Reason #4 Hawai'i is amazing. Despite its tropical climate and the tourists that invade its shores, Hawai'i is considered a part of the US. Which means I CAN USE MY CELL PHONE TO CALL ANYONE WHENEVER I WANT FOR THE FIRST TIME IN 7 MONTHS.
Seriously, you don't know what you take for granted.
Monday, March 12, 2012
Hawai'i #3
Reason #3 Hawai'i is amazing: I live 4 blocks from the beach, and this is considered far.
Hawai'i #2
Reason #2 Hawai'i is amazing: An all day pass on the Maui bus system is $2, which means that I can almost go anywhere on the island all day for cheap (CHEAP).
Hawai'i #1
Reason #1 Hawai'i is amazing: No daylight savings time. So for the first time in remembered history I am not late to anything because I overslept on March 11th.
Settling Down
The only thing I will ever regret about this year is that I couldn't share the experiences of settling down with my friends. This year, most of my friends have been doing the "grown-up" thing; starting careers, getting apartments, looking for entry level jobs, grocery shopping. You might look at this list and think, why would she regret this?
I am not missing not being able to do these things, but I am going to miss sharing this experience with my friends. When I get around to doing this for keeps, most of my peers will have had jobs and apartments for months, if not the whole year.
I am settling in Hawai'i for a couple of months. I have a shared house, a job, and most importantly, a library card. While this might not seem like much to you, this is a lot for a gypsy who has not sent more then a couple of weeks in one place since August.
I'm going to spend a bit of time re-cooperating while still traveling in a place I've always wanted to go.
I am so proud of my friends who have started to pave their own permanent paths in life, and I can't wait to join them.
I am not missing not being able to do these things, but I am going to miss sharing this experience with my friends. When I get around to doing this for keeps, most of my peers will have had jobs and apartments for months, if not the whole year.
I am settling in Hawai'i for a couple of months. I have a shared house, a job, and most importantly, a library card. While this might not seem like much to you, this is a lot for a gypsy who has not sent more then a couple of weeks in one place since August.
I'm going to spend a bit of time re-cooperating while still traveling in a place I've always wanted to go.
I am so proud of my friends who have started to pave their own permanent paths in life, and I can't wait to join them.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Hawaii!
Did you know that a ticket from Hawaii to DC cost just over 700 dollars?
I do.
'Cause as brave as I might pretend to be, sometimes (most times) I am terrified that I won't finish my trip.
In the meantime: IN HAWAII!
I do.
'Cause as brave as I might pretend to be, sometimes (most times) I am terrified that I won't finish my trip.
In the meantime: IN HAWAII!
Monday, February 27, 2012
Acatenango Part 2
So I'm standing there on a 3 foot wide path, thinking that any sort of mistake is going to be the end of me. The fear of heights grabs me.
Each step is hard, the sandy terrain makes it so that every move you take upward makes you slide back. To go progress one step, you really have to take three steps forward. And if I didn't mention it before, I'm petrified.
I don't often let myself get scared. I'm an anxious person by nature, but I can't always let myself be scared. This whole trip, these past 7 months, have been about what I want to do. And if I let myself be stopped by fear, I'll never take risks. People often tell me when I meet them on my travels that I'm being brave. But to me, this trip feels like something I have to do; fear or no.
It's not about being brave. Something tells me that I won't become the person I'm supposed to become without this trip. And because of that, no matter how tired, lonely, hungry, sad, or angry I get (and have gotten), I will not let myself be paralyzed by fear. This year is going to define me and I'm not about to let something like fear get in the way of that.
But it's not always as easy as making the decision not to be scared. You have to work at it all the time. But the decision is where you start. And so I decide: I'm not going to let fear stop me from making it up this mountain. And you put one foot in front of the other. And again. And again.
You know that if you stop, you're just going to turn around. So the tears threaten to come, but at this point you need to do it, to prove something to yourself-- that you were brave enough to conquer your fears; that you have it in you.
Sometimes it is just too much. I burst into tears. I was a bit hysterical. Heights are something I will probably always be afraid of.
When the tears stopped, as they always eventually do, I realized I was sitting in the sand. In a crater. Specifically, the crater of the volcano. The crater where the lava comes out. You know, the top of the volcano.
We can't be completely free of fear. Sometimes, this is a good thing; fear warns us of danger.
However, when we let those fears stop us from something we always wanted the only person we deprive is ourselves. And in this case, it is hard to find anyone else to blame but yourself.
Each step is hard, the sandy terrain makes it so that every move you take upward makes you slide back. To go progress one step, you really have to take three steps forward. And if I didn't mention it before, I'm petrified.
I don't often let myself get scared. I'm an anxious person by nature, but I can't always let myself be scared. This whole trip, these past 7 months, have been about what I want to do. And if I let myself be stopped by fear, I'll never take risks. People often tell me when I meet them on my travels that I'm being brave. But to me, this trip feels like something I have to do; fear or no.
It's not about being brave. Something tells me that I won't become the person I'm supposed to become without this trip. And because of that, no matter how tired, lonely, hungry, sad, or angry I get (and have gotten), I will not let myself be paralyzed by fear. This year is going to define me and I'm not about to let something like fear get in the way of that.
But it's not always as easy as making the decision not to be scared. You have to work at it all the time. But the decision is where you start. And so I decide: I'm not going to let fear stop me from making it up this mountain. And you put one foot in front of the other. And again. And again.
You know that if you stop, you're just going to turn around. So the tears threaten to come, but at this point you need to do it, to prove something to yourself-- that you were brave enough to conquer your fears; that you have it in you.
Sometimes it is just too much. I burst into tears. I was a bit hysterical. Heights are something I will probably always be afraid of.
When the tears stopped, as they always eventually do, I realized I was sitting in the sand. In a crater. Specifically, the crater of the volcano. The crater where the lava comes out. You know, the top of the volcano.
We can't be completely free of fear. Sometimes, this is a good thing; fear warns us of danger.
However, when we let those fears stop us from something we always wanted the only person we deprive is ourselves. And in this case, it is hard to find anyone else to blame but yourself.
Monday, February 20, 2012
Acatenango Part 1
About two weeks after our trip to Pacaya, Sarah convinced me that we were athletic enough to climb another volcano. We signed up for what was advertised as the trip of a lifetime climbing Volcano Acatenango. This volcano lies next to the famous Volcano Fuego, which is know for its regular, but relatively calm eruptions. Acatenango is also active, erupting about once every 30 years, the last time being around 30 years ago.
Acatenango was a challenge; Sarah and I both knew it going into it. The elevation was 13,045 ft above sea level, so not only would we have to deal with the climb, but the altitude as well. I admit, during the prep talk the night before we headed out, I started to get nervous. I had never done anything like this in my life. The day hikes in Maine with my family were years ago and nothing compared to the strenuous climb that would be Acatenango. But I had already payed.
I awoke at 5:30 early the next morning as the sun was about to show, and Sarah and I walked to Base Camp, a hostel/office in Antigua. I was nervous, like I was about to get up in front of people and sing. My stomach was a mess and I desperately needed to go to the bathroom (like I always seem to need to do when I am nervous).
We packed our once-empty, but now heavy backpacks with supplies for meals, the tent, changes of clothes, and 5 liters of water each. We loaded them into the back of the truck that was to take us to the base of the mountain and after a quick stop in a cafe for breakfast, we headed out as the sun rose.
Robert, our guide, had started our prep-talk by telling us the walk was 20% physical, and 80% mental. For some stupid reason, I didn't believe him until our first break on the mountain about 20 or 30 minutes after we had first started. I was already lagging (my excuse being that I am a sprinter not a marathoner).
I wish that I could say sometime between 8 (when we started) and 11:30 (when we took a break for lunch) that I regrouped, but I have to say most of my morning (and later the afternoon) consisted of falling behind out of sight, only to catch up when the rest of the group took a break. My constant (and only) companion was Lorenzo, the hired gun (literally) who climbed behind me, bringing up the rear.
Lorenzo, I learned speaking only my broken Spanish, was a 57-year-old former farmer who had changed careers because the pay was better guarding gringos on the mountains in the area he used to farm. He was married with a daughter about 4 years older then me. He had been on the climb about 30 times before. Both this, and his history of farming in the hills explained how he could hike consistently with a huge shotgun carried in his hands. His backpack he carried on a strap that he cast around his forehead instead of supporting the majority of the weight on his hips and shoulders. I think he did this because it is the traditional way to carry heavy products in Guatemala.
I wish I could tell you that this was the hardest thing I had ever done, and it probably was the most traumatic for me physically. But knowing I couldn't turn back without making the rest of the group turn back too made it easy. I was going to make it.
And I wasn't going to complain about it either. If I learned anything from those hikes with my family in Maine, is that complaining just makes the whole thing more miserable. So what if I had a slight cramp in my leg from hiking long distances? If I just sat down and cried and complained and whined about it (like I probably would have done in Maine in similar circumstances), it just would have made everyone else miserable, which would make me more miserable, and the cycle would never end.
So I didn't. Not only was I going to make it up the mountain (which had to be a given), but I was going to do it laughing and with a smile on my face (even if it hurt)... (and it did, hurt, I mean).
I complain about the trip now, but the worse came after the saddle.
Most people who know me know that I have a severe fear of heights. In fact, I would say that it is one of the only deterrents of my rampant curiosity to see and experience everything. Sadly, I will probably never go base jumping :( The clearest example I can give of this was my determination about 5 years ago to climb to the top of the dome of St. Peter's Basilica in the Vatican (on the inside). A once in a lifetime opportunity I let pass because I let my fear of heights (and my vertigo) stop me. Obviously, I still remember this.
After you pass the saddle, the path ascends up a step incline of volcanic sand. The path is only wide enough in some areas for a person. But instead of vegetation on both sides of the path, on one side there is a steep incline and on the other an endless steep drop of sand that seems to fall out from under your feet (and does).
By the time we actually started up this way (after a false start complete with heavy packs) we had set up camp in the saddle of the mountain because of a storm. We were able to climb without our packs to the top.
This didn't hurt like the first part had. The first part hurt, but wasn't mentally hard, cause I knew I was going to make it. The second part was not physical stressful, but mentally I didn't think I was going to make it. The rain is starting to come down and the sun is half set. Not that you can see because of the clouds moving in. And I was petrified.
Acatenango was a challenge; Sarah and I both knew it going into it. The elevation was 13,045 ft above sea level, so not only would we have to deal with the climb, but the altitude as well. I admit, during the prep talk the night before we headed out, I started to get nervous. I had never done anything like this in my life. The day hikes in Maine with my family were years ago and nothing compared to the strenuous climb that would be Acatenango. But I had already payed.
I awoke at 5:30 early the next morning as the sun was about to show, and Sarah and I walked to Base Camp, a hostel/office in Antigua. I was nervous, like I was about to get up in front of people and sing. My stomach was a mess and I desperately needed to go to the bathroom (like I always seem to need to do when I am nervous).
We packed our once-empty, but now heavy backpacks with supplies for meals, the tent, changes of clothes, and 5 liters of water each. We loaded them into the back of the truck that was to take us to the base of the mountain and after a quick stop in a cafe for breakfast, we headed out as the sun rose.
Robert, our guide, had started our prep-talk by telling us the walk was 20% physical, and 80% mental. For some stupid reason, I didn't believe him until our first break on the mountain about 20 or 30 minutes after we had first started. I was already lagging (my excuse being that I am a sprinter not a marathoner).
I wish that I could say sometime between 8 (when we started) and 11:30 (when we took a break for lunch) that I regrouped, but I have to say most of my morning (and later the afternoon) consisted of falling behind out of sight, only to catch up when the rest of the group took a break. My constant (and only) companion was Lorenzo, the hired gun (literally) who climbed behind me, bringing up the rear.
Lorenzo, I learned speaking only my broken Spanish, was a 57-year-old former farmer who had changed careers because the pay was better guarding gringos on the mountains in the area he used to farm. He was married with a daughter about 4 years older then me. He had been on the climb about 30 times before. Both this, and his history of farming in the hills explained how he could hike consistently with a huge shotgun carried in his hands. His backpack he carried on a strap that he cast around his forehead instead of supporting the majority of the weight on his hips and shoulders. I think he did this because it is the traditional way to carry heavy products in Guatemala.
I wish I could tell you that this was the hardest thing I had ever done, and it probably was the most traumatic for me physically. But knowing I couldn't turn back without making the rest of the group turn back too made it easy. I was going to make it.
And I wasn't going to complain about it either. If I learned anything from those hikes with my family in Maine, is that complaining just makes the whole thing more miserable. So what if I had a slight cramp in my leg from hiking long distances? If I just sat down and cried and complained and whined about it (like I probably would have done in Maine in similar circumstances), it just would have made everyone else miserable, which would make me more miserable, and the cycle would never end.
So I didn't. Not only was I going to make it up the mountain (which had to be a given), but I was going to do it laughing and with a smile on my face (even if it hurt)... (and it did, hurt, I mean).
I complain about the trip now, but the worse came after the saddle.
Most people who know me know that I have a severe fear of heights. In fact, I would say that it is one of the only deterrents of my rampant curiosity to see and experience everything. Sadly, I will probably never go base jumping :( The clearest example I can give of this was my determination about 5 years ago to climb to the top of the dome of St. Peter's Basilica in the Vatican (on the inside). A once in a lifetime opportunity I let pass because I let my fear of heights (and my vertigo) stop me. Obviously, I still remember this.
After you pass the saddle, the path ascends up a step incline of volcanic sand. The path is only wide enough in some areas for a person. But instead of vegetation on both sides of the path, on one side there is a steep incline and on the other an endless steep drop of sand that seems to fall out from under your feet (and does).
By the time we actually started up this way (after a false start complete with heavy packs) we had set up camp in the saddle of the mountain because of a storm. We were able to climb without our packs to the top.
This didn't hurt like the first part had. The first part hurt, but wasn't mentally hard, cause I knew I was going to make it. The second part was not physical stressful, but mentally I didn't think I was going to make it. The rain is starting to come down and the sun is half set. Not that you can see because of the clouds moving in. And I was petrified.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Real Life
When I'm traveling am I living my real life or taking a break from it?
When I return to the States, will I be going back to my "real life?"
Who cares? this is so much better than whatever else I would have been doing.
Who cares? this is so much better than whatever else I would have been doing.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Shameless Blog-Plug
Like my page on Facebook, to see pictures from Guatemala!
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Around-the-World-in-Days/239638059417642
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Around-the-World-in-Days/239638059417642
This is Guatemala...
This is Guatemala, when...
1) The bus shuttle for your day trip picks you up 20 minutes late and instead of bringing you to your destination, like you assumed it would, it drives around the city for 10 minutes picking and dropping off people until you stop around the corner from where you started and the driver tells you to get out of the car and wait for another bus shuttle.
2) you wait 15 more minutes, the whole time wondering whether a bus is actually going to come, or if you just got tricked out of $8.
3) the driver arrives and when you finally do get on the bus you head to an active volcano (Pacaya) where you have heard that several people died in 2010 when it unexpectedly errupted.
4) the guide, several men with horses, and many kids with walking sticks bombard you when you disembark the bus. The guide wants to simply take you up and down the trail before dark, but the kids want to sell you their walking sticks and they won't give up until that have sold you one. The men with horses just want to charge you to ride a horse up and down the mountain.
5) you find out that entrance to the park was not included in the ticket price, so you and your friend beg from the other tourists 100 quetzales (about 12 bucks) and you get it in return for a promise to pay it back.
6) 5 men with horses follow you up the mountain, waiting for people to get tired so that they can charge them to ride the rest of the way up the mountain, even though only one person actually wants a horse.
7) the terrain you are climbing up keeps shifting under your feet because it is actually not ground, but 25 cm of tiny rocks and debris that rained down over the mountain and the surrounding area when the volcano erupted a year ago.
8) you get to the top of the mountain and half the group has ended up on horseback. Gringos.
9) instead of staying a safe distance from the steaming crater in order to take pictures, the guide leads you through hardened magma to a plateau right under the mouth of the volcano.
10) the guide provides clean sticks to roast the marshmallows you brought. Over lava.
11) you realize that the best s'mores you have ever eaten were cooked over magma (FYI this is quite a good way to toast marshmallows. With a fire the marshmallows are either slow to cook or on fire because you got them too close to the flame. Lava, on the other hand, toasts the marshmallows speedily and there are no worries that they will catch fire.)
12) as you reach the bottom of the volcano, your guide excitedly points off in the distance where you can see another volcano spitting lava into the sky juxapositioned against the dark night sky.
13) you climb back into the shuttle at 7, and the group drives for 20 minutes when the van starts to act up.
14) the van breaks down, full of 11 gringos and the driver. The driver gets out, calls someone, and tries to fix the car on his own.
15) he fails. (though this also happens in America. Frequently)
16) a tow truck comes up, and the driverof your van informs you that it is unsafe to disembark in this area of Guatemala, so you have to stay in the van.
17) the van is jacked up onto the back of the tow truck.
18) the tow truck pulls the van loaded with 12 people all the way back to Antigua in about 2 hours, only stopping once to pick up a passenger up from the side of the road.
19) this is the great adventure that you were hoping for.
1) The bus shuttle for your day trip picks you up 20 minutes late and instead of bringing you to your destination, like you assumed it would, it drives around the city for 10 minutes picking and dropping off people until you stop around the corner from where you started and the driver tells you to get out of the car and wait for another bus shuttle.
2) you wait 15 more minutes, the whole time wondering whether a bus is actually going to come, or if you just got tricked out of $8.
3) the driver arrives and when you finally do get on the bus you head to an active volcano (Pacaya) where you have heard that several people died in 2010 when it unexpectedly errupted.
4) the guide, several men with horses, and many kids with walking sticks bombard you when you disembark the bus. The guide wants to simply take you up and down the trail before dark, but the kids want to sell you their walking sticks and they won't give up until that have sold you one. The men with horses just want to charge you to ride a horse up and down the mountain.
5) you find out that entrance to the park was not included in the ticket price, so you and your friend beg from the other tourists 100 quetzales (about 12 bucks) and you get it in return for a promise to pay it back.
6) 5 men with horses follow you up the mountain, waiting for people to get tired so that they can charge them to ride the rest of the way up the mountain, even though only one person actually wants a horse.
7) the terrain you are climbing up keeps shifting under your feet because it is actually not ground, but 25 cm of tiny rocks and debris that rained down over the mountain and the surrounding area when the volcano erupted a year ago.
8) you get to the top of the mountain and half the group has ended up on horseback. Gringos.
9) instead of staying a safe distance from the steaming crater in order to take pictures, the guide leads you through hardened magma to a plateau right under the mouth of the volcano.
10) the guide provides clean sticks to roast the marshmallows you brought. Over lava.
11) you realize that the best s'mores you have ever eaten were cooked over magma (FYI this is quite a good way to toast marshmallows. With a fire the marshmallows are either slow to cook or on fire because you got them too close to the flame. Lava, on the other hand, toasts the marshmallows speedily and there are no worries that they will catch fire.)
12) as you reach the bottom of the volcano, your guide excitedly points off in the distance where you can see another volcano spitting lava into the sky juxapositioned against the dark night sky.
13) you climb back into the shuttle at 7, and the group drives for 20 minutes when the van starts to act up.
14) the van breaks down, full of 11 gringos and the driver. The driver gets out, calls someone, and tries to fix the car on his own.
15) he fails. (though this also happens in America. Frequently)
16) a tow truck comes up, and the driverof your van informs you that it is unsafe to disembark in this area of Guatemala, so you have to stay in the van.
17) the van is jacked up onto the back of the tow truck.
18) the tow truck pulls the van loaded with 12 people all the way back to Antigua in about 2 hours, only stopping once to pick up a passenger up from the side of the road.
19) this is the great adventure that you were hoping for.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Lucky
Concerning my family... I got lucky.
I'm halfway around the world and I still get voicemails, emails, and conversation almost daily (when I get online really).
If they weren't so supportive, there is no way I'd be able to do this.
I'm halfway around the world and I still get voicemails, emails, and conversation almost daily (when I get online really).
If they weren't so supportive, there is no way I'd be able to do this.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Old Shoes
For Emily and Sarah.
It's funny how we let ourselves be defined by labels.
I think it starts in elementary school, when you actually start becoming your own person making your own desicions. You hear yourself labeled one time and you either embrace it completely or reject it. The label "tomboy" could mean that you spend your formulative years wearing anything but dresses, or only wearing dresses.
It's like the first pair of shoes you got to choose yourself; it's not exactly what you wanted, but it is what your mother thought you needed for school. So you make it work.
But the labeling doesn't end in elementary school. In middle school you become a nerd, or an athlete, or a pagent princess. For me, I was the "outsider."
And so in high school, the label "introvert" just becomes an scientific-sounding progression of that previous label. How easy it is to go from "tomboy" to "outsider" to "introvert." The labels become less defining, but it doesn't stop us from trying to live them up or down.
You think that college is a whole new beginning, but you've lived in the labels so long that college ends up just being an extension of high school. Unless you take drastic action that summer before freshman year (changing you name, your hair, your clothes, losing that baby fat, etc.), you continue to be an "introvert". It's simply easier that way.
You even leave the country, and you hold on to those labels. They mean something at this point. They're an explaination for that hard question: "Why are you the way you are?"
"It's hard for me to meet people 'cause I'm an introvert."
"It's hard for me to learn new things 'cause I'm not much of a studier."
"It's hard for me to try new things 'cause I'm more of a reader than an doer."
And then you realize, in the middle of a conversation with a friend, that she thinks your an extrovert. Of course, you protest vehemently, because if you aren't an "introvert"... then what are you?
But nevertheless you begin to wonder.
Out of curiousity, you take a personality test.
And you find out, she might be right.
"It's hard for me to meet people," you've been saying to your new friends.
"It's hard for me to learn new things," you've been saying in your beginner's spanish.
"It's hard for me to try new things," you've been saying while traveling the world.
Maybe it was easier to explain why you couldn't do something than to just do it.
You'd been so worried about explaining your limitations to yourself that you haven't realized you've outgrown the labels (and the limitations). Maybe you find that the labels never really truly fit right. Like that pair of shoes that's a smidgen too small that you wear because it's easier to keep wearing them then go shopping for new ones.
Maybe, like shoes, you can never own just one label. Or maybe, like shoes, you're constantly wearing them out.
It's funny how we let ourselves be defined by labels.
I think it starts in elementary school, when you actually start becoming your own person making your own desicions. You hear yourself labeled one time and you either embrace it completely or reject it. The label "tomboy" could mean that you spend your formulative years wearing anything but dresses, or only wearing dresses.
It's like the first pair of shoes you got to choose yourself; it's not exactly what you wanted, but it is what your mother thought you needed for school. So you make it work.
But the labeling doesn't end in elementary school. In middle school you become a nerd, or an athlete, or a pagent princess. For me, I was the "outsider."
And so in high school, the label "introvert" just becomes an scientific-sounding progression of that previous label. How easy it is to go from "tomboy" to "outsider" to "introvert." The labels become less defining, but it doesn't stop us from trying to live them up or down.
You think that college is a whole new beginning, but you've lived in the labels so long that college ends up just being an extension of high school. Unless you take drastic action that summer before freshman year (changing you name, your hair, your clothes, losing that baby fat, etc.), you continue to be an "introvert". It's simply easier that way.
You even leave the country, and you hold on to those labels. They mean something at this point. They're an explaination for that hard question: "Why are you the way you are?"
"It's hard for me to meet people 'cause I'm an introvert."
"It's hard for me to learn new things 'cause I'm not much of a studier."
"It's hard for me to try new things 'cause I'm more of a reader than an doer."
And then you realize, in the middle of a conversation with a friend, that she thinks your an extrovert. Of course, you protest vehemently, because if you aren't an "introvert"... then what are you?
But nevertheless you begin to wonder.
Out of curiousity, you take a personality test.
And you find out, she might be right.
"It's hard for me to meet people," you've been saying to your new friends.
"It's hard for me to learn new things," you've been saying in your beginner's spanish.
"It's hard for me to try new things," you've been saying while traveling the world.
Maybe it was easier to explain why you couldn't do something than to just do it.
You'd been so worried about explaining your limitations to yourself that you haven't realized you've outgrown the labels (and the limitations). Maybe you find that the labels never really truly fit right. Like that pair of shoes that's a smidgen too small that you wear because it's easier to keep wearing them then go shopping for new ones.
Maybe, like shoes, you can never own just one label. Or maybe, like shoes, you're constantly wearing them out.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
La Antigua
They call it the "Antique Guatemala" because that it just what it is. Before Guatemala City was the capital, the seat was held in Antigua. The city was hit by two devastating earthquakes (of 1717 and 1773), after which the capital was moved to its current location. But walking through the streets of Antigua it is easy to imagine that the Spanish Military government held power here for decades. The architecture is glaringly colonial and they churches positioned on every other street corner (I am only exaggerating a bit) retain the echoes of past religious conflicts.
The heart of Antigua resides in the Central Park, or Parque Central. The rest of the city is organized grid-wise with "avenidas" running north to south and "calles" running west to east. The entire city is surrounded by active and inactive volcanoes. Any direction you look, you see the mountains looming into the clouds (that is if there are clouds, the sky has been surprisingly clear since I have arrive, probably because the rainy season in Guatemala is in late summer) The streets are composed of old cobblestone that you can image has been here since the city was first built. Drive to fast on the road, as most of the drivers do here, and you will be in danger of giving all your passengers motion-sickness.
The house I am staying in sits in the most north-western part of the city. A white house, with two levels, the windows are barred ( like most of the windows in Antigua). I live on the upper floor. It is usual in Guatemala for there to be spaces in the houses open to nature. For example, the courtyard of our house (not really a courtyard, more of a small area open to the sky) resides on the first floor of the house. But my window and the common balcony open over it. This means that every time I leave my room, I actually step outdoors. But it doesn't matter; the weather is warm and it rarely rains this time of the year.
I've had two housemates that I've lived with since I arrived. Ester, who had departed to return to the States (but who lived in Washington, DC for a time, which clearly makes her a kindred spirit) and KC. Both girls attend the same Spanish school that I do.
The school is gorgeous. Unlike the many other Spanish schools that seem to pop-up (or have popped- up) all over Antigua, the school that I attend, Christian Spanish Academy (a former school for missionaries that still seems to attract many people of the faith) is very professional. At every table in the school it is possible for the student to see the sky directly. I, however, have the best table of all. My teacher, Lisa, and I sit at a table in the middle of the modest courtyard surrounded by flowers, bushes, and (after 10 am) the sun. I don't think I've ever learned as well as I have outside. Lisa also tends to have patience with me (which most teachers in the States have lacked). She seems to understand that sometimes I just need to be standing when conjugating verbs. If you are ever looking for a school to learn Spanish, I heartily recommend this one. Note: the teachers don't speak English, you learn entirely in Spanish.
The heart of Antigua resides in the Central Park, or Parque Central. The rest of the city is organized grid-wise with "avenidas" running north to south and "calles" running west to east. The entire city is surrounded by active and inactive volcanoes. Any direction you look, you see the mountains looming into the clouds (that is if there are clouds, the sky has been surprisingly clear since I have arrive, probably because the rainy season in Guatemala is in late summer) The streets are composed of old cobblestone that you can image has been here since the city was first built. Drive to fast on the road, as most of the drivers do here, and you will be in danger of giving all your passengers motion-sickness.
The house I am staying in sits in the most north-western part of the city. A white house, with two levels, the windows are barred ( like most of the windows in Antigua). I live on the upper floor. It is usual in Guatemala for there to be spaces in the houses open to nature. For example, the courtyard of our house (not really a courtyard, more of a small area open to the sky) resides on the first floor of the house. But my window and the common balcony open over it. This means that every time I leave my room, I actually step outdoors. But it doesn't matter; the weather is warm and it rarely rains this time of the year.
I've had two housemates that I've lived with since I arrived. Ester, who had departed to return to the States (but who lived in Washington, DC for a time, which clearly makes her a kindred spirit) and KC. Both girls attend the same Spanish school that I do.
The school is gorgeous. Unlike the many other Spanish schools that seem to pop-up (or have popped- up) all over Antigua, the school that I attend, Christian Spanish Academy (a former school for missionaries that still seems to attract many people of the faith) is very professional. At every table in the school it is possible for the student to see the sky directly. I, however, have the best table of all. My teacher, Lisa, and I sit at a table in the middle of the modest courtyard surrounded by flowers, bushes, and (after 10 am) the sun. I don't think I've ever learned as well as I have outside. Lisa also tends to have patience with me (which most teachers in the States have lacked). She seems to understand that sometimes I just need to be standing when conjugating verbs. If you are ever looking for a school to learn Spanish, I heartily recommend this one. Note: the teachers don't speak English, you learn entirely in Spanish.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Eating Alone
Worse three things about going to Lunch alone in Guatemala:
1. No one to hold the camera for you when you pass beautiful Guatemalan buildings on your way to lunch. So you inevitably end up with My-space like pictures that clearly emphasis you worst superficial qualities.
2. No one to watch your stuff for you when you need to go to the bathroom in a restaurant. So either you pack up all your things and take them to the bathroom with you, you let them get stolen, or you wait until finished eating to go to the bathroom :(
3. No one in the whole cafe gets your very witty United States-esque inside jokes.
1. No one to hold the camera for you when you pass beautiful Guatemalan buildings on your way to lunch. So you inevitably end up with My-space like pictures that clearly emphasis you worst superficial qualities.
2. No one to watch your stuff for you when you need to go to the bathroom in a restaurant. So either you pack up all your things and take them to the bathroom with you, you let them get stolen, or you wait until finished eating to go to the bathroom :(
3. No one in the whole cafe gets your very witty United States-esque inside jokes.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Buses
There are three types of bus in Guatemala.
There are the charter buses. These are usually reserved for long distances. For example, Alej and I took a charter bus from Guatemala City to Xela on my first full day in the country. These buses are usually the nicest and the newest. The seat recline and there are seat belts. Though the bus driver might let a few vendors on the bus to sell their wares, it usually only happens when the bus driver or his right hand man (the man collecting money in exchange for money, helping people with bags, etc.) knows the vendor (or is receiving some kind of bonus from the vendor) since the charter companies try to cut down on this kind of hassling. Baggage is stored in a compartment under the bus and the fare is about 6 USD or 40 Queztals. This is the kind of bus that I gather tourists usually take.
There are micro-buses. These are private buses (and I use the term buses liberally; they are really no more than painted vans stuffed with extra seats) that, I take it, are usually owned by the drivers. Their right-hand man is usually a boy in his late teens, no older than me. The boy hangs by one arm out of the open doors calling the bus destination as the bus rumbles down the cobbled streets of Xela, which date back to a time before cars. One ride is about 1.25 Queztals (about a third of a dollar) so this is a popular mode of transportation in a city as sprawling as Xela. You know which bus to take from the Route number hand-painted on the side of the van. I did not see one tourist besides myself on these buses, and I only thought to take one cause Alej was there to keep me from getting completely lost in the convoluted system.
Then, there are what Alej calls "chicken buses." She says she calls them this because they tie chickens to the top of the buses. I haven't seen this yet, but when we took this type of bus from Xela to Pana (a city by the lake that lies about halfway between Xela and Antigua- my final destination in Guatemala) this is where they tied my huge backpack. These buses are retired school buses from the States that have been painted in many different bold colors, which indicate ownership. Seat belts have been removed and racks have been installed above the seats for small baggage. The right-hand man in this case is also the porter, loading heavy bags on top of the bus and looking for potential customers (also by standing in the doorway of the bus as it slowly passes groups of people on the side of the road). Mostly this kind of bus is full of Guatemalans, but on the second leg of our trip to Antigua, Alej and I saw a lot of tourists from out of the country.
There are the charter buses. These are usually reserved for long distances. For example, Alej and I took a charter bus from Guatemala City to Xela on my first full day in the country. These buses are usually the nicest and the newest. The seat recline and there are seat belts. Though the bus driver might let a few vendors on the bus to sell their wares, it usually only happens when the bus driver or his right hand man (the man collecting money in exchange for money, helping people with bags, etc.) knows the vendor (or is receiving some kind of bonus from the vendor) since the charter companies try to cut down on this kind of hassling. Baggage is stored in a compartment under the bus and the fare is about 6 USD or 40 Queztals. This is the kind of bus that I gather tourists usually take.
There are micro-buses. These are private buses (and I use the term buses liberally; they are really no more than painted vans stuffed with extra seats) that, I take it, are usually owned by the drivers. Their right-hand man is usually a boy in his late teens, no older than me. The boy hangs by one arm out of the open doors calling the bus destination as the bus rumbles down the cobbled streets of Xela, which date back to a time before cars. One ride is about 1.25 Queztals (about a third of a dollar) so this is a popular mode of transportation in a city as sprawling as Xela. You know which bus to take from the Route number hand-painted on the side of the van. I did not see one tourist besides myself on these buses, and I only thought to take one cause Alej was there to keep me from getting completely lost in the convoluted system.
Then, there are what Alej calls "chicken buses." She says she calls them this because they tie chickens to the top of the buses. I haven't seen this yet, but when we took this type of bus from Xela to Pana (a city by the lake that lies about halfway between Xela and Antigua- my final destination in Guatemala) this is where they tied my huge backpack. These buses are retired school buses from the States that have been painted in many different bold colors, which indicate ownership. Seat belts have been removed and racks have been installed above the seats for small baggage. The right-hand man in this case is also the porter, loading heavy bags on top of the bus and looking for potential customers (also by standing in the doorway of the bus as it slowly passes groups of people on the side of the road). Mostly this kind of bus is full of Guatemalans, but on the second leg of our trip to Antigua, Alej and I saw a lot of tourists from out of the country.
Scooter
Riding on the back of a scooter may not be the safest way to get around, but I have discovered that it might be one of the more fun ways.
Black Sand
The sand covering the beach of the area where Alej's grandmother took us to was covered in black sand, the product of years of volcanic rock erosion. The drive there took two hours, past sugar cane fields mid-harvest ('tis the season) and waterparks. The last hour of the drive was spent swerving back and forth on a road so riddled with potholes that it was impossible to take a nap. But it was worth it. We ended up at a parking lot, where we disembarked only to haul our belongings onto a old wooden motor boat that took us to the other side of a river. We were then on an island (or peninsula). We walked to the other side of the little land mass to discover beautiful palm trees and the salty breeze that you only find near the ocean.
The first thing we did was change in to our bathing suits.
The second was head down to the beach for a late lunch at a fish shack on the sand. Best fried fish I have ever had, caught the previous day or that morning, coated in unidentifiable spices and fried in oil served with papas fritas (french fries) and cold Coca-Cola in glass bottles. The left-overs were fed to the stray dogs and pigs that roamed the beach.
After lunch we headed to the beach. The water was warm from the tropic weather that you can only find at similar latitudes. Alej and I spent hours in the water; past the time where our digits got prune-y. We talked about mermaids, swimming, anything, as the waves broke over us. The sun set just before we hit the beach. But our day wasn't over yet.
We hit the pool for a hour or so, only emerging for a scrambled eggs dinner. Then showers, a walk down the beach with our feet in the water, Popsicles made with blended fresh fruit, and a sit-down around the pool tables. We were exhausted by the time our heads hit the pillows in our hotel room.
The day started much in the same way. Back to the beach for another hour in the sea before breakfast at the fish place, back to beach, the pool, more fried fish and papas fritas torn apart and eaten with our hands, back to the beach to wash greasy hands in the salty water and swim. Then it was time to leave.
Black sand is hotter than regular sea. Not because it's volcanic, but because of the color which absorbs more heat. In the mid-day, if you weren't wearing sandals, you were running as fast as your feet would take you to the next shadow.
We showered of the sand from uncomfortable places on our bodies, packed up the room, had a last popsicle, took the boat over to the mainland, and got back in the car. At first only Alej's 6-year-old cousin was able to sleep on the pot-hole ridden road, but by the time we pulled up at her grandmother's house after dark I had fallen fast asleep. Lots of beach and sun and fish and running on the beach and talk of mermaids will do that to you.
The first thing we did was change in to our bathing suits.
The second was head down to the beach for a late lunch at a fish shack on the sand. Best fried fish I have ever had, caught the previous day or that morning, coated in unidentifiable spices and fried in oil served with papas fritas (french fries) and cold Coca-Cola in glass bottles. The left-overs were fed to the stray dogs and pigs that roamed the beach.
After lunch we headed to the beach. The water was warm from the tropic weather that you can only find at similar latitudes. Alej and I spent hours in the water; past the time where our digits got prune-y. We talked about mermaids, swimming, anything, as the waves broke over us. The sun set just before we hit the beach. But our day wasn't over yet.
We hit the pool for a hour or so, only emerging for a scrambled eggs dinner. Then showers, a walk down the beach with our feet in the water, Popsicles made with blended fresh fruit, and a sit-down around the pool tables. We were exhausted by the time our heads hit the pillows in our hotel room.
The day started much in the same way. Back to the beach for another hour in the sea before breakfast at the fish place, back to beach, the pool, more fried fish and papas fritas torn apart and eaten with our hands, back to the beach to wash greasy hands in the salty water and swim. Then it was time to leave.
Black sand is hotter than regular sea. Not because it's volcanic, but because of the color which absorbs more heat. In the mid-day, if you weren't wearing sandals, you were running as fast as your feet would take you to the next shadow.
We showered of the sand from uncomfortable places on our bodies, packed up the room, had a last popsicle, took the boat over to the mainland, and got back in the car. At first only Alej's 6-year-old cousin was able to sleep on the pot-hole ridden road, but by the time we pulled up at her grandmother's house after dark I had fallen fast asleep. Lots of beach and sun and fish and running on the beach and talk of mermaids will do that to you.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Xela
After a night spent at Alej's mom's house in the suburbs of Guatemala City (think gated, planned suburban community), Alej and I set out on the bus for Quetzaltenango, or Xela (pronounce Shay-la) for short. It is a good thing the city has a nickname, cause this gringa has yet to figure out how to pronounce the formal name. Xela is about 200 km (125 miles) west of Guatemala city, and the ride on the slow-going bus took us about 4 hours of frequent stops where food peddlers got on and off the bus trying to sell us their wares.
Queztzaltenango is a sprawling town with a tourist area centered around the town square. Alej's grandparents, whom we are staying with until I leave for La Antigua (another town in Guatemala) and Alej leaves to go back to college. Their house is about a 15 to 20 minute walk from the center square; a walk, according to Alej, which should not be attempted after dark when one is by oneself. This area of town is really nice; Alej took me to a cafe where she does to read sometimes, and we enjoyed inexpensive cups of cafe con leche (coffe with milk) for several hours while people watching the Americans and Australians, who were practicing their Spanish, and reading our books.
After a couple of days of taking it easy, seeing the sites close to Alej's house (the church, the graveyard, the Guatemalan equivalent of the DMV [Alej needed to renew her license]) we decided to head to La Antigua with her aunt for a night.
La Antigua is a tourist haven. Hostels all over the place, Spanish language schools galore, expensive (compared to other Guatemalan prices) trinkets for gringos to buy for other gringos back home, clubs, etc. We stayed in a hostel where we got a room with a private bath and breakfast ordered off the menu, all for less than 70 Quetzales (about 8.90 USD).
Then back to Xela, for a few days exploring the town square park at night, eating pupusas (tortilla like bread stuffed with cheese and/or meat covered with lettuce and salsa; traditionally Salvadorian) from street vendors, trying carnitas (small tortillas loaded with meat, fried in oil; traditionally Mexican), and discovering the best warm drink ever, ever, ever called ponche de leche (a sweet warm milk covered with cinnamon; Alej's friend Rodrigo said that I probably couldn't ask the vendors what was actually in it cause they wouldn't want me to sell it myself).
We also climbed up (or strolled along - depending on your fitness level; for me it was a climb, yet several locals were running up the road) on the of the seven mountains surrounding the city so that I could behold the entire city. They also have these huge cement slides at the top of the mountains that kids slide down sitting on squashed liter soda bottles and pieces of cardboard. I went down once, but I admit that I found the monkey bars and the see-saw (subibaja in Spanish; up and down) much more diverting.
Then on Sunday, we headed for the beach.
Queztzaltenango is a sprawling town with a tourist area centered around the town square. Alej's grandparents, whom we are staying with until I leave for La Antigua (another town in Guatemala) and Alej leaves to go back to college. Their house is about a 15 to 20 minute walk from the center square; a walk, according to Alej, which should not be attempted after dark when one is by oneself. This area of town is really nice; Alej took me to a cafe where she does to read sometimes, and we enjoyed inexpensive cups of cafe con leche (coffe with milk) for several hours while people watching the Americans and Australians, who were practicing their Spanish, and reading our books.
After a couple of days of taking it easy, seeing the sites close to Alej's house (the church, the graveyard, the Guatemalan equivalent of the DMV [Alej needed to renew her license]) we decided to head to La Antigua with her aunt for a night.
La Antigua is a tourist haven. Hostels all over the place, Spanish language schools galore, expensive (compared to other Guatemalan prices) trinkets for gringos to buy for other gringos back home, clubs, etc. We stayed in a hostel where we got a room with a private bath and breakfast ordered off the menu, all for less than 70 Quetzales (about 8.90 USD).
Then back to Xela, for a few days exploring the town square park at night, eating pupusas (tortilla like bread stuffed with cheese and/or meat covered with lettuce and salsa; traditionally Salvadorian) from street vendors, trying carnitas (small tortillas loaded with meat, fried in oil; traditionally Mexican), and discovering the best warm drink ever, ever, ever called ponche de leche (a sweet warm milk covered with cinnamon; Alej's friend Rodrigo said that I probably couldn't ask the vendors what was actually in it cause they wouldn't want me to sell it myself).
We also climbed up (or strolled along - depending on your fitness level; for me it was a climb, yet several locals were running up the road) on the of the seven mountains surrounding the city so that I could behold the entire city. They also have these huge cement slides at the top of the mountains that kids slide down sitting on squashed liter soda bottles and pieces of cardboard. I went down once, but I admit that I found the monkey bars and the see-saw (subibaja in Spanish; up and down) much more diverting.
Then on Sunday, we headed for the beach.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
I'm Back!
Happy Belated Holidays and New Year!
It has been a while since my last post. I've been with my family exploring parts of Chile and Peru, and since I was with the people who I really write the blog for, I took a bit of a vacation for the winter holidays.
But after a wonderful excursion to Macchu Picchu with my sister, my brother, and my parents (complete with all the together time this implies), my family once again split up to our respective lives, my sister going back to California, my brother and Dad heading off to watch Stanford compete in the Fiesta Bowl, and my mom to hold down the fort back home in Virginia. I headed off for Guatemala. After a round of hugging in the El Salvador airport, I took a quick flight to Guatemala (and when I say quick, I mean barely half an hour).
Peru was spectacular, and when I say Peru, I mostly mean Machu Picchu. Even after 2 days exploring the ruins and the surrounding area, there was so much I missed. (Photos on Facebook coming soon so that you can see what I explored in Peru). My only comment is that Hiram Bingham (the "discoverer" of Machu Picchu) was not as cool as he thought he was. Apparently, he hired some farmers to show him the area and they brought him to the ruins which THE LOCALS ALREADY KNEW ABOUT. So yeah, maybe not deserving of as much credit as we tend to give him (not that he doesn't deserve any credit, I mean it is pretty cool that the world knows about it now).
We also spent some time as a family in Lima, Peru near the Huaca Pucllana (which my parents and I thought was really cool, but my siblings found boring: http://www.mirafloresperu.com/en/tourist-miraflores-lima-peru/huaca-pucllana.php. I would say if your in Lima and you have a couple of free hours check it out) ruins in the middle of Miraflores (a mostly touristic part of town). Be warned, though, a visit to Lima is a whole new experience of traffic. Just getting in a out of their centro historico could take you 1-2 hours (not counting the actually sightseeing) and the air pollution from the cars is barely breathable.
So now I'm here, in Guatemala, at my friend Alej's house (a good friend from college who is originally from the country).
It has been a while since my last post. I've been with my family exploring parts of Chile and Peru, and since I was with the people who I really write the blog for, I took a bit of a vacation for the winter holidays.
But after a wonderful excursion to Macchu Picchu with my sister, my brother, and my parents (complete with all the together time this implies), my family once again split up to our respective lives, my sister going back to California, my brother and Dad heading off to watch Stanford compete in the Fiesta Bowl, and my mom to hold down the fort back home in Virginia. I headed off for Guatemala. After a round of hugging in the El Salvador airport, I took a quick flight to Guatemala (and when I say quick, I mean barely half an hour).
Peru was spectacular, and when I say Peru, I mostly mean Machu Picchu. Even after 2 days exploring the ruins and the surrounding area, there was so much I missed. (Photos on Facebook coming soon so that you can see what I explored in Peru). My only comment is that Hiram Bingham (the "discoverer" of Machu Picchu) was not as cool as he thought he was. Apparently, he hired some farmers to show him the area and they brought him to the ruins which THE LOCALS ALREADY KNEW ABOUT. So yeah, maybe not deserving of as much credit as we tend to give him (not that he doesn't deserve any credit, I mean it is pretty cool that the world knows about it now).
We also spent some time as a family in Lima, Peru near the Huaca Pucllana (which my parents and I thought was really cool, but my siblings found boring: http://www.mirafloresperu.com/en/tourist-miraflores-lima-peru/huaca-pucllana.php. I would say if your in Lima and you have a couple of free hours check it out) ruins in the middle of Miraflores (a mostly touristic part of town). Be warned, though, a visit to Lima is a whole new experience of traffic. Just getting in a out of their centro historico could take you 1-2 hours (not counting the actually sightseeing) and the air pollution from the cars is barely breathable.
So now I'm here, in Guatemala, at my friend Alej's house (a good friend from college who is originally from the country).
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