the second runner up from the previous race; however, this race has been surprisingly close. We'll see what happens in November.

This week the elections have moved aside to make way for the FERIA! Xela is home to the Central American Independence Day celebration (September 15th) but the festivities already began last night! According to our neighbors, this included two torch bearers running into town, as well as a semi filled with a million reinas (which almost jack-knifed turning around parque central). By all accounts, this will be a crazy time to be in Xela. School is out and everyone is excited to attend the parades, concerts, and the 50's-era amusement park located just outside the city (Carlos promised some Coney Island-like spectacles as well). Today Ethan and I woke up at 7 AM and wandered over to La Democracia, home of the enormous sprawling outdoor market where you can buy cilantro for a nickel, to see the elementary school children on parade. Little Miss Indigena and Little Miss Xela were both present presiding over the festivities along with their sister representatives from every single elementary school in Quetzaltenango (it even looked as though there were some Little Misses from other Central American countries as well). Little Miss Congeniality along with Little Miss Athletics, and countless other little misses waved graciously at everyone in the crowd. It's funny, I have a completely different view of little dolled up queens walking around in Guatemala, than I do of their Jon Benet counterparts in the states. During our first week Ethan and I went to the Teatro Municipal to see the La Princesa Indigena pageant. Women from all over the surrounding pueblos arrived to compete dressed in traje typica and armed with an image or object representative of their pueblo. There was an excruciatingly slow procession of all of the contestants, as they shuffled backwards across the stage barefoot, candles aflame; in the end it appeared that they were judged according to their bilingual message to the masses (k'iche and castellano) which addressed indigenous rights and visibility. Less little miss sunshine, and more miss serious activist. Anyway, it was fun to see the little ones finally strut their stuff in the parade. For the past few weeks you could hear the drums and xylophones gearing up for this morning's event. (I'll post a video clip soon) Miraculously we even got to see our niños from La Cuchilla, where we've been teaching Art and English. They had pleaded with us to come see them the day before and sure enough, right before we were about to leave due to parade fatigue, there they were with their Guatemalan flags and high-laced boots grinning and waving at us. I'll write more about the volunteer experience soon, but suffice it to say for now that it has been wonderful! We bike 25 minutes each way to both of our school placements, La Cuchilla and La Candalaria - two of the poorest schools in Xela. The students range from ages 7-14, and are eager to learn, play and give hugs. After each class the girls and a select crew of precocious boys line up to give us 'un beso' before leaving. I'm also working on Saturdays with a group of teenagers who meet from 7 AM to 6 PM every week for an accelerated high school degree program. I have been loving teaching this class of eager, though shy, students.

I uploaded some pictures from our Monday trip to Momostenango. Telma, a woman who cleans Sakribal in the mornings as well as brings her family's beautiful weaving to the school to sell, offered to take the two of us to her home to see more of her wares, the looms themselves, and have lunch. We met Telma at the school and she accompanied us on the Chicken Bus (a souped up school bus crammed with people blasting bachata). We rode up past San Francisco El Alto, the largest market in Guatemala that we visited last Friday where you can get rugs, cow brains and electronics, and continued up into the mountains past the city smog. Telma asked the driver to stop directly outside her house (we never would've been able to find it on our own) and we walked down the slippery, mud path past the chickens - she hurled a rock on the tin roof to let the family know the gringos had arrived.

Telma, her husband Luis, and their six children continue to run the family weaving business started generations ago. Luis made a point of telling us that the children help out for part of the day, but they also attend school. Two in fact are headed to university next year - not a small feat in a country where only 10% of the students graduate - in fact, Luis himself can only read and write a little. They showed us how to card and spin the wool from their sheep, pointed out the materials they use for dying the wool (insects, berries, leaves and wood), and had us work a few rows on a beautiful rug with interlocking blue and white birds. After we finally decided which rug and wall hanging to buy, we had lunch with the family in their kitchen constructed of mud bricks, and ate tortillas cooked on a ceramic pan over the open fire, listening as the conversation drifted between k'iche and castellano. Before we left, Luis took us to the center of town where we saw the Mayan-Catholic church, where Mayan ceremonies take place right alongside Catholic Mass. He welcomed us to return for several days if we like, for a sauna and a hike in the mountains. We didn't want to leave.

But for now it's back to city living; however, Xela really feels like more of a small town (with a little more car exhaust). Everyone we meet is so warm and welcoming. Walking down the street it's completely normal to greet one another with a "buenos dias" or a "buenas tardes" and a wide friendly smile. On Sunday we moved out of our home stay into our new place which was a little bittersweet. We'll miss our family, Zuye and Elton especially, but we hope to visit. Ethan and I found a fantastic apartment inside a Mediterranean restaurant - it's not yet open, but when it is dinner is included! Our landlords are young bohemian ex-pats from Australia and Spain, we have hot water, and a fig tree growing in the courtyard. It's a beautiful space, and our landlords plan on hosting Feria after-parties there, as well as poetry readings and other cultural events when the restaurant opens. Oddly enough our next door neighbor worked at the same wilderness program where I instructed in Loa, UT! Only two and a half weeks down and Xela already feels like home.

Check out Ethan's blog for more about Xela, etc. ethankbirchard.com

El Arco de Iris

2007-08-27T13:43:00.000-07:00

Well, we made it. We’re finally here in

Guatemala

! Our plane touched down in Guate at around 1 PM Saturday and now we’re here in Xela, already beguiled by the place and by the people.

Yesterday our host mother, Maritza, met us at Sakribal with her two adorable children in tow, Elton, 9 and Zuye, 7. Maritza, and her husband, who we haven't officially met, are a little reserved, but their children are incredibly precocious. We spent the entire afternoon on the roof constructing an ever-changing fort or "castillo" under Zuye's careful administration, reading fairy tales, and then moving the entire operation underneath the awning when the afternoon downpour began. At some point in the afternoon Zuye spotted a rainbow suspended above us, pinned up between two clouds like the walls of our castillo. Beautiful! After a little while, some hide and go seek, spinning in circles, and a game of keep-away, Ethan and I managed to get away for a short stroll around the city.

Since our arrival we've been busy with Spanish classes in the morning and volunteering in the afternoon. There's hardly any time at all to write! For now I'll be content with sharing a few photos - and I'll send more news once I'm through with Spanish classes and we've settled into our schedule here.

El Castillo and our hostess