Coffee Anyone?

On Sunday, a maestro took six students to see a finca de cafe. Guatemala has produced some of the best coffee in the world for a long time. We drove about an hour south of Xela to the other (warm) side of the mountains and we were suddenly in coffee heaven. Before we stopped to learn all about it though, we got in a little zip line action.
Zip lines are a big tourist draw here to supplement the farm and it is a nice thrill. We only went on three of the 11 available lines that this particular coffee farm offers, but it was completely worth the $9.

We drove a short distance to the next farm, which is one of the few cooperative (non-profit) coffee farms in the country, making it a very appealing place to work. Thirteen families live there permanently and work the fields by hand. The harvest season is from September through January, bringing in more workers. All of the farms offer this seasonal work to families (women and children too), but apparently many of them exploit the workers and do not pay as well as they should in order to maximize profit. Coffee used to be the main export for Guatemala, but with the big coffee boon of the 90s, Brazil jumped in and drove prices way down all around the world. So much of the land of Guatemala was converted to other crops that are less labor intensive, leaving many families without jobs. Coffee is still one of the main exports of the country, and the organic movement is creating new opportunities for farms here to prosper.
 
Here are some coffee beans before they’ve been processed. The red ones are the “gold” coffee. You can easily peel the skin and there’s a gooey substance surrounding the bean that tastes like honey. The green and yellow beans are the duds. The skins are tough to peel and there’s no sweet gooey goodness inside. Not to be wasted, they’re used to make your instant coffee. (By the way to my Boo and coffee-addicted friends, don’t expect me to bring gold coffee home as a gift. Since most Guatemalans can’t afford it, it’s easier to find it in the US than it is here.) At this particular farm, there are a few crude machines (built by entrepreneuring Germans in the 30s) used to separate the peels, but most of the steps here are done by hand before the beans are sold to roasting companies.
The terrain for the coffee trees is beautiful, with banana trees and another type of bean tree interspersed to provide shade for the coffee. But I can’t imagine walking through this jungle, picking beans by hand. Also, there are these little black blood-sucking bugs that will eat you alive. They’re actually not as bad as mosquitoes because they don’t make you itch, but you don’t even notice them until you see all the blood on your arms. Like this:
Those little red bites ended up covering both of my arms by the end of the day. I had a long sleeved-shirt, but it was hot out and the bites don’t really hurt, so I sucked it up. Or, let them suck it up.

After the finca, we drove a little farther and hiked close to the summit of Volcan Santiaguito, where there’s a lake for swimming. We crossed a mad river, and I wish I could’ve gotten a better picture showing our fear, but it was much scarier than the zip line. We had to build a human chain to make it across.
 

The lake water was tranquil and slightly cold, but we had to do it. A couple of times, we felt like we were getting nibbled on in the water, which was disconcerting, especially after that new piranha movie just came out. But we survived.

The ride home was another adventure. I’ve mentioned the crazy driving here, and I still have no idea how there aren’t more mega-accidents. With the exception of the road to Guatemala City, there are only two-lane highways here and people are willing to pass each other about anytime, regardless of a mountain curve ahead or not. Even the buses do it. I guess when everyone is crazy, no one is. Just another day in Guatemala.

Los Perros

There are stray dogs everywhere in this country. It’s quite fascinating to study their culture. Many dogs just walk the streets alone, keeping their heads and tails down, avoiding any contact with people. Often, they’re in pairs and seem to be enjoying life a little bit more with a companion. But you’ll also see the occasional dog gang either roaming the streets together or huddled up sleeping together to stay warm. They’re really good at using the sidewalks, for the most part, and crossing busy streets without getting hit by a car. While I’m sure they’re full of fleas and many look pretty down on their luck, a lot of the street dogs appear healthy. Los perros survive mostly by digging through heaps of garbage bags that have been placed on sidewalks. This means that garbage is often strewn all over the place afterwards. You don’t mess with the dogs when they’re scrounging for their food. They also don’t mess with each other, as the alpha dogs always get first dibs by fending off others. Though I have seen a dog dash in to grab a garbage bag and take off with it while the alpha dog was busy with another bag.

 
Here’s a pack of dogs sleeping in the rain in the park. I enjoy watching how they interact with each other, though sometimes they get territorial with people too. I was walking alone at night last week and there was a gang of about six dogs hanging out on the sidewalk. Though I was walking in the street and not really paying them any attention, they were not happy with my presence. They barked a lot, which is normal, but then as I walked directly past them, they actually started coming at me, growling. Fortunately, I didn’t panic and just turned my back to them and kept walking. A kid a few hundred feet behind me got the same treatment, though he started running and they chased him a bit. I know that sometimes people carry rocks in their pockets to back them off. That’s the scariest moment I’ve had here, actually, but it’s the only time I’ve felt truly threatened.  Also, I have seen some fights between dogs that are being territorial. When we went to work on the stove project on Wednesday, a woman had her dog walking with us and it kept getting attacked by the other dogs in the barrio. If it hadn’t been rolling with humans, I don’t think it would’ve made it out of there alive.

Of course, there are lots of people that own dogs too, and apparently many dogs do have a casa, they’re just not allowed inside. They are clearly breeding like crazy, as many of the females have teets that are ready for a litter. Though I’m not sure how the puppies would make it for long if the mothers are just trying to survive themselves. The males follow the females all over the place, trying to get a little action. (R-rated warning time a mi famiia!) Last week, there was a gang of dogs in the middle of a busy street, seemingly just hanging out.
Now, let me describe this picture a little more. The two brown dogs in the middle are connected. Not doggie-style, but trust me, they’re connected. The bigger one is the boy. The other dogs are growling at the cars and pedestrians, seemingly protecting the pair in the middle. Some cars honked, but mostly they just drove around the group. Annie and I watched this with bemusement for a few minutes, then stared in awe after they disconnected because that perro was hung like a caballo! Seriously impressive. So, they finished and the dog gang took off.

The perros just seem to be part of the culture in this country, for better or worse. And for the most part, it’s a peaceful coexistence with the humans. It’s certainly a good show.

Monday Musings

• Me and 12 of my closest friends in Xela went to the water park Saturday. It had lots of great slides and wasn't very crowded. We took a chicken bus about and hour and a half south of Xela, in a much warmer climate. The bus ride through the mountains was glorious. Most of the day was slightly overcast, which was brilliant as it didn’t ever get too hot. However, I forgot to put on sunscreen, which was not brilliant. You would think that, as a pasty white guy for 38 years, I’d have sunscreen figured out. So much for evolution.
• When we got back from the water park around 7 pm, we had planned on going to the fútbol game between Xela and some other schmucks. But most people, including me, were pretty exhausted and bailed. It’s definitely on the list though and we’ll try again in a couple of weeks. It’s a big party before and after the game, but no drinks are allowed in the stadium itself. The city was eerily quiet for those two hours, as everyone was either at the game or watching it on TV. Xela won, by the way.
• One of the things that simultaneously frustrates me and makes me happy is that there are very few behemoth stores here. I love that big cookie-cutter Walmart-type stores are rare. It’s every little-man for himself, with mom-and-pop shops dominating the streets. On the other hand, today I had to go to four different stores to find Chapstick.
• I love how many motorcycles are in this town, but they’re crazy. They pack as many people as possible on them. It’s not unusual to see a dad and his two kids in their school uniforms, one in front and one in back, hanging on for dear life. I just saw a dad with a kid that was maybe two years-old in front of him, not able to hang on himself, just being cradled by dad. This would be a dangerous scenario in any circumstance, but add the fact that the streets here are awful, and I have no idea how those kids aren’t flying off all the time. But hey, at least they’re going to school.
• Because we’re also a bit crazy, my amigos Annie de Los Angeles, Chris de San Francisco, and I want to rent motorcycles and take a trip. Unfortunately, Xela’s not a touristy hotspot, so it doesn’t have a place that rents motorcycles. But we hope to take a trip to Panajachel soon, where they do have a place that rents them. May the motorcycle gods love us.
• My housemate, Kelly de Minnesota, has gone home, leaving me and Maria de Xela alone. It was nice to have another person around to chat with at home in Spanish, so I’ll miss her. But, she had a room with it’s own bathroom. So yup, I’m in my third room in three weeks. I’ve downgraded my bed again, though it’s not nearly as bad as the first one. And not sharing a bathroom with five other people? Priceless!
• Two weeks down, seven to go. And I feel a bit overwhelmed by how much Spanish I don’t know. If my original goal was to graduate from the School of Spanish Fluency, I’m probably in 2nd grade right now and I’ll be happy to make it to middle school. I think I would need a solid six months, at least, to graduate. I’m frustrated because I keep looking up the same words over and over in the dictionary. Why won’t stuff just sink in once and for all? Stupid 38 year-old brain!
• I’m off to my final doctor’s appointment for the diarrhea study I participated in. Thank goodness all is back to normal. I’m tempted to eat some street food though, because I’ll miss the $20 US per visit they paid me. That buys a heck of a lot of chocobananos. Besos y’all!

Fair and Balanced

So, I could easily go to parts of Los Angeles, Detroit, or Sheridan, Michigan, take some pictures and tell you that I’m in a third world country. I showed some pictures the other day showing living conditions in Xela, but to be fair there are parts of Xela that are quite nice and “American.” Like, the mall.
 

There is a healthy middle-class in Xela, as it hosts several universities and hospitals. However, the disproportion of poor families to families that can afford to go to the mall is the biggest difference compared to back home. While there are certainly pockets of poverty in the US, here there are only pockets of prosperity. And even most of the middle class folks here drive smokin’ (not in the hot way) cars on the terrible streets.

One thing I’m very happy about is that there are enough middle-class people here to support a water park. Xocomil is about an hour away from Xela by bus, in a warmer/sunnier valley, and a couple of people from my school said it’s awesome. Oh, and it only costs $13 to get in. A group of us are going on Saturday and though it’s not part of my mission here, I’m looking forward to a day of divertido, especially after fighting my stomach all week.

The medicine that the doctors gave me for this study I’m participating in has helped me feel much better, but I continue to have stomach issues and can’t ever be too far from the baño. They think I have amoebas, which the medicine from the study doesn’t affect, so now I have a new medicine to take. Still, I am back to eating Maria de Xela’s delicious food and also the serious goodness that is chocobananos. They’re everywhere here: frozen bananas dipped into dark or white chocolate or BOTH, plus nuts. It’s basically a banana split on a stick. This new addiction is currently bumping helado out of the top of Pepe’s food chain, believe it or not. Call it temporary insanity. Unless you’ve tried one.

I’m now thoroughly off topic and yearn to run out and get a chocobanano. I’ll leave you with a picture of the little-used sports complex and Santa Maria, the gorgeous volcano that overlooks the city.

Oh! Not quite done. Also, I was reading Guatemalan newspaper and was happy to be able to check out the baseball standings back home.

Sorry, I couldn’t get a clearer picture. I know it’s a long shot, but I sure hope the Tigres can catch the Medias Blancas  and Mellizos in the last 40-something games of the season!

...the Bad and the Ugly

So, lots of great things about Xela that I’ve already mentioned--the beauty of the land, the sweetness of the people, the great school I’m attending, and of course, Maria de Xela and her cooking. On the other hand, there are several reasons nine weeks will be enough.

1) My Stomach
It can’t handle it. In spite of all the great food I’ve had here, Montezuma has caught up with me. I started feeling sick Sunday afternoon and I’m still fighting if off, though I think the worst has passed. I didn’t even make it to class yesterday and barely made it out of bed. It’s pretty common for students to deal with this, so I’m not surprised, but it sure does take the fun out of an adventure. You only want to be in your own casa and bed when you’re sick. I’m actually participating in a study for the situation with local doctors, sponsored by a university in the States. On top of that, they’re paying me up to $120 to participate, which is a ridiculous amount of money here. At least I’m good at finding silver linings. But when it’s over, I hope I never have to see those doctors again.

2) The Weather
Some of you may be thinking that I’m in some tropical paradise. Think again. Think Seattle. Sorry to my Seattle friends, but one of the main reasons I couldn’t live there anymore was because of the crappy weather. Yes, I live in SoCal and I’m spoiled. I don’t mind some rain, really. LA could use more to keep it greener and to keep the forests from burning down. But it’s pretty relentless here. I knew coming in that it’s the rainy season, at an elevation of 7000 feet, and I packed appropriately. Still, you’d think that since I’m south of Hawaii in August, there’d be a need for a pair of shorts occasionally. Nope, not here. It has been sunny a couple of days and in the 70s, but it changes so quickly that you have to have layers ready to go at all times. They actually call the current wet season invierno, which means winter. The coldest summer I’ve ever had is a winter in Xela. Interestingly, the rain seems to go away anytime there’s an earthquake. We’ve had a couple of small earthquakes, and the following day it’s been sunny. Alas, we need more earthquakes.

3) The Smog
Ironic, eh? Smog in LA is nothing compared to here. There are so many old, stinky cars and trucks on the roads, it’s nauseating. If I blow my nose, the snot is more black than green. I’m pretty sure that’s not good for my lungs. I promise to never complain about a smog inspection on my car again.

4) The Roads & Sidewalks
The sidewalks are narrow, uneven, and sometimes utterly dangerous.
Most people actually walk in the streets whenever possible. Not that the streets are that much better. Many of them, like the picture below, have a decent grove for one car and jagged rocks as filler.
I’m sure one of the best businesses here must be to own a repair shop for wheels and axles.

5) The Poverty
It’s pretty relentless. They’re amazing, hard-working people here who do a lot for a little. There are very few people here who are begging for handouts. I actually see a lot more of that in LA. A lot of them are selling their wares at the market or tortillas from their homes. The picture below is from a nearby puebla that’s pretty typical just outside the city.
Nevertheless, there’s a great spirit to the people of Xela. Overall, I am enjoying my time here and I’ll continue to soak up as much as I can for eight more weeks. But the livin’ ain’t easy here and it sure does make me appreciate my privileged existence on this planet.

Maria de Xela

As you can see from the picture, Maria de Xela, all four-foot something of her, is one of the hippest grandmothers around. Her hair is dyed a deep red, she has an eyebrow piercing, and here she’s wearing a bedazzled t-shirt and camo sneakers. She’s the best, even though I only understand about 25% of what she says right now because she seems to speak like that fast talking FedEx guy. But Kelly de Minnesota seems to be able to speak with her just fine, so I have hope.

I do understand her cooking, which is delicious. I feel fortunate, as some other students at my school have complained about the food they’re getting from their families. Almost every meal is three courses. Breakfast, at 7:30, usually starts with a coffee cup of a sweet milky mush, oatmeal-esque, concoction with bananas in it, followed by a fried egg with sweet mole sauce and cooked plantains. There are also baby corn tortillas that are part of every meal, and always some kind of fruit at the end, like papaya or watermelon. Sometimes, we start with corn flakes, using the sweet milky mush concoction in place of milk. It’s all a great way to start the day, though I often have a hard time finishing everything. Of course, Maria de Xela always wants us to eat more and I have to tell her a few times that I couldn’t possibly have another bite. Until almuerzo, at least. Lunch and dinner share many of the same foods, though she mixes them all up each meal. We often start with a delicious tortilla soup, then a plate with a small piece of beef, a boiled potato-like vegetable (I don’t understand what she calls it every time I ask), frijoles negros, arroz, more mole sauce, and of course the baby tortillas and fruit. Also, her guacamole is ridiculously good. The other day she made a fruit blend drink that was warm. I don’t know what was in there, but it was amazing. Fortunately, I walk around the hilly streets of Xela all day, so it’s easy to burn it all off. I’ve only eaten out a couple of times, mostly because why the heck would I?

There’s a pretty steady flow of people in and out of Maria de Xela’s house. She has a son and daughter who stop by regularly with their kids, along with the occasional neighborhood friend dropping in. Still, she seems to really like having Kelly de Minnesota and me around, calling us mija and mijo, which are terms of endearment often reserved for family. Especially when I move the television for her or change the drinking water bottle. I don’t yet have the fluency to find out more about her life, but I’m sure it’s an interesting story. I’ll let you know when I do.
This is my old room with the hard bed an no electrical outlets. It opens into a small courtyard, along with a few other rooms on that side.
Here’s my fancy new room, with bigger, more comfortable bed and electrical outlet. This is on the other side of the courtyard, next to the kitchen and opposite Maria de Xela’s room.
Here’s the shower. It’s an electric shower that provides slow but hot-ish water. The toilet is on the other side of the “room”. Toilet paper cannot be flushed down the toilet because they’re system can’t handle it.
Here’s the kitchen where the magic happens. To the left is my bedroom and another unoccupied room. To the right is Maria de Xela’s room.

So that’s my casa. It’s fairly middle-class by Xela standards. I like it and am for want of nothing, especially great food because of mi mama de Guatemala!

La Escuela

I’ve found my Achilles heel for this mission to learn Spanish in Guatemala: Americans. We ruin everything! I’ll get to it. On Monday mornings at eight, the teachers at the school hold a short meeting for students describing the activities for the week. There were about 12 students (not all of students in the school showed for the meeting) and 8 staff members there. I’m prettty sure I’m the oldest student at the school, but I’m used to hanging with the young folks, so no worries. First, we went around the room and introduced ourselves—just our name and where we’re from. “Soy de Los Angeles, y en ingles me llamo Joe, pero aqui me llamo Pepe.” This brought some chuckles and then a chorus of “Pepe! Pepe! Pepe!” I’m sure I was beet red. But everyone remembers my name now. Then they told us the schedule in Spanish. All Spanish, all the time. However, they were gracious enough to translate it for us ignoramuses. In addition to the four and a half hours of individual instruction each day, optional activities for the week include:

• Monday evening: A Guatemalan movie in the TV room. 
• Tuesday evening: A conference about Guatemalan politics in the TV room. 
• Wednesday morning/afternoon: The Stove Project. This is one of the big weekly projects for the school. Basically, they travel to the mountain villages and help build brick stoves with a chimney for the indigenous people who often have unhealthy and costly (more wood) open pit fires. 
• Thursday afternoon: Another weekly event is a trip to a daycare, where we can help los niños with reading and math (!) or whatever. It’s also a good opportunity to work with an age group that shares my Spanish vocabulary skills. After the daycare is a dinner at the school prepared by students. 
• Friday all day: A trip to the beach, about two hours away via one of the famed ‘Chicken Buses.’

Later on, when Isabel, the secretary, asked which activities I wanted to attend, I said “yes” to them all. I’m here to participate! Besides, I can only sit around drinking so much cerveza.

After that meeting, three other newbie Americans and I had our own little orientation. This is where I started to smell trouble, because, well, it’s a lot easier to get to know someone in English! And there are some very cool people here to hang out with, but it’s counterproductive to the mission if we keep speaking English with each other. One of them, my new bff Annie de LA too (lo siento for so quickly bumping all of my other bffs!), and I noted this problem and decided that we can only give ourselves a few days to speak English with each other. I fear that’s going to be easier said than done.


I then met my maestra, Lily. Like everyone in this country, she’s very sweet. (There must be something in the water.) She’s also very smart and patient with me, though we spent a lot of time just chit-chatting about our lives and I was pretty happy with my conversational skills. The teaching style here is a mixture of simply conversing about various topics, along with some book work, depending upon one’s skill level. The main things I need to work on are my vocabulary and my verb conjugation. If only we could always speak in the present tense, I’d be a star. Anyhow, I meet with Lily every morning from 8 until 1 pm, with a half-hour break. There are about 10 other students spread out around the school meeting with their teachers at the same time, with two or three pairs in different rooms. We’re not restricted to the rooms, we can go out and walk around together also. This whole process repeats itself with a different set of students (and some different teachers) from 2 in the afternoon until 7 pm. At the end of each week, we can decide if we want to keep our teacher or get a different one. I definitely like Lily, so I think I’ll stick with her for a few weeks at least, then give someone else a try just to change things up.


I was super tired that afternoon, so I took a nap...in my new bed! Maria de Xela (who I love and to whom I will soon dedicate a whole post) knew that I didn’t like the bed and insisted that I switch to a different room. Now I have a double bed that is much more comfy, plus there’s an electrical outlet in my room. Movin’ on up! After dinner Monday night, I walked the few blocks back to the school and watched Men With Guns with a few other gringos. Of course, we all spoke English with each other. The movie, in Spanish with English subtitles, is Guatemalan and gives some history of the country. Muy interesante.


I have a million other observations to report and some pictures to share soon, but there’s cerveza to be had. ¡Hasta luego, amigos!

Day 1

And we’re off! I had a redeye, so I landed at 7:30 am Sunday in Guatemala City, greeted by Maria (de Guate), who whisked me off to the bus station to catch the 8:30 am bus to Xela. Maria de Guate is a 5-feet-nothing grandmother who can barely see over the steering wheel and who drives like Tony Stewart, just like everyone else in town. Clearly, these are my people. We had a nice little conversation (in Spanish, claro) and we arrived at the bus station in no time. Unfortunately, things like bus schedules are not always reliable in Guatemala. Apparently the bus broke down the night before but they were confident that it’d be ready by 2:30 pm. Maria de Guate was not happy with this news, so we threw my stuff back into her car, heading to another part of town. I continued to be impressed with her driving, particularly as she now threw in talking on the phone while shifting gears. We made it safely to another bus station, and that bus was leaving at 10:30, so I’d have to wait a couple hours, but an improvement at least. Maria de Guate gave me a hug, I gave her $15, and she was back to the rat race. I did get to see a lot of the city, so I appreciated the quick tour. It reminded me of Mexico City—old, crowded and kinda dirty, though offering modern city amenities. The city (and entire country) maintains strong connections to its roots, with lots of street vendors and an affinity for Mayan dresses. The main thing that stood out for me was all of the policemen with big guns hanging out all over the city. Assault rifles, not biceps. There was a policeman with an assault rifle stationed at the bus stop, and he’s even the one that checked our tickets to get on the bus. It’s a bit disconcerting, but as long as the good guys have the bigger guns, what could possibly go wrong?

The big gun police presence is actually all over the country, as I saw them continuously on the four-hour bus ride. The distance between Guate and Xela is only about 130 miles by the crow, but the road that connects them winds its way through the mountains. It’s gorgeous and frightening. There are tons of buses on the road, many of them famous “Chicken Buses’, which are old school buses painted pretty colors and beyond packed, as they’re dirt cheap to take and the main transportation for many. Along with the buses, there are lots of motorcycles, cars, pedestrians, dogs, cows, and sheep. And they all handle the road like Tony Stewart. I’m barely exaggerating; we saw a truck overturned along the way. Also, the road is actually very nice—two lanes in each direction, usually with a median. However, you know those signs that say “Falling Rock’ and you don’t really care because, c’mon, what are the odds? Well, the odds are pretty high here. Actually, they had some severe weather this year that destroyed many parts of the road, taking us down to two lanes every few miles. So one minute I’d be enjoying the views and the next I’d be hanging onto the girl next to me for dear life. I’m sure the half that I missed is very pretty too.

We arrived in Xela in the afternoon and I was supposed to be just a block from the school. Of course, those directions were for the bus station of my cancelled bus line and I didn’t have a map, just an address. Me being me, I didn’t want to pay for a taxi, figuring I know how to find 1st street. Now, if I were the mayor of Xela, I’d fix what I perceive to be its biggest problem—a serious lack of street signs. Those of you who know me might think I was being stubborn and wouldn’t ask directions, but I stopped and asked for new directions four different times—hey, if the locals can’t figure it out, then they should vote for me for mayor. All the while, I’m dragging my three bags through throngs of short brown people, being an annoying gringo. Fortunately, the people here are very sweet and helpful. Finally, an adorable 7 year-old boy knew what I was talking about and led me to the school. Me and kids speak the same language, apparently.

So I make it to the school and the first thing on the list is to meet the family. I’m not actually staying with a family, I’m staying with Maria (de Xela), a sweet little grandmother who owns a little complex of rooms that she rents out to the many adult Spanish schools in the area. There’s one street entrance, an outdoor courtyard, then about 6 individual rooms with our own access. It’s not quite as glorious as it sounds though. My room is decent sized—about 10 by 15 feet—but it sure could use a paintjob and some disinfectant. I have a single bed that consists of a one-inch mat on top of a box spring. I can sleep about anywhere, but this will be challenging. There’s an old desk and chair, an awkward attempt at shelving, and a light bulb in my room. That’s it. Not even an outlet to charge my phone and computer. The tiny bathroom that most of us share consists of a toilet and a shower, enclosed in old dingy brick. There are two sinks in the courtyard and a small kitchen and table. Did I mention how old and dirty everything is? I’m not really complaining. That’s just bourgeois Joe speaking. Pepe adapts to his surroundings without a care.

Maria de Xela, who now calls me Pepito, made me some unknown thing when I first got here for lunch. I think it was potato with a spicy sauce, rice and tortillas. Then for dinner, there was more rice and tortillas, of course, plus a fried plantain and super yummy plantains in mole sauce. I ate with Maria de Xela and Kelly de Minnesota, who has been here for eight weeks, with two remaining, She’s cool, though I’m jealous of her Spanish skills. It’s tough to have a fluid conversation where you’re constantly looking stuff up in the dictionary. But overall, I’m pretty proud of how much I understood. There was very little English in my life today. This might actually work…

Oh, and I already miss my boyfriend. ¡Besos, mi amor!

¡Chapin Nation!

Ever since my sister Deb was an exchange student in Mexico when I was little, I've wanted to have a similar adventure. I never could figure out how to make it work while I was in college or since. But now that I'm unemployed, I've got the time and (barely) the means. So, I’m going to spend a couple of months in Guatemala to work on my Spanish and experience the culture. While I’ll still use Facebook for occasional updates and to keep up with my friends, I’m going to use La Vida de Pepe to get a little more in-depth, discussing my observations about life there. I hope to document the process well enough, so I'm going for a couple of posts a week. We'll see. As for the name, somehow while Jose means “Joseph” in Spanish, Pepe means “Joe” in English. I don’t really get it. But Pepe was the name I chose for myself in Spanish 1 my freshmen year of high school. It feels terribly appropriate for me 24 years later.  

There are tons of Spanish-teaching schools in Central and South America. I chose Guatemala because the nickname for people from there is Chapin. Seriously. Yo soy Chapin. I mean, maybe it’s a little narcissistic of me to chose based on that, but I’d prefer to say it’s a calling! So off I go to Quetzaltenango, Guatemala this Sunday, August 8th. I took Spanish in school for four years and I’m not sure how to pronounce “Quetzaltenango.” Sure, I can syll-a-ble it out, but I have no idea how to say that word with any grace at all. Fortunately, it has a nickname: Xela. Pronounced “SHAY-la.” I already like Guatemala for making their names easier for me! Xela looks like a nice city, about four hours by bus from the capital, which I fly into. I will be staying with a family, but I don’t know any details about them and won’t know until I get there. I pay $160 per week to get Spanish lessons for four hours a day (lunes a viernes), the home stay, three meals a day, “safe” drinking water, and a hot shower. At least that’s what they say on the internet, so it’s gotta be true, right? In spite of my rejection of organized religion, I’m a person with great faith. And the folks at my school, Pop Wuj, look like they’re trying to make the world a better place, so I chose them.

I’ve always wanted to be fluent in Spanish and those four years of classes didn’t quite do it. I just hope that two months will be enough. I can barely afford the plane ticket home. Still, the sociologist in me cannot wait to see what life is like there. Since I’m a numbers guy, here’s the current breakdown of my feelings about this adventure: 

But what’s La Vida without some uncertainty? Oh, and if anyone has a job waiting for me when I get back to LA on October 9th, I’ll take it.

¡Si se puede!