Lilli Cloud

Who knew that the smell of a freshly peeled orange could be overpowering? I about flipped over the smell of it when I landed in the scruffy fishing village of Livingston today. That orange aroma sliced through the tropical heat like a laser. I’ve never wanted an orange so badly.

It could also be extreme fatigue, which does funny things to the mind, or the fact that I only had part of a truck stop hamburger for breakfast around 9:30 a.m. (For those of you worried about e-coli in uncooked beef, don’t. Most of the hamburger was filler, not meat anyway.)

My wake-up call came at 4:45 a.m. — the driver from the hostel knocking on my door. He was to take me to the bus station at 5 a.m. so I could arrive half an hour early for the 6 a.m. bus. I ended up catching the 5:30 a.m. bus, which was just as well since I was up so ridiculously early. I expect at least two or three more similar mornings coming up. Tomorrow I will get up early to catch a boat down Rio Dulce to catch a bus north to Flores. From there I go to the Maya ruins of Tikal, deep in the jungle. There I hope to get up early enough one morning to get into the park at or before dawn, to experience the jungle awakening. It’s very cool.

I also plan to be wet for the next several days as I’m now in the tropics. Last night on the ride in to Guatemala City from Lake Atitlan I was comfy in my fleece with the window open. Now I’m just a sticky mess.

I’m camped out at La Casa Rosada, another favorite waterfront hotel. This is a simple hangout with very clean palapa-roof bungalows, shared banos and the second best food in the country, after La Casa del Mundo. There is chance for wildlife entering the room here also, but it would probably be a crab or a lizard.

This is the second day in a row I’m glad I’m such a good swimmer. I keep telling myself, it’s okay, you know how to swim really well. This morning I went to Puerto Barrios and took a collectivo launcha (speed boat with nearly 20 other people)across the Bahia de Amatique, which is the mouth of the Carribean. I guess, officially, it is not open water, but when you look out and only see horizon, it might as well be.

The boat driver manuevered his way out of the dock area packed with similar vessels and then stalled. And started. And stalled. He kept adjusting something on the engine and trying again. Then he put-putted us a little further out into the open water. More stuttering. More messing with the engine. Further out into the water. Sort of like when the plane leaves the gate, and then they decide they have a problem. Of course, I can swim for real. I only fly in my dreams.

Not sure how or why, but he eventually got it going full speed, enough to push my eyelashes up against my face. The guy next to me, sitting on the outside, held his glasses on. In a half hour, we arrived at land, greeted by black Garifuna men who come on to every tourist with the musical sounds of the Carribean English, promising the best hotel in town. In the restaurant next to where I’m writing this, two women are braiding another woman’s hair — a local speciality. And you can get coco locos in all the local bars.

As for yesterday, I was more concerned about the water problem because I had my laptop with me. I can swim, but my computer cannot. Now it is safely locked in a hostel in Guatemala City. I spent so much time chatting with the proprietor of La Casa del Mundo on Lake Atitlan that by the time I got to the dock the lake was a sea of whitecaps. The wind always comes up in the afternoon, but yesterday it was wild, and inky from the clouds that often cool down the afternoons.

At first I was the only person in the boat, just me and the driver slamming up against the waves, until we picked up a couple of other people at villages along the way. I was feeling the need to reassure myself as I listened to the creaking as we pounded away across the lake until I realized most of it was coming from a wooden awning, not from the boat itself. The boat, being fiberglass, is much sturdier, or so I told myself.

But it’s all part of the adventure. After all, these people drive these buses and boats every day along these routes. And what stories would I tell if everything was normal and boring?

Enough adventure for today. From the boat on the way here I could see Belize way in the distance. It made me want to just grab some scuba gear and go! But I have other plans. I need a nap. As you can tell by the length of this blog, there isn’t anything to do here but hang out and rest. The heat and humidity demand the laid-back lifestyle. There is no other option, at least not for me. Not today.

I’m now rested again and ready to hit the road. I’ve been in hiding out in one of the most beautiful places on the planet – Lake Atitlan. This morning I kayaked on the lake in the shadow of volcanoes, then went for a dip in the chilly water. I’m a little chicken to stray too far from shore though because it is 1,000 feet deep. The lake is a caldera, a collapsed volcano.

Built into the side of the mountain in the village of Jiabalito is the tranquil retreat of La Casa del Mundo. Besides being incredibly peaceful and quiet, with amazing views, it has the best food in the country. I’ve been hiding out here for two nights, doing some writing and catching up on rest. Learning and speaking Spanish all the time is exhausting. On Saturday I was in Panajachel, the main town on the lake, and was thankful for a heavy thunderstorm that lasted most of the afternoon and evening. It gave me an excuse to sleep.

But nothing compares to La Casa del Mundo. Everyone who comes here wants to stay longer. You can only reach it by boat, so once you’re here, you’re really away. No TV. No Internet. They do have cell phones for the hotel if you really need to reach someone, but I didn’t.

Last night I watched a lightning show flash onto the surface of the water from my full lake-view window. I did have a late-night visitor though, that disrupted my tranquility for awhile. Just as I was about to turn out the light I spotted a scorpion scaling the wall. I’m willing to cohabitate with some insects. In fact, earlier in the day I flipped over a metallic green beetle about one-inch around who was stuck on his back, but scorpions are where I draw the line. I threw my shoe at him, then took him outside and dumped him over the balcony. Yuck. Needless to say, after that I was on high alert for others, which is not conducive to sleep. After a thorough search with my Mag Light I decided he was the only one and I managed to sleep well on an excellent bed (always notable in Guatemala).

Today is sunny and beautiful. I’m dragging out my stay here as long as possible. In about an hour I will take a boat back to Panajachel where I will post this blog and take care of some other business. Then I’ll catch a shuttle late this afternoon to Guatemala City. In the morning I will take a 6 a.m. bus east and hope to make it as far as Livingston on the mouth of the Caribbean.

I enjoyed my last days in Xela, but was wearing out by the end. By 9 p.m. on Friday night I could barely speak Spanish my brain was so worn out. But I must have made a good impression on everyone because I got gifts from both my family and my teacher. My family loved the gift I gave them – a globe. They’ve hosted 180 students from all over the world in the past 14 years and they do not have a map.

Purchasing this gift required a trip to the mall in Xela, which was pretty nice, complete with movie theaters and food court with lots of teenagers hanging out, just like at home. But for some reason there are an inordinate number of shoe stores, which is strange for a country that has a word for people who are shoeless, meaning there are people here who do not have shoes at all.

My last day of school involved a trip to the village of San Francisco el Alto, which supposedly has the largest market in Central America. I can believe this because the whole town is a market and, like the San Francisco in California, the town is nearly vertical. But in California, shopping is not a contact sport. Here it is. The aisles between stalls are barely wide enough for two people to pass, much less pass someone stopping to look or buy. People just shove their way through with baskets balanced on their heads or babies on their back. Somehow men carrying entire pieces of furniture or hundred pound bags of beans or corn on their back work their way through the throng. This is not a good situation for people who don’t like to touch other people, especially people you don’t know.

At the top of the village is a dirt plain, which is the animal market. It’s enough to make you seriously consider becoming a vegetarian. Actually, the large animals seemed to be treated okay – there were pigs and piglets, cows, sheep, goats – all on rope leashes. It was the skinny puppies that upset me most, the ones with their little ribs sticking out. Although I tried to walk carefully, I stepped in some goat crap. Bleh. When I got home that afternoon I told Veronica in the only way I knew how: “En el mercado, yo caminé en shit.” I walked in shit. I’d heard Spanish speakers around here say shit, so I figured they would know what it meant. I doubt she would have understood any English euphemism. She laughed at me and gave me an old toothbrush to scrub out the treads of my shoes.

It’s hard to believe I will be home in less than a week! Between now and then I will travel hundreds of miles – down and back a beautiful river bordered by lily pads and mangrove swamps, with a few volcanic steam vents that can take the skin off your feet. I’ll wander the jungle where spirits and buildings of a great ancient city now reside, in Tikal. Then I’ll head back to the capital for a day or so of seeing sites there before heading home. Good thing I got a chance to rest. I have a lot ahead of me, but I’m ready for it.

I swear I am not making this up. My homework today (Thursday – 10/13) consisted of answering several questions including “What would life be like without electricity?” Right after I finished that answer, as I was enjoying a piece of pizza between questions, the power went out. I’m writing this entry by candlelight (on my laptop) because the entire town is without power.

My answer was that it isn’t difficult to image what life would be like. One only need travel to some of the tiny villages in the mountains here to find towns that do not have electricity or do not have regular electricity. This explains why they sell brand-new, foot-pedaled Singer sewing machines here.

What life is like in the big city without power is loco. I decided to walk home before the streets emptied of cars that would hopefully provide light. I gave up hopes of watching the debate at a local bar. I usually carry my handy Mag Lite, but I had taken it out of my backpack last night because there had been a power outrage in my neighborhood in the afternoon. Walking in Xela is tricky anyway. Between the cobblestone streets, broken cement and narrow sidewalks that result in having to jump in and out of the street as buses, trucks, cars motorcycles and bikes fly by, it is always an adventure.

It was about 6:15 p.m. when I started home. Although there are no street lights in my neighborhood, there was a traffic jam the likes of which you would have if you had lights that weren’t working. People were honking as if it would change something, which they do a lot around here. A bus trying to make a tight turn nearly took out a few cars. I tried to cross a main street and nearly got taken out myself since only about half the people ever use their turn signals and it was difficult to see me in the dark even in light clothes.

The thing that was probably making everyone really crazy is that tonight is the big football game between Guatemala and Honduras. It’s part of the playoffs for World Cup 2006. No, that is not a typo. That is two years away. An Internet place in my neighborhood with a backup generator moved two-foot tall speakers outside the store and was blasted the pre-game show into the street. I could hear it down the street inside my house.

When I got home, I found my Mag Lite and lit a candle that was in the living room from the day before. Susana, the 25-year-old daughter in my family, went to the movies with her boyfriend. I guess there is plenty of entertainment in a dark theater, with or without a movie. I played with the dogs for awhile until Veronica came home from church.

Somehow when the electricity stopped functioning, apparently my brain did also. She asked me if I was going to eat, and I said yes. But I thought she said: did you eat? Oops. I guess I’ve flunked Spanish this week. And I guess I shouldn’t have had that last piece of pizza because when Veronica called me for dinner she insisted I at least eat the scrambled eggs she had cooked me by candlelight. A few minutes ago she knocked on my door to tell me the lights had been on for 10 minutes, but I was still sitting here in the glow of my computer and candlelight. Perhaps I should call it a day.

My next entry is the blog I wrote earlier today while I was waiting for the Internet connection to come back on.

Footnote added Friday afternoon (10/14): The electricity conveniently came on just before the big game started. Guatemala won. Immediately after the final whistle, the entire neighborhood erupted in gritos, yells. Thirty seconds later, the entire neighborhood erupted in fireworks. Fortunately, my bedroom does not face the street, and I slept like a baby.

Only one more day of Spanish lessons to go. Friday the school is going, en masse, to a local market, so I only have one more chance to learn correct grammar. This week, my teacher has been focusing on teaching me the polite way to say things, for example how you answer the question “do you like my new dress?” when you really think it’s ugly. This is the conditional form. It’s also handy when ordering in a restaurant or shop. He says it’s a way for me to get a quick and positive response. He’s also been teaching me other things that will make me sound really smart. Of course, I can’t remember what they are right now to explain them to you, so I’m not sure he’s been successful.

Overall, I’ve enjoyed my time here in Xela a great deal. I started to say more than last time, but it’s hard to compare the experiences. Two huge differences this time: 1) I know a lot more Spanish than I did two years ago and 2) We’re having a heat wave. I’m down to one layer of clothes for sleeping under the four blankets, sometimes just a T-shirt. I’m still glad I brought along my flannel sweats because I have used them most nights along with at least two shirts. The mornings are much more pleasant also when you can’t see the steam heating up the freezing cold bathroom.

My Spanish is so good now that I understood almost all of the conferencia – lecture/discussion – on the role of the Catholic Church in the counter-revolution, enough to add numerous editorial comments, but that made it a lot more interesting (I think). There’s also a Lutheran minister at my school, so it’s interesting to discuss religion with him. It also helped that I’d read the book – Bitter Fruit – which explains all about how the CIA directed the overthrow of the democratically elected Guatemalan government in 1954 and replaced it with a military one. The church sided with the rich land-owners and traditional power structure (and CIA) that has kept Guatemala a feudal society since the time of the conquistadors. It’s no wonder that in the last 30 years there’s been a huge exodus from the church for this as well as other reasons.

The thing about the whole situation here in 1954 is that it is disturbingly like the weapons of mass destruction. Among many other things, the U.S. government believed/said/wanted everyone to believe (take your pick) that the Russians (communists) were here directing the socialist government in its efforts that included land reform to redistribute resources to more of the general population. It is true there was a communist party in Guatemala at that time, but afterwards, investigations showed zero proof that Russia had any direct connection to Guatemala. None. So after military action on the part of the U.S. (albeit somewhat covert), the primary cause for going in was found to be non-existent. Sound familiar?

Were there communists in Guatemala? Yes. Would Guatemala have followed in the footsteps of Cuba? Would they have truly been a threat to the U.S.? No one knows.

Was Saddam Hussein a bad guy? Yes. If we hadn’t done anything, would he blow us up in 10 years? No one knows.

What we do know is that little has changed here in Guatemala since the 50s. The feudal system, to a greater or lesser extent, still exists. Sixty percent of the population lives in poverty. And the activities in the 50s are widely believed to be the smoldering fires that resulted in the longest civil war in the region – 36 years – that only officially ended in 1996. Hundreds of thousands dead or disappeared, entire villages wiped out. I am too young to remember the days when the Cold War was most tense, and I’m sure things seemed different then. But from my perspective today, it appears the United States did not value free and democratic elections as much back then. The people here elected a government. The CIA overthrew it and put in military rulers.

So by now you’re probably feeling bummed out about this or irritated with my opinions if you don’t agree with them. Doesn’t she have anything happy to say, you may be wondering? I’d like to hear about something else.

I’m wishing I’d brought along a tape recorder so you could hear part of my day. I think this would be a great place for a story like they have on NPR’s Radio Expeditions. For example, yesterday my day started at 6:30 a.m. with a huge blast of fireworks. You can hear fireworks here numerous times throughout the day as they’re used for any kind of celebration, from a birthday to a major civic festival.

Then I heard the church bells ring. I asked Veronica (the mom in my family here) about it and she said they ring every day at 6:30 a.m. because mass is at 7. One half hour before every mass the bells ring, I guess so people know to get their act together and get over to the church. Fortunately, I’d slept through it every day but yesterday, which is surprising because the roosters start crowing significantly before dawn and huge trucks rumble through our neighborhood early also. If none of those things get you up, sometimes people come to our house very early in the morning to buy chicken – packaged and ready to cook. Last week, one patron rang the doorbell at 6:15 a.m. This is not a good town for the late sleeper.

Next door to the school there are more roosters, and they crow all morning long. The ice cream vender pushes his little cart down the street tinkling his bell. Today the men working on an addition to the school chopped up cement outside the window of my classroom. Large trucks grind their gears and rumble by at 40 miles an hour on the cobblestone streets, belching black exhaust on the many people walking in the street on my way home for lunch. Dog barking is nearly a constant and in my house in the evenings our two dogs growl and bark at each other in the courtyard as they play-fight over the sole doggie toy – a stick of wood.

But what I would love to have taped the most, a truly unique experience to Guatemala – is the church choir in Chichicastenango singing Blowin’ in the Wind in Spanish with marimba (like a xylophone) accompaniment. The church choirs here have a gift for nearly yelling songs just below the pitch. It is impressive.

Friday or Saturday I’m heading to Lake Atitlan – one of the most beautiful places on the planet. I’m sorry to be leaving here so soon, because I feel like if I stayed just a little bit longer, I could learn so much more. But I felt that way last time too. In reality, I’d need to stay for a year or more to be fluent.

I’m pretty sure my travel companion and I were the only guests at the Spanish colonial-style Hotel Santo Tomas in Chichicastenango who rode the chicken bus to get there. I think everyone else came in the sanitized giant tour buses parked outside. My excuses for spending a whopping $79 for one night include the following:

1. I’m writing it off as business expense
2. It was the only place I could get a confirmed reservation because
   a. they answered the phone when I called and
   b. they speak English
3. I split the cost with a friend from school
4. I wanted to sleep in a really nice place.

Just to give you some perspective on why this seems like so much money – I found out on Friday that my college-educated teacher with a very good job makes in one month what I make in two hours. This means that my hotel cost more than one-third of his monthly salary.

So I didn’t spend a lot of time haggling in the market yesterday and today. Usually after one exchange, I just gave them the money. I bought a hat from one little boy, maybe 7 years-old, who I believe was very excited to find himself such a good businessman. Once again, I shopped a lot in this town that is the candy store of textiles, but not as much as my friend. She says it was my fault she spent so much, because I was the one who told her about Chichi. But she is the one who said “oooh” as we passed the fancy hotel on the bus while were still thinking of staying in a hostel. So I guess we’re even.

Although Chichi is a small town, the first guide who approached me was the same guide I had two years ago. This time I asked for a tour of the churches. Among other interesting things, I learned why there are two Catholic churches facing each other across the town square. One is currently for both Catholic and Maya ceremonies, and was the former site of a Maya temple. The smaller church is now supposedly only Catholic, although there were Maya worship aids there also, but he said it was the site of a Maya temple. One is the church of the sun and the other of the moon.

Interesting how religion is all still mixed up here. We went to mass on Saturday evening and after communion the priest read off more than five minutes of intentions for everything ranging from good business to thanks for a good family. I believe these intentions may have matched the candles on the square Maya mesas (tables) in the middle of the church. Conveniently, there are 12, one for each of the 12 apostles, but the same 12 also break down to four for the sun, four for corn and four for the moon.

My teacher tells me that many Catholic Mayas tend to have a foot in both religions, but that those who convert to evangelical Christianity give up their other religion completely. About 45 percent of the population is evangelical, although I’m trying to figure out exactly what that means. I’m pretty sure it’s just anyone who observes a Christian faith other than Catholicism.
Tonight I’m back to a foam bed in Xela and hot water in the shower the circumference of a quarter. Hotel Santo Tomas had a fabulous bed and full-on shower. Last night was the best sleep I had since I’ve been here. Unfortunately, all the tours got going in the hallways in the 6 a.m. hour, but it was a good sleep while it lasted.

Other people do not have the problem sleeping that I do. For example, the grandma and young girl I shared the seat with on the way home slept most of the way. That meant I had to try to hold three people in the seat of what is essentially an aged school bus while we took the mountain switchbacks at breathtaking speed. It’s not the speed that gets me. It’s the passing several cars and buses at a time in the blind curves. Most of the five people in the seat across from me slept also. Okay, one was a baby and two were small children, but it’s still very impressive. Both that they slept and that they did so crammed with five to a seat. Actually, at one point there were seven in that seat. Anyway, it’s probably best to take the chicken bus with your eyes closed anyway.

This morning, as we set off on our shopping adventures, we decided the pizza from the previous night’s dinner was not fit for breakfast. It really wasn’t good the first time, which is unusual for Guatemala. Pizza is usually the only satisfying food, but one does not go to Chichi for the food. We had ice cream for lunch so by the time we got back from the three-hour chicken bus ride, I was ready for a good meal.

Really, when it comes to food here, I think I am as hopeful as my dog when she’s begging, but not as lucky. I tried the Middle Eastern place, which the guidebook said is quite good. I wondered if the proprietor was like Shakira – half Middle Eastern and half Latina. That may be the case, but Shakira’s belly dancing is more authentic than this food was. They served me tiny bowls of pretty good baba ganosh and hummos, and then a huge portion of beef shawarma. I only order beef about once a year at home, except hamburgers, so I don’t know why I thought it would be any better here. I’m pretty sure that cow was long past its prime and it was seasoned like shawarma anyway. The result is that the two dogs in our house are going to be lucky – they are going to eat that leftover meat. I ended up feeding myself on the pasta with red sauce and tiny fried onions that came piled on top of the rice and lentils.

As is frequently the case here, nothing is like you think it is going to be. But now I’m just stalling from doing my homework, as you can probably tell by the length of this blog. I have to write a composition in Spanish about my trip and some other stuff too, so I better get at it.

¡Hasta luego!

The last time I saw San Simon he was wearing a fedora and had a kerchief over his mouth like a bandit. Yesterday he was still wearing dark glasses, but he had a red turtleneck pulled up over his mouth, until it was time to take a swig of local booze and have a smoke.

Since he’s a mannequin (at least he looks like one to me), the people requesting his help in exchange for their gifts had to tilt his chair back for him to take a drink. I only chose to observe, but a couple of guys I was with bought red candles and added them to the plethora pouring wax all over the concrete floor in hopes that San Simon would give them good fortune in love. My teacher tells me the reason the church doesn’t like San Simon (as if pagan worship isn’t enough) is that, apparently, he has power to grant cosas buenos y cosas malas – blessings and curses.

Perhaps he wasn’t completely pleased with us, because the heavens opened while we were in this postcard-perfect highland village that is usually shrouded with low clouds and fog in the late afternoon. The cobblestone streets turned into rivers and were impassable without getting one’s feet underwater. But we continued our journey anyway, to visit a women’s cooperative. It is the only place in Guatemala I’ve found bookmarks, which I love to collect and give as gifts. They are woven by hand on a loom with the same patterns used for belts and hair wraps worn by local women. Each 6-inch bookmark takes an entire day to make.

Despite becoming completely soaking wet even though I wore a poncho, I was blessed with foresight. My advice to any traveler is to always bring another pair of shoes. As I was packing for this trip, I considered dumping my sandals. I’m thankful now I didn’t. I knew it would take days for my shoes to dry. Despite the thunderstorm that lasted well into the night, the morning dawned beautifully enough that it was reasonably comfortable to wear my sandals to school. The sun won over the morning and, amazingly, dried out my shoes completely by midday. The mountains and temperatures here (which can reach freezing or below in the winter) make me forget how far south I am, but I got sunburned taking an afternoon walk earlier in the week.

My Spanish classes continue to go well and my teacher is awesome. A perfect match for me. This morning I worked on the preterite past tense by reading and discussing a poem/ song lyrics titled El Unicornio Azul, The Blue Unicorn. It is a beautiful song written by a Cuban about his son who was killed in the war in Nicaragua. He was extraordinary, like no other, and he is now gone. My Spanish must be getting better because I nearly cried when I got to the end, even before we discussed it.

But I have two compositions to write this evening, one about the unicorn, so I’m off for now. Off into this afternoon’s downpour, but my tennis shoes are at home staying dry.

I’ve actually pulled myself together to figure out how to post my first blog. Things have changed a lot in Xela (Quetzaltenango, Guatemala) since I was here two years ago. Internet places are even more prevalent, and one near my house even has a laptop Internet connection, so I hope to write this tonight and post it tomorrow via a combination of my technology and theirs.

Internet is not just for foreign students and a few locals anymore either. Sunday night both places near my house were packed full of local high school kids, standing room only. Fortunately, my family has not changed. I was welcomed with open arms again by Veronica, who is still an excellent cook, and her daughter Susanne, who is still living at home because she chose not to marry the guy she was dating when I was here last. I’m glad because I didn’t think he was the right guy for her, and it was a long-distance relationship at that.

What has changed is that the beautiful white collie, Tricia, had five puppies with Scooby, the Great Dane in the neighboring yard. I learned last time I was here that doggie birth control is not common in Guatemala and this is proof. Susanne talked her mother into keeping the one with the sad eyes, so now Sacha lives here also. Sacha is as sweet as Tricia, but even more enthusiastic, since she’s only a year old. She also has similar bad manners as my dog Fuzzy, such as jumping up on people when she gets excited, but Sacha weighs about 75 pounds more than Fuzzy. Good thing I like dogs.

Once again, this beats the heck out of any bus tour. I love my new teacher. We spent the first hour discussing illiteracy and other social problems. He didn’t even know how involved I am in literacy at home, but I was eating up the statistics he was throwing out at me. Officially, fifty-five percent of the population here is illiterate and only 1 percent complete college. He says people see work as more important than learning, thinking only of the short term.

We also discussed issues related to the 36-year civil war that only ended in 1996. Or, as he puts it, ended on paper, but it is still in people’s hearts and minds. It’s difficult to break this mentality though, when people know who killed their friends, families and neighbors. Brother against brother. Clan against clan. Like in any civil war, but to Americans this is our history only in distant memory and books about the 1860s. Here it is fresh. He was surprised that Americans have so little awareness about the war here compared to El Salvador and Nicaragua (those wars only lasted 10-12 years), especially since a lot of what triggered the war here was when the CIA overthrew the democratically elected Guatemalan government in the mid-1950s.

He is also a good teacher and we reviewed a lot of stuff I learned in my class last year at UCLA. But in explaining the concept of how you use the word qué for definitions, his example was ¿Qué es la prensa libre? What is a free press? Today he was wearing a Che Guevara T-shirt. I can’t wait to talk to him about Che, who seems to me to be iconic to young people here, but I wonder what they really know about him. My teacher also writes poetry and we’ve read many of the same books, me in English, he in Spanish, by authors such as Isabelle Allende, Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Octavio Paz.

It is certainly possible to learn Spanish by immersion with virtually no previous experience, as I proved last time, but it is soooo much easier now. Although it’s been a year since my class at UCLA, having a foundation is a wonderful thing. Instead of figuring out how to say how are you, I’m practicing speaking in the past tense.

The rest of my trip has been more or less uneventful, but it has been fun seeing people I met two years ago. I spent this past weekend in Antigua resting up after having worked a zillion hours before I left. Nothing that 14 hours of sleep wouldn’t cure. Antigua is the tourist town here, so it’s easy and it was my rest place last time. I did do a few things, including making petition for a friend’s mother at the tomb of Saint Hermano Pedro who was canonized less than three years ago. According to the countless testimonials, crutches, glasses and other aids left behind, he is responsible for many healings and miracles.

I hope this missive finds you in good health and not in need of any miracles. I’m thankful that I’ve already had several in my life, and am not in need of any now. Although I wouldn’t mind a little more hot water in the shower and a little less iciness from the tile floor in my bedroom, but I will have plenty of that at home. Until next time….