Dios Mio!

We're on the go, with the sisters. Still in Antigua, which is very different than Xela- streets aren't covered with dogshit, the bartenders all speak English. Actually, it's hard to find anybody who speaks Spanish. But it's a gorgeous city, full of old, impossibly thick-walled churchs that have been shaken apart by centuries of earthquakes. Reminding you of the fact that we are perched on the lip of one tectonic plate or the other is Vulcan Agua towering above the southern everything. You can't see the top unless you look straight up- like it's going to topple over onto you at any moment. Yesterday afternoon we climbed Vulcan Pacaya, one of the few active volcanos in Guatemala's collection. We had a great guide in Oscar (supposed to be Juan, at 8am, who we sat around waiting for for the better part of an hour, but he never showed. Turned out, he was the guy we saw eat it, hard, off his bike onto the cobblestone street outside the guide shop two days earlier when we were booking the trip. Sure enough, yesterday they had his arm in a cast to prove he wasn't just dogging it. (Although he did seem like the whiny type when he fell, so postponing the trip til sunset and getting Oscar didn't seem like too bad a deal.)) The volcano was amazing, with huge rivers of dried lava reaching over what was days earlier a green pasture. The volcano itself looked like Mt. Doom, or Narahoe, very severe and conical and dark. We hiked into the lava field, avoiding scorching vents and moving quickly when we could smell our rubber soles melting. We stopped for geothermally roasted marshmallows. Retreated to a safer distance for a great dinner of fresh veggie pitas while the sun set, and we could see bright orange rivulets of lava flowing down near where we had just hiked, standing out against the darkening sky. Impressive.
I made my first prescription! Mariam and my guts have been all kinds of messed up for a while now. Last weekend I felt crappy and peed out my butt. On Tuesday I took these pills that were for if you are sick of emptying your colostomy bag so frequently. They turned me off like twisting the nob on a spigot. For three days. Then they finally wore off and back on came the spigot. The water (or butt pee) pressure had been there the whole time, just without an outlet. I meant to go to the doc, or the lab where you poo in a cup (they have it down to assembly-line efficiency here), but time kinda ran out as we scrambled to tie up loose ends in Xela. There was the special lunch where we offered to take the Catalans to anywhere they wanted, and they voted on Pizza Hut, as well as packing and homework and other stuff. It even seemed to be getting a little better, so I missed the doc. Although by this time, Mars joined the butt pee train. When we got to Antigua, we found a clinic, but it was closed for the weekend. So I went to the farmacia and bought a bunch of cipro, which we've been taking for the last 2 1/2 days. Again, we're both corked, and our bellies kinda hurt, but it seems like it's probably working. And if it's working, that means it's not cholera. So we've got that going for us. Which is nice.
Two days ago, for the sisters' first adventure, we took the chicken buses 3 hours to Chichicastenango for centroamerica's biggest market. As ever, the ride was the best part. I think the driver didn't value his life (or ours) quite as high as we do. Brielle even said her goodbyes to everyone, as all 107 passengers were alternately plastered, along with any luggage not tied down and some that was, plus the seats from the school bus benches, which must have wrenched free of their steel bolts, to first one side and then the other of the inside of the bus. Screaming down a mountain road rivaling Lombard St. in curviness, I found myself praying for more gravity as I peeled my face off the window where I had just been staring at, and leaning over, a yawning abyss of death. At the breakneck speeds we were hitting, running oncoming traffic off the road as we passed chicken buses and other vehicles piloted by saner drivers, there was no way we would survive tipping over in either direction, but somehow you found yourself breathing a sigh of relief as the tires squealed around an inside lefthand curve where you would just have your face peeled off for the split second it was pressed to the pavement, through the window, before the bus was atomized in a collision with the mountain wall. The alternative to the right, somehow worse because of the contemplation time you would have, was just flying off the edge and drifting lazily through space before the aforementioned atomization. And oh yeah, all the other passengers, (including the Levys and Lenardi, and the guy whose job is to collect money and, presumably, to keep the driver coked up, and who was hanging out the open door this whole time), were laughing. But then that bus's engine exploded from the strain, filling the bus with smoke but forcing a life-saving stop and bus switch.
The market was bustling, full of color and smells. We bought a bunch of stuff, Mariam haggling like a pro, me not so much. There was the wallet that I bought, which I haggled the guy up from 15 to 30Q. That took skill. I momentarily registered 'quince' as 50, instead of 15, and when I proposed 30, the guy looked at me funny, made me repeat myself, and then finally borrowed a calculator from someone and made me punch in the price I was proposing. When he confirmed that it was, indeed, twice the price he was offering, he accepted quickly. I realized my mistake as I was happily walking out, but it seemed worth the roughly $2 difference to just get the heck out of there, away from the real or imagined laughter I faintly heard.
And yes, we saw the Sox game on Sun, at a gringo bar, and it was simply beyond words. I'm still floating.
Today we're going to decide between heading to the beach for a night, or going to Lago Atitlan a day early. We're talking over breakfast, so I should get the heck out of here before they leave without me.

Playing Hooky

I'm ditching class today- feeling a little gurgly in the stomach, and tired, and like I just needed an extra day to myself. This Saturday we went to a Xelahu v. San Marcos soccer match. Crazy. The stadium is a few minutes north of our house, so we met some friends and walked there. Outside, there are a million amazing smells as people cook up everything from the usual tacos, fried plantains and papusas, to these stalls where they just sell grilled slabs of meat. Nothing comes with plasticware, so you really get involved with you food here. You do get a napkin the size of a silver dollar to wipe down your hands and face and the people who accidentally passed within your 'splash zone.' Anyway, I passed on all the outside food, including the plastic bags of beer they sell so that you can smuggle it past the pat-down. We were led to believe that they would only pat men down, so Mariam got totally busted with her Nalgene down the front of her pants. After smelling the contents, they let her through without a bribe. Inside, we found seats on the concrete slabs that pass for benches. The field was surrounded by police, both national and civil, dressed in full riot gear. They have a padded tunnel for the players and refs to get onto the pitch, which they take down once the opposing players and the refs are out of bottle/battery range. As people come in, they throw thousands of packets of little newpaper squares to the fans so that the fans can later fill the air with ticker tape. Then, as the team takes the field, the crowd erupts. Literally. Fireworks and ticker tape start blasting out all around you, from all around the field. The stadium itself has professional fireworks, blasting off from the four corners. But meanwhile, as the air fills with smoke and newspaper, hundreds of fans are lighting off those long strings of firecrackers, and especially, roman candles, which they aim downward at the riot police. Shooting exploding balls of fire at the well-armed police (fresh out of a civil war, mind you, in which they weren't well know for their restraint) wouldn't have been my first choice. But the cops didn't really seem to mind, as the fireballs bounced off their shields and uniforms ("Just ignore them and they'll eventually stop," is what their therapists told them in mandatory anger management class, I guess). Once the game got underway, things settled down a bit, even when points were scored. Their was a liberal sprinkling of new vocab that our spanish school failed to teach us, including a rising, stadium-wide chant of "wwwwwwWWWECO!" whenever the opposing keeper is taking a goal kick (weco=fag)(now you AND all the 7 year old kids in Xela know a funny thing to call someone when they do something as outrageous as kick a soccer ball). Not like it's any worse than a football game in the States, or puching a guy over a balcony for wearing a Yankees cap at a Sox game, as I witnessed a while ago. Anyway, I couldn't resist the meat slabs any longer, so I had me one. At half time and at the end, the refs are escorted off the field by a phalanx of shielded, machine-gun toting riot police. The final score was 2-1, Xela, but even this didn't do much to assuage the crowd's desire to bottle the refs.
It was awesome.

Holy Santa Maria

Yesterday at noon we got back from climbing Santa Maria. What an incredible hike! We started with good hot soup at Quetzaltrekkers at 11pm. All the guides, except one, have these cool German or Dutch accents, so it´s fun to listen to them talk even when they don´t say anything interesting. I found that I couldn´t talk with the American guide because it was too boring. Then the 20 of us piled into the back of two pickups (trust me, they have the transport of huge gobs of humanity in tiny vehicles down to a science here) for a short ride to the base of Santa Maria. Basically, it´s in the ´burbs of Xela, which means a decent number of stand-alone concrete block houses along a dirt road. We woke up all their dogs and roosters with our arrival and shedding of layers as we transitioned from the cold of the pickup to the heat of the climb. There was a thin layer of clouds, but it didn´t look like it would last. Two hours of easy climbing, during which we talked to this great guy named Kevin, who guides rafting trips in the summers along the middle fork of the Salmon, and then does whatever-the-hell the other seasons. Currently, he was on his way back to California after riding his motorcycle to Panama. On his four month trip, he liked to climb the highest mountains around (there´s Tacamulco in Guat, the highest point in centroamerica, but the night hike thing is alluring on Santa Maria). I bet he sells out soon and becomes a blood-sucking lawyer, but he´s still cool for now. After that, there was about 3 more hours of very steep hiking. It was great, though. Our packs were light, and the stars were coming out, and we could see all the lights of Xela and surrounding pueblos. If I haven´t mentioned before, Xela is fricking huge. I think something like 120,000 people live there, but basically it completely covers the bottom of a big, flat bowl surrounded by mountains. So it was cool to look down on that. We got to the top before sunrise, and were welcomed by a deep rumbling and hissing as Santiaguito erupted gas and vapor and probably sent some pumice airborn. Ana, our head guide, said ¨Ya, der are too kinds off wulcaanos, and dis iss vun off they more blowing-up kind.¨ She went on to describe all kinds of stuff that I don´t really remember, but that I listened to with rapt attention. Santa Maria used to be enormous, until in 1902 it erupted violently, blowing an entire side of itself off into the sky and killing between 5-10,000 people. The Guatemalan president at the time denied that it happened, so it is hard to know exact statistics. Today, Santiaguito is all that is left of the other rim of Santa Maria, and it erupts every half hour or so. We could see little specks of glowing lava in the dark. Then the sun came up, bringing an fantastic sunrise, and we could look along the entire chain of volcanos, all the way to Tacamulco, all poking their heads above a layer of clouds that we ourselves were above. We had some hot coffee and tea, some took naps, and then we hiked down in the daylight, getting a chance to see all the vegetation and landscape that we had passed unknowing in the night. At the bottom, we took a chicken bus (aptly named for one of many species of fauna you´re likely to encounter onboard. You basically cram into the seats and eat your knees, because there is ALWAYS room for more passengers. But they come with amazing frequency, are astonishingly reliable and colorful, both in paint jobs and passengers, and cost between $0.13 and $0.52 no matter how far you´re going) back to Xela. Mariam and I proceeded to sleep for the rest of the day and night, waking only to eat lunch and dinner. Mariam is feeling a bit crappy today, maybe because of the toll of hiking 9 hours, all night, when normal people are sleeping, but she is recovering quickly. Plus her teacher´s father is a doctor, so she gets great medical advice in class.
This weekend we are definately going to the local soccer match, and then the big market in Chichicastenango on Sunday. And I cancelled my crummy subscription to MLB.TV, which sucked. So no more Sox games for me. All you readers can leave Sox updates in comments, if you´d be so kind.

Barbaria, Round 2

Just got out of Oscar the barber's shop. Needed a beard trim, but this time I went armed with the knowledge of exactly how diligent this guy is in his search for extraneous hairs. I was preparing the phrases in my head in how to instruct him (Mariam leaves me on my own for these little adventures). I did a pretty good job explaining just what I wanted, but still, when he was doing the 'stache, he snuck that damn machina up the left nostril. And once he'd done one, I felt like I couldn't stop him. Plus, like Mariam says about waxing, the second time is much better. I almost liked it. So much so that when we went for the ears, I didn't even flinch. Still, I gotta get a bit more assertive here before that nice ear peach fuzz starts coming in all coarse and black.
Now I'm at the new internet cafe (new to us, that is), where we also had a salsa lesson yesterday. My motivation was to sign up for online Sox games, so I could watch Dice-K face Ichiro. It's $85/yr, but I figure I'll need the subscription in Kentucky anyway, so might as well get it now. However, when I went to watch it, it didn't quite come through. Two seconds of action, and then long, long pauses while it continued to "buffer." I don't know if it's the connection here, which isn't too bad, or just as good as it gets, so I might get out of the deal while the getting's good (5 day free trial). I already feel pretty bad about sitting in Guatemala, plop in the middle of culture and music and language and arts, and here I am watching TV. I mean, there's a fricking salsa lesson 8 feet away. Not a healthy addiction, I guess.
We were kinda kidnapped this past weekend. Actually, technically our own crappy understanding of spanish kidnapped us. Sandra, the mother of the family we're staying with, told us on Friday of a nice little spot that they like to go to on this day of Semana Santa. She mentioned something about bouganvillas, and a nice procession, and asked if we wanted to come. We said sure, sounds great (we weren't exactly sure what was cool in Xela for Semana Santa, so it was perfect to have local insight for Friday night). Half hour later, at about 6pm, we piled into the minivan to drive to what we thought was going to be a nearby village. After almost an hour of driving, I asked Javier, the youngest son, where we were going. "A la costa," he said, which means the house we went to with them 2 weekends before, the one with the pool and heat and no-see-ums and millions of aunties and cousins etc. We were going for the entire long weekend, and Mariam and I had only the clothes on our backs (jeans and sweaters, to watch the procession in). Tragedy, no, but it was a bit awkward. That night, after the inevitable soccer game, in my jeans, I chugged down the inevitable warm glass of microwaved water, then went for a swim in my underwear. A pair of those hybrid tighty-whitey/boxers that Mariam talked me into getting once. Technically, I already was swimming in my underwear, because after two soccer matches, 4 on 4, to fricking 20 (scores 20-19 and 18-20), in my jeans (and we weren't even skins), there was enough sweat on me to do the breaststroke in. However, the next day, we tagged along to the market, where we bought bathing suits for about $3 each, and sunscreen, for about $10 (by far the most expensive stuff at these markets, because guess who buys it all? Pale white dudes, and they know what kind of hagglers we are). And everything turned out great. The coast is definately more of a vacation for the family than it is for us, to be surrounded by spanish-speaking cousins, but we had a great time. And apparently we didn't miss much in Xela. So.
Tonight at 12am we're heading out to climb Santa Maria, a nearby volcano. It is supposed to be a great hike, although it's about 5 hours straight up. We'll have a cup of tea and sandwiches on top (we're going with a guides from Quetzaltrekkers, this great outfit whose proceeds all go to the Escuela de la Calle, and whom I would love to volunteer with but they want a 3 month committment and I don't think I can quite swing that without seriously cramping my style), and if we get up while it's still dark, we'll see the glowing lava of Santaguito, a smaller volcano on the slopes of Santa Maria. Santaguito is apparently one of the 10 most active (and probably dangerous) volcanos in the world, erupting every hour or so. Should be a great time. We're going to Don Pedro's for what Mariam's maestra, Chris, says are the best burgers in town, as soon as the Sox game is over (they're down 0-3, in the 8th, the bums). We've already had some pretty good burgers, but gotta check out Chris' credibility because she has also offered to help out with the itinerary for when the sisters come.
Also, Shane is coming for a few weeks in June- we're looking forward to meeting up with him and tramping or staying put. Dave has said he will come for a long weekend, but I'm doubtful. Lexi, if you're reading, hope you got back safe and sound. And Asya, congrats on all your acceptances to med school! I wish I was in your dilemma of having to choose between all good options.

Which which there is no whicher

Many little adventures since last I wrote. There was the trip to the barber, where I had every orifice violated by the electric shaver (I politely declined the straight razor, because my skin is sensitivo. And I don't yet have Hep B). The barber, named Oscar, was very kind, but a haircut means something different here. Once he had finished my head hair, he started on my ear hair. I only have this nice, white, downy peach fuzz on my ears. Or, rather, had. But I didn't stop him- I kinda wanted to see where it was going to go. Next, the eyebrows- He ran the comb through them and buzzed off whatever stuck above the comb. He did the beard, and the front of the neck, and the back of the neck, and way down the back and even off to the shoulders where I didn't even know I had hair (thanks Dad). However, the worst was yet to come. I had that buzzer, probably three inches wide, crammed all the way up my nostril, and twisted. Remember Arnold pulling that homing device out of his nose in Total Recall? That was me, except my thing wasn't a smooth little ball- it had blades, which were slicing, and it was hot from running so long. Tears were streaming down my cheek, but I was smiling to maintain a cultural bridge. He then reamed out the little hairs and, I can only imagine, rivers of blood, with a hand towel before starting on the other nostril. Ow. But damn I look good.
Then there was our family's traditional birthday celebration for Christian, who turned 18 on Friday (we gave him a can of beer wrapped in the tattoo advertisements, which may have dropped our stock a few points in the eyes of the parents). This consists of lighting those long strings of fireworks on the patio just under his window (and ours), at 4:30 am! then the whole family barging in to his room with a guitar to sing a few songs. Later in the day, when it's cake time, as you go to blow the candles out they push your face into it. Gets 'em every time.
The Encapuchados had their parade, which was much lower key than all the hype. Really more of a frat boy parade with the whole town turned out to watch. What we saw was only some hooded guys zipping back and forth on scooters and motorcycles, wearing cheap suits with the butt cheeks cut out so that when they raised their arms in a Nixon-esque salute, the people behind them got the moon. A few had notebook paper taped to their backs, inked with little slogans or politicians' names, but it was all pretty bush league. I guess we didn't stick around long enough to see a few floats that they had made, but it certainly seemed like a political group past its prime.
Went to the beach on Sat. Black sand because of the volcanic soil, which is kinda cool, and huge waves because it's the Pacific. Took four hours by chicken bus each way, which was at least half the fun, and then we got there and just drank a few bottles of beer and ate shrimp ceviche, fried shrimp, shrimp pad thai. It was a shrimp day. The fried shrimp were amazing- smallish shrimp, fried without batter in oil which maybe had a little picante in it, and you ate the whole thing- shell, head, tail- yum. A plate came free with two liters of Gallo, the national beer (bleck, but worth it for the shrimps).
Sunday to Fuentes Georginas, a series of developed pools in the nearby mountains/volcanos, fed by hot springs. Very nice, although crowded. The spot is absolutely gorgeous, surrounded by cliffs covered in greenery and orchids, with funny birds and amazing views of the little town and surrounding farms in the valley. Afterwards we went into Zunil to find San Simon, a quirky saint/Mayan god/effigee of the Spanish conquistadors. He's this manequin, dressed in funny cloths and a cowboy hat, seated on a throne that moves from one house to another each year. You have to ask the locals where he is, and they all know and point you in his direction. If you bring him a certain kind of whiskey and cigarettes, he'll grant your more sketchy prayers without judgement. We saw a Maya woman bring her children and go through it all- put San Simon's hand on her daughter's head, his hat on her, his cane on her, all the while chanting and praying. Weird. We didn't take a picture because it cost another few Q and we didn't have any.
Looking forward to having Brielle and Susannah and Angela down here. Still learning lots of things ever day.