Hey all. Oriana, her mom, and I are off to Tikal very early tomorrow morning. I'm hoping my cold eases up before then. I won't have internet again until Monday.
Hope everyone is doing well.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Cheslocks vs. Salazars
I’ve spent lots of time with Filiberto’s family in the last few weeks. As I’ve gotten to know them better, it occurred to me that it would be interesting to compare and contrast their family with mine. As I'm posting, I'm pretty sick, I'll add pictures and links next week.
Cheslocks vs. Salazars
Here’s the cast of characters
Salazars:
Filiberto 57 (on August 22)
Maria Elena 50 something
Oldest sister mid-late twenties, married 3 children
Marta 25, married two children, Herson 3 and Dailey 1 ½, has a business making aprons
Monica 21
Carmen 20, in university for business administration
Carlos 19, electrician’s certificate, in school again
Esvin 17, in high school
Cristobal 15, in school (held back 4 times)
Vicente 14, in school
Maria Benita 13, in school, cosmetics business
Juan Carlos 10, in school
Flor de Maria 8, in school
Cheslocks
David 57 Bachelor’s, Master’s, almost enough credits for PhD
Claire 50, Bachelor’s, almost enough credits for Master’s
Jen 27, in graduate school
Liz 25, engaged, working professional
Aaron 22, going back to school
Sammy 18, in high school
Filiberto’s family lives in an open air property with 4 rooms and a tin front door that does not lock. Filiberto and Maria Elena sleep in a room, with walls made of corn stalks, a dirt floor, and a corrugated tin roof to keep out the rain. I believe that Maria Benita, Juan Carlos, and Flor all sleep in this room as well. There is a new concrete room, built within the last 6 months, where Monica, Carmen, Carlos, Esvin, Cristobal, and Vicente sleep. In this room, the floors are concrete and I believe the roof is also corrugated tin. Marta, her husband, and their two small children have a room in the corner of the property with a dirt floor, walls made of corn stalks, and corrugated tin roof.
Filiberto’s family have one bathroom—which is not a flush toilet, it is more of an outhouse. They have electricity, but little lighting. They have running water. But, I don’t know how they shower. I haven’t seen an area or faucet that looks like it could be a shower. However, I have seen the girls bucket wash their hair before school.
In addition to the people that live in Filiberto’s house, there are lots of animals. There are 4 mules, 3 that work regularly carrying loads up the volcano. The fourth is unable to carry a load, but they are still taking care of her. There are 30 ducks (raised to slaughter), 3 roosters, 10 chickens (raised for eggs and possibly to slaughter), and a dog named Bunny.
The Cheslocks live in a split-level three bedroom, 2 ½ bathroom enclosed house with running water, 3 flush toilets and 2 showers, electricity, internet, cable television, and a secure roof and front door. The Cheslocks have a ¼ acre (possibly less) of land in the front and the backyard. The Cheslocks have 3 previously-abused dogs from a shelter, raised and cared for as family pets.
Both sets of parents run through 3 or 4 names before finding the correct one to address the child in front of them. Both households function because the moms do a lot of behind the scenes work: meeting with teachers, doctors, and helping with school projects. Both moms have talent in the kitchen—and keep their clans well fed. Both households seem to function in a state of chaos, people are always searching for lost items, and tidiness is not on the top of the priority list. Both families have a keen sense of what matters most—they enjoy each others company and are very close.
Filiberto and my Dad have a few things in common. Both men were born in the same year-1951. Both like sports and encourage their kids, boys and girls alike, to play sports. Both have crazy facial hair that periodically needs a female touch to remove—with my Dad, it’s one crazy eyebrow, with Filiberto, it’s a crazy moustache that seems to catch food and save it for later. Both men have some trouble with manual dexterity—my Dad can’t fold paper, Filberto has trouble peeling and placing the little stickers on his coffee bags. Both my Dad and Filiberto were very resistant to cell phone use. Filiberto still makes his kids or Maria answer his cell phone. Both my Dad and Filiberto have had the same job for more than 25 years and both have been married for almost 30 years (my parents 29, Filiberto and Maria Elena 28). Both men come home from a long day and expect their wives to feed them. Both men enjoy telling the stories of their childhoods—my Dad’s stories tend to be nicer than Filiberto’s though. Both men are religious—and neither thinks terribly deeply about religion, they just do what they’ve always done. Both Filiberto and my dad are sole providers for their families and want their kids to have better than they did.
However, those are where the similarities end. My Dad grew up middle class, went to college, and found work after finishing schooling. Filiberto finished the 4th grade in the Guatemalan system (it’s not a good system, so has effective 2nd grade education) and had to start working. Filiberto’s father died when he was young, leaving him the man of the house and taking care of his mom and sisters. When Filiberto and Maria Elena got married in 1980, Filiberto’s mom and sisters lived with them. His sisters eventually married and his mom lived with them until she died in 2000 at age 85.
My Dad’s success at work has been slow and reliable. Filiberto’s always been a farmer, but only in the last few years has he been making enough money to lift his family, slowly, out of poverty. My Dad makes roughly 100 times what Filiberto makes in one year. With that income, Filiberto has to feed, cloth, and provide shelter for 9 more people than my Dad.
Filiberto and my Dad might have a lot to learn from one another. Filiberto, unlike most Guatemalans, knows that there is a better life waiting for him if he works really hard. Given his economic situation, Filiberto is the happiest man I’ve met. For all of his relative success, my Dad could probably stand to be a little happier. On the other hand, my Dad could probably teach Filiberto a thing or two about applying mathematical knowledge to his business.
It’s clear to me that geography and luck has a lot to do with these differences. If Filiberto were born to an American family in 1951, I have no doubt that he’d be just as successful as my Dad. Whatever Filiberto lacks in skills and education he makes up for with more determination than anyone else I’ve ever met.
So, what’s the golden nugget here? American individualism preaches the pick-yourself-up-by-your-own-bootstraps mentality. The notion that all poor people are poor because they aren’t doing enough to help themselves is bullshit. I’m sure there are some people padding welfare rolls for the extra check. But, I’m just as sure that if we give people a hand up—access to specific job training, access to equipment and small business loans with fair terms that people in communities everywhere would be better off.
I’m convinced that people like Filiberto are victims of geography. I plan to fight for people like Filiberto, because everyone needs some back up.
Cheslocks vs. Salazars
Here’s the cast of characters
Salazars:
Filiberto 57 (on August 22)
Maria Elena 50 something
Oldest sister mid-late twenties, married 3 children
Marta 25, married two children, Herson 3 and Dailey 1 ½, has a business making aprons
Monica 21
Carmen 20, in university for business administration
Carlos 19, electrician’s certificate, in school again
Esvin 17, in high school
Cristobal 15, in school (held back 4 times)
Vicente 14, in school
Maria Benita 13, in school, cosmetics business
Juan Carlos 10, in school
Flor de Maria 8, in school
Cheslocks
David 57 Bachelor’s, Master’s, almost enough credits for PhD
Claire 50, Bachelor’s, almost enough credits for Master’s
Jen 27, in graduate school
Liz 25, engaged, working professional
Aaron 22, going back to school
Sammy 18, in high school
Filiberto’s family lives in an open air property with 4 rooms and a tin front door that does not lock. Filiberto and Maria Elena sleep in a room, with walls made of corn stalks, a dirt floor, and a corrugated tin roof to keep out the rain. I believe that Maria Benita, Juan Carlos, and Flor all sleep in this room as well. There is a new concrete room, built within the last 6 months, where Monica, Carmen, Carlos, Esvin, Cristobal, and Vicente sleep. In this room, the floors are concrete and I believe the roof is also corrugated tin. Marta, her husband, and their two small children have a room in the corner of the property with a dirt floor, walls made of corn stalks, and corrugated tin roof.
Filiberto’s family have one bathroom—which is not a flush toilet, it is more of an outhouse. They have electricity, but little lighting. They have running water. But, I don’t know how they shower. I haven’t seen an area or faucet that looks like it could be a shower. However, I have seen the girls bucket wash their hair before school.
In addition to the people that live in Filiberto’s house, there are lots of animals. There are 4 mules, 3 that work regularly carrying loads up the volcano. The fourth is unable to carry a load, but they are still taking care of her. There are 30 ducks (raised to slaughter), 3 roosters, 10 chickens (raised for eggs and possibly to slaughter), and a dog named Bunny.
The Cheslocks live in a split-level three bedroom, 2 ½ bathroom enclosed house with running water, 3 flush toilets and 2 showers, electricity, internet, cable television, and a secure roof and front door. The Cheslocks have a ¼ acre (possibly less) of land in the front and the backyard. The Cheslocks have 3 previously-abused dogs from a shelter, raised and cared for as family pets.
Both sets of parents run through 3 or 4 names before finding the correct one to address the child in front of them. Both households function because the moms do a lot of behind the scenes work: meeting with teachers, doctors, and helping with school projects. Both moms have talent in the kitchen—and keep their clans well fed. Both households seem to function in a state of chaos, people are always searching for lost items, and tidiness is not on the top of the priority list. Both families have a keen sense of what matters most—they enjoy each others company and are very close.
Filiberto and my Dad have a few things in common. Both men were born in the same year-1951. Both like sports and encourage their kids, boys and girls alike, to play sports. Both have crazy facial hair that periodically needs a female touch to remove—with my Dad, it’s one crazy eyebrow, with Filiberto, it’s a crazy moustache that seems to catch food and save it for later. Both men have some trouble with manual dexterity—my Dad can’t fold paper, Filberto has trouble peeling and placing the little stickers on his coffee bags. Both my Dad and Filiberto were very resistant to cell phone use. Filiberto still makes his kids or Maria answer his cell phone. Both my Dad and Filiberto have had the same job for more than 25 years and both have been married for almost 30 years (my parents 29, Filiberto and Maria Elena 28). Both men come home from a long day and expect their wives to feed them. Both men enjoy telling the stories of their childhoods—my Dad’s stories tend to be nicer than Filiberto’s though. Both men are religious—and neither thinks terribly deeply about religion, they just do what they’ve always done. Both Filiberto and my dad are sole providers for their families and want their kids to have better than they did.
However, those are where the similarities end. My Dad grew up middle class, went to college, and found work after finishing schooling. Filiberto finished the 4th grade in the Guatemalan system (it’s not a good system, so has effective 2nd grade education) and had to start working. Filiberto’s father died when he was young, leaving him the man of the house and taking care of his mom and sisters. When Filiberto and Maria Elena got married in 1980, Filiberto’s mom and sisters lived with them. His sisters eventually married and his mom lived with them until she died in 2000 at age 85.
My Dad’s success at work has been slow and reliable. Filiberto’s always been a farmer, but only in the last few years has he been making enough money to lift his family, slowly, out of poverty. My Dad makes roughly 100 times what Filiberto makes in one year. With that income, Filiberto has to feed, cloth, and provide shelter for 9 more people than my Dad.
Filiberto and my Dad might have a lot to learn from one another. Filiberto, unlike most Guatemalans, knows that there is a better life waiting for him if he works really hard. Given his economic situation, Filiberto is the happiest man I’ve met. For all of his relative success, my Dad could probably stand to be a little happier. On the other hand, my Dad could probably teach Filiberto a thing or two about applying mathematical knowledge to his business.
It’s clear to me that geography and luck has a lot to do with these differences. If Filiberto were born to an American family in 1951, I have no doubt that he’d be just as successful as my Dad. Whatever Filiberto lacks in skills and education he makes up for with more determination than anyone else I’ve ever met.
So, what’s the golden nugget here? American individualism preaches the pick-yourself-up-by-your-own-bootstraps mentality. The notion that all poor people are poor because they aren’t doing enough to help themselves is bullshit. I’m sure there are some people padding welfare rolls for the extra check. But, I’m just as sure that if we give people a hand up—access to specific job training, access to equipment and small business loans with fair terms that people in communities everywhere would be better off.
I’m convinced that people like Filiberto are victims of geography. I plan to fight for people like Filiberto, because everyone needs some back up.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Better Wet Than Bitten
Quirigua is located in the department of Izabal in the north eastern corner of Guatemala—that which closely borders Belize and Honduras. Oriana and I are still hoping to get to Copan in Honduras which reportedly has bigger and better ruins than Quirigua. The region itself is much lower altitude than where we’re staying outside of Antigua. Comparatively, it is tons hotter, more humid, with exponentially more mosquitoes than Antigua or our home in San Miguel Escobar. And because of that climate difference, it is a part of Guatemala that has malaria. I took my meds—no worries there. Seriously, it is a particularly miserable climate for people to live.
On our route, we stopped in Zacapa to spend the night. I won’t go into gory details—but we didn’t stay at the Ritz. My favorite part was that the toilet we had in our room didn’t have a toilet seat, there was no A/C, and I had to take a Benadryl to sleep and therefore, stop itching my mosquito bites. In the morning we woke up before 6 AM to catch a bus to Quirigua. Once we got close, we started to see lots and lots of banana trees. These were the property of United Fruit Company (Chiquita Banana, amongst others). United Fruit was the driving force behind U.S. and CIA intervention into the 1954 coup.
In 1954 there was a law, called the Agrarian Reform Act, that would have nationalized many farms and parceled small pieces of land to the farmers here. In that time, fincas (large farms) would contract entire families to work their land for little pay and often would not pay folks in actual currency but in finca currency. Ultimately, that situation proved tenuous as families could barely afford to feed their children, let alone pay off their “debt” to the finca and move out. Labor unions started to form, and fincas mounted all manner of union-busting techniques to ensure that their workforce would remain docile, uneducated, and willing to work. Because of the fear that United Fruit and many other fincas had of the repercussions of the Agrarian Reform, they mounted a U.S. backed effort to topple the government and install their own more moderate version.
All of this happened in 1954, and Guatemala has been destabilized ever since. I bring all this up, because it was on United Fruit’s land that these ruins were discovered. And United Fruit again, put up a stink when the government wanted to create a national park to house them.
As we drove down the side road to Quirigua National Park, all the eye can see is bananas. For me, that was important to put into perspective how significant the U.S. influence is here. It is also interesting to think about how intertwined global export markets have been in shaping how government here makes decisions.
The ruins range from 700 CE to 800 CE and they are principally in two different shapes. One is a squared column with drawings on all four sides. The second is a large round boulder—with literally drawings covering the entire surface of the rock.
I could try to explain what all the drawings mean, but that would take a long time—and I’m not an expert so as I add photos here, I’ll give you the highlights.
In addition to the column and boulder drawings, there are huge steps that create the boundaries of where the palace for the King of Quirigua used to be. As you climb up and over the first set of steps, there is yet another flight down that brings you to a now well-kept lawn where royal games were played. Mayans thought these games had significance because they’d be competing with other worldly beings, their Gods.
The steps were really difficult for me to do, with out stepping up bringing my other foot up, and then attempting the next step. In my head, Mayans were probably not that tall. Francisco corrected me saying that they were about 160 CM tall then—making them a little taller than me. I’m not sure if he was referring to men or women, but I would guess they were in better shape then and could get up the stairs more easily. Also, the steps were not covered with moss then—that probably helps.
Anyhow, there is virtually nothing around this site—and like other Mayan ruin sites, was only stumbled across as folks tried to clear the land and hit rock. As I looked around the surrounding area, it looks like there could be many other ruins underneath all the vegetation there. Due to lack of funds and perhaps interest, they remain covered today.
The entire time we were standing there I couldn’t help but hate mosquitoes. Thank goodness for bug repellent with deet. I’ve never seen 40 or so come at me so fast and be repelled like that. I would have had hundreds, perhaps thousands, of bites without the repellent. Then, as if sent by the Almighty, it started to rain. Francisco and I both agreed, “mejor mojado que picado”—better wet than bitten.
So, again staring at some of the etchings, I wondered what this people must have been like. Their drawings depict babies that morph into jaguars, and warriors with skulls. The columns usually depict a king or queen with their associated symbols of their reign. From the little I know, they didn’t have contact with other civilizations aside from Mayan territories at the time. People are still trying to figure out why they disappeared. It’s also worth mentioning that I had forgotten to charge my camera battery and my battery died sometime before climbing the steps at Quirigua.
After we had gotten our fill of the ruins, we made our way to a little truck stop of a town called Morales. We ate lunch at the counter at a lunch place. Since we had lots of time left before we needed to be back in Antigua, we decided to take advantage and go and visit Rio Dulce (Sweet River). We get into yet another bus, probably the 8th at this point, and make our way to Rio Dulce. Once we get there, we stopped and had a cup of coffee at what seemed to be an “extranjero” foreigner haven. We got some advice on where to stay and made our way to find that hotel. Of course, yet again, it started pouring. We finally found this place, put our things down and got ready to take on what Rio Dulce had to offer. This is the point at which I really wish I had packed an umbrella.
We walked up to the bridge that spans the river and spent some time there, we tried to find the Rio Dulce National Park—but it turned out to be more of a playground than a National Park. Honestly, I think we missed it somewhere along the way. Then we went back to another pier to check out the water again. The entire time—it was raining. I was sopping wet and perhaps less than enchanted with the water.
The roofs in Rio Dulce are worth mentioning. Many of the houses we saw had roofs that were threaded together with dried corn husks or some other type of material that looks like that. They were threaded together by the thousand to create roofs. Same type that is on the roofs of the little huts that stood over the ruins.
Oriana has more pictures--I'll try to upload more soon. I've got more stuff coming your way tomorrow, gentle reader!
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Off to Quirigua!
Oriana and I are off to Quirigua to see some Mayan ruins for the weekend. We're getting back on Saturday night.
Sunday morning Oriana is running a half-marathon with 5 of Filiberto's kids. I will be on the sidelines with a coffee...
Then we're going to a party at Fredy's house. Then girl's soccer.
Looks like it's going to be a jam-packed weekend.
I won't have e-mail access again until Monday. Grandmom Therese--hope you're feeling better!
Sunday morning Oriana is running a half-marathon with 5 of Filiberto's kids. I will be on the sidelines with a coffee...
Then we're going to a party at Fredy's house. Then girl's soccer.
Looks like it's going to be a jam-packed weekend.
I won't have e-mail access again until Monday. Grandmom Therese--hope you're feeling better!
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Gringos like to eat Guatemalan children with a little salt
Sunday was another girl’s soccer afternoon. Surprisingly, however, there was no rain. The girls got tired after an hour and started to whine a little. We managed to get them excited again once it looked like a group of boys were going to storm the field.
After the game, we went over to Filiberto’s house to hang out with them. We’re not supposed to have favorites, but I think they’re our favorites. We talked, drank atol (hot drink made with corn, cinnamon, and other stuff), and laughed.
Filiberto was telling us all about failed development projects in the community. There was one particularly horrifying story, I haven’t fact-checked this one folks, but it sounds plausible. There was an “orphanage” down the street from our house. Families would leave their kids with the folks at the orphanage when they couldn’t afford to feed them, clothe them, etc. Families were allowed visitation rights. Eventually, families all started to receive the same bad news. A parent would show up for their visitation day, and the folks at the orphanage would tell them that they were terribly sorry, but their child had been very sick and died. They would assure the family that the medical and funeral expenses would be covered by the orphanage. Having virtually no education and even less in the way of money, parents would leave dismayed with little know-how about how to press the issue.
Filiberto says that a few years later, the local municipality decided they were kicking the orphanage off the land to create a hotel. When they started construction, they found dozens of bodies that had been mutilated. Apparently, the orphanage had been harvesting the childrens’ organs and selling them on the black market.
Appalled, Oriana and I didn’t really know what to say. I sympathized that no wonder Guatemalans were nervous around foreigners. Filiberto told us an even funnier one. Apparently parents here tell their children not to run in the street. If they do run in the street, a gringo (white person/foreigner) will eat them.
As a joke, alluding to this same myth, a recent tour participant had walked up to Herson
, Filiberto’s 3 year old grandson, and told him that he liked to eat little Guatemalan children with a little salt. Herson didn’t flinch, he thought it was funny. Not even ten minutes after we finished this story, Herson came out to say goodnight to everyone. And to me he said: “Buenas noches, gringa. Voy a dormir ahora.” (Good night, white girl. I’m going to sleep now.) As he said this, he lowered his head. Filiberto told me to put my hand on his head—it’s a sign of respect that little kids are supposed to show to their elders. Herson stood there until I put my hand on his head and said goodnight. He repeated the same thing for Oriana, Filiberto, and Maria Elena.
I don’t understand how foreigners can exploit a population that is so kind and so willing to let us into their lives. I’m hoping that our work will show at least a few Guatemalans that some foreigners just want to help.
After the game, we went over to Filiberto’s house to hang out with them. We’re not supposed to have favorites, but I think they’re our favorites. We talked, drank atol (hot drink made with corn, cinnamon, and other stuff), and laughed.
Filiberto was telling us all about failed development projects in the community. There was one particularly horrifying story, I haven’t fact-checked this one folks, but it sounds plausible. There was an “orphanage” down the street from our house. Families would leave their kids with the folks at the orphanage when they couldn’t afford to feed them, clothe them, etc. Families were allowed visitation rights. Eventually, families all started to receive the same bad news. A parent would show up for their visitation day, and the folks at the orphanage would tell them that they were terribly sorry, but their child had been very sick and died. They would assure the family that the medical and funeral expenses would be covered by the orphanage. Having virtually no education and even less in the way of money, parents would leave dismayed with little know-how about how to press the issue.
Filiberto says that a few years later, the local municipality decided they were kicking the orphanage off the land to create a hotel. When they started construction, they found dozens of bodies that had been mutilated. Apparently, the orphanage had been harvesting the childrens’ organs and selling them on the black market.
Appalled, Oriana and I didn’t really know what to say. I sympathized that no wonder Guatemalans were nervous around foreigners. Filiberto told us an even funnier one. Apparently parents here tell their children not to run in the street. If they do run in the street, a gringo (white person/foreigner) will eat them.
As a joke, alluding to this same myth, a recent tour participant had walked up to Herson
, Filiberto’s 3 year old grandson, and told him that he liked to eat little Guatemalan children with a little salt. Herson didn’t flinch, he thought it was funny. Not even ten minutes after we finished this story, Herson came out to say goodnight to everyone. And to me he said: “Buenas noches, gringa. Voy a dormir ahora.” (Good night, white girl. I’m going to sleep now.) As he said this, he lowered his head. Filiberto told me to put my hand on his head—it’s a sign of respect that little kids are supposed to show to their elders. Herson stood there until I put my hand on his head and said goodnight. He repeated the same thing for Oriana, Filiberto, and Maria Elena.I don’t understand how foreigners can exploit a population that is so kind and so willing to let us into their lives. I’m hoping that our work will show at least a few Guatemalans that some foreigners just want to help.
Dancing and Motorcycles
While Oriana played soccer, I spent Saturday afternoon writing to document the last week. Yes, gentle reader, you already read those entries.
We ate more leftovers from Friday night—thanks to our mini-fridge. Then we hung around and made plans with some friends to go dancing again. We got into Antigua and met up with one of our friends—he has a motorcycle. But, the club we were going to was a bit of a walk.
In essence, I was peer-pressured into being the third butt on a medium-sized motorcycle. If I’d ever been on a motorcycle before, perhaps this would have been a less uncomfortable experience. The entire ride, my ample tush was falling off the seat. Eventually, I ended up sitting on the back tire for most of the ride. I was thrilled when we arrived at the club.
We had a great time dancing. I need some serious dancing lessons though. The folks here are serious about their dancing—and I’m not the best at following the moves. In the month or so that we’ve been here, I haven’t really learned how to salsa, cumbia, or merengue. Hopefully, we’ll be able to fit that into the schedule in the next couple of weeks.
Anyhow, it was a good time. Two of our friends with bikes offered to take us home—and we were happy with that too, because they’d save us the cab fare. By the way, riding second butt is far more comfortable.
We ate more leftovers from Friday night—thanks to our mini-fridge. Then we hung around and made plans with some friends to go dancing again. We got into Antigua and met up with one of our friends—he has a motorcycle. But, the club we were going to was a bit of a walk.
In essence, I was peer-pressured into being the third butt on a medium-sized motorcycle. If I’d ever been on a motorcycle before, perhaps this would have been a less uncomfortable experience. The entire ride, my ample tush was falling off the seat. Eventually, I ended up sitting on the back tire for most of the ride. I was thrilled when we arrived at the club.
We had a great time dancing. I need some serious dancing lessons though. The folks here are serious about their dancing—and I’m not the best at following the moves. In the month or so that we’ve been here, I haven’t really learned how to salsa, cumbia, or merengue. Hopefully, we’ll be able to fit that into the schedule in the next couple of weeks.
Anyhow, it was a good time. Two of our friends with bikes offered to take us home—and we were happy with that too, because they’d save us the cab fare. By the way, riding second butt is far more comfortable.
Jade and Planning for Quirigua
On Friday night, we had made plans with Francisco, the jade artist, to go to his place and work on our pieces again. So, we started walking there around 8:30 AM on Saturday. We walked through the town in between our two villages, San Pedro, and waited to catch a bus up the substantial hill to San Juan del Obispo.
We arrived at Francisco’s a little after 9 AM. I think time just flies in his house. You can easily spend 8 hours there and not realize where the time went. His wife, Odelia, and daughter, Rosita, are so nice. Francisco is one of those folks you want to talk to for hours. He knows so much and virtually everything he says is uber-interesting.
We worked until about 1:30 PM. I finished my piece and began thinking about a second. Oriana had finished hers before me and was already working on the engraved on her second piece. Oriana had made plans to get a soccer lesson from one of Filiberto’s sons at 2:30 PM. So, as we started to get our things together—Francisco got us to agree to a cup of coffee and fried plantains before we left. Who can say no to fried plantains? Or coffee?
We talked about lots of stuff, but mostly we planned our trip to Quirigua. When we first arrived in Guatemala and were contemplating where we’d travel, Franklin mentioned that if we were going to make this trip, it was one that we should get Francisco to come with us. Francisco knows tons about Mayan civilization—and Quirigua has lots of Mayan ruins. So, the plan is to go this coming weekend. Oriana and I have already started our course of malaria pills in anticipation. And even cooler, Francisco’s daughter, Rosita, is going to come with us. I, ever the bad influence, suggested that maybe we could write her a note and get her excused from school. As far as I’m concerned, she’ll probably learn more this weekend than she would at school on Friday.
Should be exciting!
We arrived at Francisco’s a little after 9 AM. I think time just flies in his house. You can easily spend 8 hours there and not realize where the time went. His wife, Odelia, and daughter, Rosita, are so nice. Francisco is one of those folks you want to talk to for hours. He knows so much and virtually everything he says is uber-interesting.
We worked until about 1:30 PM. I finished my piece and began thinking about a second. Oriana had finished hers before me and was already working on the engraved on her second piece. Oriana had made plans to get a soccer lesson from one of Filiberto’s sons at 2:30 PM. So, as we started to get our things together—Francisco got us to agree to a cup of coffee and fried plantains before we left. Who can say no to fried plantains? Or coffee?
We talked about lots of stuff, but mostly we planned our trip to Quirigua. When we first arrived in Guatemala and were contemplating where we’d travel, Franklin mentioned that if we were going to make this trip, it was one that we should get Francisco to come with us. Francisco knows tons about Mayan civilization—and Quirigua has lots of Mayan ruins. So, the plan is to go this coming weekend. Oriana and I have already started our course of malaria pills in anticipation. And even cooler, Francisco’s daughter, Rosita, is going to come with us. I, ever the bad influence, suggested that maybe we could write her a note and get her excused from school. As far as I’m concerned, she’ll probably learn more this weekend than she would at school on Friday.
Should be exciting!
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