Why I Love Public Transportation

Bus ride from el diablo. Starting in El Rancho, Guatemala we were abandoned in a desolate, industrial stinky-town after paying 22 dollars. "At least we can relax in luxury for once," Holly falsely predetermined just hours before our doom. What we expected was an air-conditioned, leather seated, double-decker, but what we were left with was a torn apart, disintigrating 16-passenger van. The stench was already uncontainable as 18 Guatemaltecos with machetes piled in. "At least we have the view...," I said as we were packed in like sardines. The poor men in the back had to sit on a slanted seat due to the fact that our giant backpacks were an unexpected surprise to the tin can on wheels. As the ayudante (the driver´s little helper) continues to shout "COBAN, COBAN, COBAN!" Holly and I look at each other with a stink eye that says ´Can we fit ANY more people?!?´

We finally get going, situated and borderline comfortable when we come to a sudden halt at the end of a long line of cars; "Una hora y media para esperar," the driver says as he shuts off the van and starts sucking down an ice cream-in-a-bag with his shirt up so his belly sticks out (we call this look the "Bro"). 'Great'. The heat is dense and the air is thick and smelly. We get going rather quickly across the broken bridge where the windows were closed from the dust: that´s when it really starting smelling like B.O. Onion Butt. Painful. Our driver was either blind or ignorant because he pulled over to every person on the freeway to see if they wanted a ride. Person after person, piling in the van: squishing brought to the highest degree as the stink only increased . At 27 people Holly and I were sure that the van was maxed out. We were wrong. Five more people topped us off at 32 people for a three hour ride to Coban. "At least we have a window with a view," we said positively. It was at that precise moment that the little girl in front of us blew chunks out the window--and everywhere else (including my pant leg). Yummy. The only consolation to this treacherous ride was singing "All my homies, you know who I mean, baby let me show you how I lean- like a cholo..." But we made it to Coban and needless to say we are splurging on a bottle of wine and cheesecake to reward ourselves for withstanding the infamous van to Coban, swine flu-less.

El Salvador Orphanage

Anyone who has traveled alone knows that it can be, well, lonely....and after a few weeks back in Guatemala I was feeling pretty sola. Even though I've met so many people from all over the world, the relationships can sometimes be rather shallow. So I spent a lot of time reading and journaling and praying that God would show me why I was here and give me some sort of community. Holly joined me in Guatemala and we took a bus to San Salvador where we met a group from Praxis Church to do a week long mission trip at an orphanage. The eleven other team members from Arizona were some of the most amazing and encouraging people I've ever met. We worked side by side destroying concrete and building a new foundation at the orphanage, and our free time was spent loving the kids and the occasional mango fight and barrel-rolling on the side. Clearly, my favorite part was the community and support we had together; hours and hours of de-briefing with the girls every night was an answer to prayers. In the end, the kids showed us way more love, truth and innocence than we could even begin to show them, but it was a blessing. I would shovel sand, paint railings, and jack-hammer concrete for the Lord any day.

The HIGHlight of the week

Volcan Tajumulco is the highest point in Central America. Now although Central America is not a great deal bigger than Texas, this particular trek gave us some bragging rights. April and May is the rainy season in the western highlands of Guatemala and you can pretty much expect a downpour after 16:00. During the trek, the rain came as predicted allowing us to have our raincoats readily available, though we were still not pleased with the miserable liquid. After five hours of trekking, we arrived at our camping destination to set up in the most efficient and dryest way possible (quite difficult with the downpour). With no fire, we huddled under the tarp in a "calor con pasion" circle attempting strange penguin movements to get blood flowing to our frozen fingers. The next few miserable yet hilarious hours were spent waiting for dinner but more importantly waiting to climb into our sleeping bags and extra clothing. I can't say that anyone was actually sleeping when 03:45 rolled around and we woke up to hike the last few hundred meters to the summit to watch the sun rise. Huffing, puffing, and floating through the thin air, we reached the top of frigid Tajumulco in the dark and were able to witness the brilliant orange sun peek through the pink clouds and dark silhouettes of the surrounding mountains. What an incredible creator we have!

"Guardanos Señor"

Back in Guatemala, I'm being much smarter for round two. For example, I don't let them charge me the foreigners price for transportation nor market food. However, I would almost rather not ride on the public transportation here. The "chicken buses" (in the photo), supposedly called such for the chick cargo, though I'm starting to think that it originates from the fact that they play chicken with every passing vehicle and pedestrian at a minimal speed of 70 mph. They are even branded with religious phrases like "Dios te Bendiga", "Jesus es amor", and "Guardanos Señor", so that when your bus loses the fatal game of chicken; the last thing to go through our minds is El Señor. Most of my time so far has been spent coffee finca-hopping but I did throw in a macademia nut farm in which I got a macademia oil massage and facial. ¡Es la vida! May is rainy season in Guatemala and we get very predictable soaking at 4:00 every afternoon, which makes not having a watch rather simple. It is also planting season for any new coffee plants that are ready to be grounded for the next fifteen years. Harvest is still months away but the preparation, cleaning, and fertilizing takes place year round. I've sparked quite an interest in the Mayan population who traditionally come down from the high peaks to pick coffee during harvest and have been oppressed the last 500 years by governments, land owners, and even coffee plantation employers (overseers). The coffee economy of Guatemala, above all, relied on the forced labor and misery of the indigenous population.

Forever infamous Mexican experiences

Latin America is the place to be for Easter week; Semana Santa is celebrated for 9 days straight- most cities spending thousands and thousands of quetzales (or pesos) to have huge processions every night for the pleasure of the public. San Cristobal de las Casas in Mexico, only a short bus ride away, was rumored to have a spectacular crucifixion re-enactment. Naturally, I was on that bus. My terrible fate was only hours away. As soon as we set our packs down at the hostel, we set off looking for 2 things: an ATM and an authentically Mexican margarita. Upon return to the hostel we discovered one small problem...our luggage filled with all of our belongings: passport, ipod, cameras, books, clothing...everything, had been stolen due to the carelessness of the (druggie) hostel owners- who left the front door unattended for an hour after we left. Currently, I am working on getting an emergency passport so I can return to Guatemala. For all of those who were warned and feel apprehensive about Mexico- I want to solidify all of the pre-conceived dangers occuring here. More updates to come...

¡Extranjera! ¡Extranjera!

Up the dirt road, lush green banana and macadamia trees are looming overhead, as I admire the layers of comforting mountains. The pick-up truck which I am riding white-knuckled in the bed of- pulls up to numerous colorfully painted cement buildings. "Bienvenido a Santa Anita"! I am THE one and only extranjera (foreign girl) at the community of Santa Anita La Union for the first two weeks of my stay. Although it is difficult to feel useful and helpful here, I find myself following Mariola, a member of this 200 person community, in her everyday life routine. Cooking consists of old Mexican pots over a fire: fried plantains, coffee, rice, beans, eggs, and gallons of oil. I've become a junior expert on forming exceptionally round tortillas. Every day here has been more and more enlightening about the functions and goals of this coffee-producing community, especially the roles of each member. The women always have work regardless; cooking, washing clothes, washing dishes, collecting firewood, and also an assigned job in Santa Anita. The men, however, have the luxury of working as they please (the level of activity varies to each extreme). Family and community ties are very friendly and relational; placticas, or little chats, are always interrupting any task. Although the farmers life is quite limited, they have the priveledge of waking up in a land of indescribable beauty. Blue, yellow, green, white, red birds awaken the human species around 6:30 just as the soft yellow suns peeks through the distant volcano and illuminates uninhabited green land... the smells of campfire and dew are invigorating. Picture 1 is a coffee cherry not yet ripened (they are bright red when they are ripe during La Cosecha, the harvest, in September through December). Picture 2 is of us separating the bad from the good green coffee beans by hand before roasting. Picture 3-"Children of the corn"- is Kati and I outside the office building right before the afternoon rain begins.

"You take the mallow..."

Remember to always bring marshmallows when hiking to flowing lava at an active volcano. We were all pretty disappointed when we got to the base of the volcano and all it was was a dead forest that smelled of horse crap. I guess real treasures really do come from lots of perseverence and nose-plugging. On the ride in the "luxury" mini-van I noticed a few cultural differences of Guatemala: they have TONS of roadkill; literally, there were four dead HORSES on the side of the highway. Also, honking your horn means either "thank you", "excuse me, sir", or "I'm right here": it appears to be a very polite horn-honking culture. Of the three towns that we have travelled to (Antigua, Panajachel, San Pedro), Mayan clothing and language is still extremely prevelant. The women wear the same pattern on their high-waisted skirt, a tucked blouse with extensive, colorful stitching around the neck, and flip flops (which hold up quite well when they're carrying everything on their head!). I adapted to the food quickly (eggs, beans, plantains, fruit, fruit, more fruit), but the water is another story! Aside from my height, skin, eye color, and clothes- I think I'm fitting in fantastically!