Scrawl

You're Haiti!

2007-11-25T21:45:00.000-08:00

You're Haiti!

You do that voodoo that you do so well. But seriously. You're into voodoo. This is just one of several perspectives on the world that separate you from what most folks would consider to be normal. But you go way back to the old school with the original discoveries and the sailing and so forth. You've fallen on awfully hard times lately, and were going to be a "project" for some powerful friend. But they got bored and left. Contrary to popular belief, you are not a hata.

Take the Country Quiz II
at the Blue Pyramid

Rob Brezny knows what's up....

2007-10-23T23:49:00.000-07:00

No that it was the way I hoped to emerge from italics purgatory, but.....

My horoscope from freewillastrology.com seems especially fitting, and just cryptic enough to find space here -

Aries (March 21 - April 19)
For all we know, in your past life you were a virgin who was thrown into a volcano to appease a fire deity. But whether or not that's an actual fact, we can say this with certainty: At some time in your current life, you made a great sacrifice in an effort to pacify a person whose anger or violence or manipulativeness you were intimidated by. Now I say unto you, Aries, that it's an excellent time to fix any distortions that were unleashed in your life because of that sacrifice. You've got the personal power and insight you need to set the healing in motion. Halloween costume suggestions: the mythical phoenix; a virgin-turned-warrior carrying the severed head of the fire deity; a fireman, firewoman, or firedancer.

(In a past life indeed....)

But seriously...I don't think the costume ideas are going to cut it.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...

2006-12-20T22:26:00.000-08:00

The most snow Albuquerque has seen in years. Isn't it purty?

Mom and I even built a snowman. Yeah winter break.

"De Fault! De Fault!"

2006-12-17T17:31:00.000-08:00

Scrawl has won the Blue Pyramid's "Blog Plaudit" for Best New Blog of 2006, even if the summary does damn by faint praise. Take that Lesbian Dad!

Perhaps Storey's just trying to shame me into posting more often. Silly Storey.

Maybe this will bump our traffic up from two views/week to three.

DO NOT SEE APOCALYPTO

2006-12-16T11:24:00.000-08:00

WORST. MOVIE. EVER.

Evan Bayh? Well....one out of two ain't bad.

2006-12-11T20:09:00.000-08:00

Well this is just interesting given current circumstances. (Plus Russ has already announced he's not running) - but how did I possibly get Evan Bayh?? I said I needed help in the south. I've got Indiana on lockdown! Or something.

You're Feingold-Bayh!

As Russ Feingold, you are often on your own, a lone voice of sanity in an insane asylum. You keep voluntarily returning to the asylum, convinced that you can change the minds of those around you. You talk about the need for personal freedom, to avoid fighting for the rest of one's life, and even the simple importance of cleaning up one's act. It seems no one is listening. You even want people to have rights to love and be healthy! Now that's just crazy-talk.

You select Evan Bayh as your running mate to try to turn Indiana blue for the first time in 34 years.

Take the 2008 Presidential Ticket Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

I always knew I was smart....

2006-11-06T23:35:00.000-08:00

Finally, the New York Times is getting on board.

Confessions of a Dangerous Roommate

2006-10-18T21:22:00.000-07:00

1. Sahar and I stood out in the rain for about an hour and fifteen minutes yesterday for a Barack Obama book-signing at the local independent bookstore here. The most surprising thing about him was that he was exactly like I expected. And I must say that my expectations were pretty high...of course he didn't have very long to err, but still. I think Sahar's in love.

2. It's remarkable how much space short, inconsequential interactions can take up in my mind. I spend days going back over them - it's not constructive "what can I do better next time?" thoughts, it's almost solely "god, Matt, you're such an idiot." Which, of course, does me a lot of good in similar situations that arise in the future. I get more nervous about them, and less likely to succeed. I often feel like my personality crawls in a hole, and the only thought that comes is"um......this is not going well." Speaking in front of an audience is the worst. If I could improve one thing over the next two years, that would be it.

3. I hate news like that. I feel guilty no matter what happens. Too much of me feels responsible for everyone else's happiness. Despite consistently horrific results when I get involved in this sort of situation, the draw remains. Perhaps I've become a little wiser though. I really wanted to talk to a friend for "advice." But I don't really need anyone to tell me what the right thing to do is. Perhaps I just want someone to know so I feel some accountability.
The Literary Book of Answers says: "You must get another's consent before you ask mine." (Jane Austen) Perfect.

4. My room is in complete and utter disarray. At least stuff isn't in the hallway anymore though.

Snow...

2006-10-12T08:05:00.000-07:00

On the 12th of October...unbelievable.

For some reason blogger's photo upload function was acting up, so I wasn't able to add this when I first posted, but here's a picture of the view out my window that morning.

The Unbearable Slowness of Being Me

2006-10-09T22:25:00.000-07:00

Playing frisbee yesterday, I collided with a friend as we both dove for the disc. His knee came down on my lower left leg. It hurt when it happened, but I thought it was one of those things I could shake off, and would be fine 5 minutes later. I continued to play, though limping significantly for another 5 or 10 minutes, before I decided that I would be better off on the sidelines. But when I got up to go back home after having sat there for 20-30 minutes, I could barely walk.

This morning, it was just as bad - I'm hobbling everywhere I go. And really slowly. It feels really weird to go so slowly everywhere, but when I try to go faster I move my leg somehow and the intense shooting pain stops me altogether. It's really interesting how much different it feels to go at this pace though. It throws everything off. People have trouble going as slowly as I am. I've walked with three different people who ended up walking about 8 feet in front of me, in the middle of conversations, before realizing and turning around....but it keeps happening...they can't slow down enough. It also impacts the way I'm used to acting.

I don't know about anyone else, but I feel like there's an etiquette around seeing someone you know on the street. Specifically, it governs how far away you should be before you actually say hi/make eye contact. If you see someone half a block ahead, coming your way....you don't stare at them, or wave then....because then there's all this weird lag time before you actually are in speaking distance, and no one's sure whether to maintain eye contact, or go back to walking, and then say hi once you're closer, or what. So as soon as I notice a friend or acquaintance ahead of me on the sidewalk, I make it a point to look elsewhere until we're within a reasonable distance to facilitate this whole interaction. And I think that I've refined this distance over time. If it's too far ahead, you end your short "Hi, how're you?" "Good, yourself?" "Fine thanks" dialogue before you actually pass each other, and if it's too short a distance, this dialogue gets cut off somewhere in the middle, and nobody feels very good about it.

The point of all this is: in reality, it's a time constraint, but because I generally have a constant walking speed, I've come to think of it as a certain distance away. But now I'm all messed up. I acknowledge someone, and then it takes me 45 more seconds to get to where they're standing. This better clear up soon.

The student care center poked me a few times, bent my foot around, and then gave me high-dosage ibuprofen and a couple ice packs and sent me home. So we'll see how things progress.

Party in the Elevator

2006-10-02T17:18:00.000-07:00

The other day, when the elevator arrived at the International House, (where I live) the door opened to reveal a few people with large peices of sequined fabric and measuring tapes. One of the other guys to enter the elevator struck up a conversation with one of the decorators, who happens to live on my floor. The conversation went something like this:

Guy: "When's the party?"
Decorator: "Tommorow"
Guy: (nodding)"....is there going to be a lobster this year?"
Decorator: "Yeah"
Guy: "Cool"
(pause....)
Me: "Where?"
Decorator: "Here"
Me: "Here?"
Decorator: "Yeah"
Me: "Here, as in, in the elevator"
Decorator: "Yeah"

And then the door opened and I had to get off.

So the next day, around 10:30 at night Dionisios, a friend on my floor, came by to ask if I had been to the elevator yet. I hadn't and so we went to check it out. Apparently these guys do it once a quarter - it seems to be half art installation, half party. The theme this quarter? Amish in space. It was complete with loud techno, and both food and drink. (Although, the only food choice was non-veggie)

So here I was, riding the elevator from floor to floor for about 15 minutes, drinking (spiked) Tang and meeting people from other floors who decided to stop by.

complete with disco ball

Dionisios gets into the moment

Hyde Park News and Notes

2006-09-17T21:16:00.000-07:00

1. Tommorow morning is the Calculus exam, and then orientation week and school can actually get started. I'm ready for classes to start - to figure out the routine of grad school. Tonight I went to a barbecue at Allie's house. She's a former habitat staffer in Guatemala, and the one person I knew in chicago when I got here. While the kickball game planned to precede the BBQ was rained out, the rest of the evening was a nice foray into the outside world.

2. What strange semi-conscious journeys are possible with a little imagination and a good dose of NyQuil...they can be scary, but an interesting glimpse into your own mind as well.

3. I spent all last night working with one other person on a "group presentation" of our Harris School scavenger hunt photos. Let's just say that I haven't exactly been enamored of the group dynamic we've got going. The process has gone something like:

Meeting #1:
1. People present ideas
2. We agree on a good idea, (ok, it was mine, so I'm a little biased)
3. People proceed fiddle with the idea until it becomes very difficult to execute
3. Someone decides that the good idea is just too much work, ignoring the fact that it wasn't particualrly difficult in its original form
4. Another idea is offhandedly suggested
5. Others agree to it, because they want to go home

Meeting #2:
1. People show up with surprisingly funny content for idea #2, I begin to think things are ok after all.
2. One person who ignored idea #2 altogether shows up with totally bizarre idea #3.
3. Anxious to get to a lunch event which is starting, people agree to scrap all their own work and go with number 3, but folks agree to give their input on improving it.
4. No one sends anything new in, and myself and one other group member are left to finish the whole thing for 6 hours by ourselves on a saturday night.

Cocoa: In Memoria

2006-09-05T20:42:00.000-07:00

September 05, 2006

"Searching for a Home, Via Chicago"

2006-09-04T19:23:00.000-07:00

Now that I'm settled into the new environs a little: a recap of the last few weeks.

Albuquerque:
Spent some quality time with the 'rents, including a nice trip up to Santa Fe and a stop at the Guadalupe Cafe. I also got to see David Kunkel a shocking 3 times. The rumors are true. He does still exist, and he's morphed into a ladies man of the first order...which is strange. Elias, though a little more mellow perhaps is still his usual self, and our trips to the Pettersson household were virtually identical to those of 9 or 10 years ago, except for the fact that the TV was broken, which meant Ms. Pettersson and her movies were relegated to the computer room. She did make the obligitaory Chinese Checkers appearance though, and I think that DK was slightly angry that Elias and I opted for chess and left him to a 1-on-1 match-up. Megan (formerly Phillips) Hoffman and a I got to hang out as well, though accompanied by a couple of her friends this go-round, for sushi, and later, drinks at the Monte Vista. On my last afternoon in town Elias and DK and I went to the movie “Little Miss Sunshine” which I highly recommend. Elias and I both thought it was great, and even DK liked it, though less enthusiastically than ourselves.

The Road:
My mom and I got back into my fully-stuffed car on Monday, Aug. 21st. We spent most of the trip listening to Jeremy Irons read "Lolita," with a few interludes of music from the ipod to mix it up...including the CC's “Omaha” and Sufjan Steven's album “Come On Feel the Illinoise!” at appropriate junctures.

Monday evening we arrived in Denver. We spent that night and Tuesday at my cousin Jim and his wife Madeline's house. I got to meet their new (to me) 1 year old, Kayleigh, whose favorite toy was a small fire truck that she could ride. However, she couldn't yet actually push it along with her legs, so a few days before, my aunt had decided to teach her that she had to push a button next to the steering wheel to get pushed along. Pushing the button played a little ditty by the firehouse dalmation, which was predictably short, sing-song and repetitive. Having learned the causal relationship between button and locomotion, she expected others to abide by it. Which meant that I spent about 45 minutes pushing her around and listening to the dalmation's 15-second melody, until her lunch time mercifully arrived.

Tuesday evening the rest of the Denver-based family members (my aunts Karen and Gretchen & my cousin Alexia) showed up for a joint Jim/Madeline/Gretchen birthday party and barbecue. We all had a good time, good food and Tiramisu for dessert. (Despite Gretchen's preference for cake with icing in Bronco's colors.)

On Wednesday, mom and I made the trek from Denver to Cedar Rapids, IA to see the rest of her side of the family. Spent the day Tuesday with my cousin Portia and my mom, down at the lake. Had a nice dinner in town that evening adding my uncle Terry to the mix. (My aunt, Hanny, was on call all night delivering babies.) And finally got to see all of them in one place the next day at lunch before we departed for Chicago.

Chicago:
I moved into my new “average dorm room” at the International House on campus over the weekend, and dropped Mom off at the airport Sunday afternoon.

Monday morning “Math Camp” began, with our endearingly befuddled Professor. I could go on and on about this guy...but his most glorious moment came in the middle of the algebra test Friday. As I mulled over problem 4, a large crash reverberated throughout the auditorium. Moments before, the professor's desk had been sitting serenely on stage, as it had all week. But somehow, without any provocation, the bottom panel on the front side had given out. The absence of support on the front side allowed the surface to incline steeply towards the class. In slow motion, the professor tried in vain to right the desk and the (very expensive) digital overhead projector sitting on top crept towards the edge.
Upon reaching the precipice, it had gained enough momentum to propel itself beyond the edge of the stage, and onto the floor below – where it shattered into many, many pieces. After about 3 seconds of silence, the professor's first words were “oh, well.” It was a bit of a struggle to refocus on algebra while the professor crawled about the stage peering at the underside of the desk in an attempt to ascertain the cause of its collapse.

Activities have also been interspersed throughout the week, a few directed by the Harris School, but most organized by students. They've given me a chance to spend some time getting to know other Harris first-years, almost all of whom seem cool. (which is nice) Included among the activities was a tour of the amazingly Harry-Potteresque campus. (They've got multiple cafés here with working fireplaces that run all winter!) Also on the list: a trip to Jazz Fest in downtown, a bike ride up the shore of Lake Michigan, break dancing lessons at the African Arts festival in Washington Park just east of campus, and a couple of trips to the one bar in Hyde Park that anyone seems to know about. Many cool Harris activities are yet to come, including a White Sox game, a tour of the Robie House, and a trip to watch the taping of Wait, Wait-- Don't Tell Me!

Livingston and the Rio Dulce

2006-08-16T16:14:00.000-07:00

For the last few days before I left the country, I decided to travel out to the Carribean coast, since that's one of the few parts of Guatemala that I hadn't seen yet. Joy and her friend Adam decided to join me, and I was happy to be able to avoid traveling solo. We took the bus from Guatemala City to Puerto Barrios, and then a small boat out to Livingston. (the only way to get there)

The carribean coast of Guatemala feels a lot more like Jamaica than Guatemala, except that they speak spanish. Most of the people are a mix of Mayan and black, tracing their ancestors to a couple of slave ships that wrecked off the coast. The culture and music draw from both African and Mayan traditions.

After spending the night in Livingston we took a boat up to Siete Altares (seven altars) a series of pools made by a small river just before it flows in the ocean. Then from there we rode into the mouth of the Rio Dulce (sweet river) and up to a small eco-hotel called Finca Tatin. We spent the next couple of days swimming, reading in the hammocks, playing scrabble, chess and cards with other visitors, and even took a few hour kayak trip. I couldn't have asked for a better end to my trip.

The view from the last river pool of Siete Altares out to the ocean.

Another pool, and the cascading stream stretching back into the jungle.

A fisherman on the river in a hollowed-out-log canoe.

The entrance to Finca Tatin, and some river-front hammocks.

A house, with their laundry and canoe out front. All the houses sat on pylons against the river, most had a place where the trees had been cut down so that they could park a boat. Little convenience stores and the occasional restaurant lined the waterways, each with a small dock. I don't think that there were roads for miles, everyone gets around by boat.

Joy and Adam in their Kayaks.

Me, waiting for Joy to catch up....apparently she was busy taking pictures.

Monterrico

2006-08-16T15:53:00.000-07:00

August 4^th - 6^th I went to Monterrico, a little beach town on the Pacific coast of Guatemala with friends. It was a great opportunity to thaw out from the cold weather of Xela and just relax. In addition to myself, the folks who went were:

Richard - a british guy who I became pretty good friends with over the course of my trip, he works for Habitat Guatemala.

Joy

Joy's puppy Pana (named for Panajachel, where Joy found her on the street with a broken leg and decided to rescue her)

Gina, the other American living with my host family

Amy, an American who works as an anesthesiologist in Palo Alto

Selvin, the Guatemalan who drove our microbus there, and spent most of the weekend with us.

All the beaches on the Pacific coast have black sand, which means that by 10am the sand is unbearably hot. And since the waves are huge, and there's a strong undertow, we spent most of the time in the shade enjoying the view and pina coladas.

Monterrico is on an island, separated from the mainland by a large mangrove-lined channel. On Sunday morning, we were scheduled to take a boat tour of the mangrove swamps at 6am. Richard and Selvin decided that they would go to the discoteca anyway, and left at about 10:30, after we had all gotten back from dinner. Since the room was so hot, Joy and I went up to the veranda to sleep in the hammocks, where there was some semblance of a breeze.

We awoke at about 5:10 am to a commotion downstairs. Someone had gotten into Richard and Selvin's room and taken about 2000Q (approx. $275 US) from Richard's wallet. Selvin swore he had locked the room. The member of the hotel staff explained that someone had propped the gate open earlier, so a number of people had come in and out. Richard was angry, asking how this guy could not know how who was in his hotel. Joy and I leaned over the railing and quickly figured out what was going on. And as we stood there listening to Richard, neither of us immediately expressed concern over the situation....the first thing either of us said was that we were in awe of the fact that Richard was able to sustain a 10 minute tirade in Spanish. Something to aspire to, I guess.

Some pictures of the weekend for the visually-inclined:

A road sign, taken before sunrise on the walk to the dock for the boat tour.

The beach, if you look closely, you can see how strong the surf is.

Selvin goes for a volleyball as I look on - We lost about 10 games to the Guatemalan teams before it got dark. But right before they called it a night we finally won....some postulated that gringo night vision is better, but I think that the little light that remained reflected off our glaring white skin to illuminate the beach near us and give us the advantage.

The sun begins to rise as we get underway in the boat

Lillypads

Another boat ahead of ours

The view out the sliding door of the van, as we take the ferry across the channel

Pana... agreeing with me that it's hot

Goodbyes

2006-08-16T15:52:00.000-07:00

Just a few pictures from Xela that I took while saying my goodbyes:

Here's the outside of my spanish school, ICA (large yellow building on the left with ICA painted on the very top)

My host family: (Left to right: Me, Lilly, Maria Jose, and Michelle)

4 of my 6 Spanish teachers (actually, my favorite 4) who happened to be the ones there my last day at school - Strangely, they are also in the order I had them, from left to right: Edwin, Loli, Me, Elisa, Ingrid:

Home again, home again

2006-08-16T15:51:00.000-07:00

I got back to Albuquerque yesterday evening. Took a luxouriously high-pressure hot shower, and had the healthiest food I've eaten in weeks. (salmon, broccoli and salad) I never thought I would be so happy to have some vegetables.

After dinner Elias came over for dessert, and visited with me and the folks for a little while, though I was so tired at that point that I had to rally to stay awake for the 45 minutes he stayed. Supposedly I will get a glimpse of the elusive David Kunkel this evening at the Frontier's chess night....I'll believe it when I see him.

It's time to get a bunch of these updates up that I've been lagging on. Between trying to get everything done and see friends before I left Guatemala (and the difficulty of finding internet access outside of business hours) I have a lot to post now. Now I'm sitting in the hammock in the back yard at my folks house using wireless. What a difference a day makes.

On a slightly unrelated note, Spanish has no word (at least that I've been able to find) for the concept of home. They have a couple of words for house, but nothing that connotes the more sentimental meanings of the word. If anyone out there knows of a word I missed let me know, but I discussed the idea with my Spanish teacher for a while, and she decided that nothing equivalent existed.

Ciao Xela

2006-08-10T21:21:00.000-07:00

Well, I said goodbye to Xela today.....had my last Spanish class, last Salsa dancing class, even got a little diploma which states that I'm intermediate level III at spanish.....whatever that means.

Anyhow, after a long bus ride, we're (my friends Joy, Adam and I) in Guatemala City tonight. We leave the hotel at 5:40 am tommorow to catch a bus to the carribean coast. We'll be visiting the town of Livingston tommorow and then Saturday we're taking a boat ride up the Rio Dulce to Finca Tatin.

Back to the states on Tuesday. Once I get back, I'll get pictures up from the last couple of weeks.

Momostenango

2006-08-04T12:25:00.000-07:00

I leave for the beach in about two hours...yay! I'm ready for some warm weather and a somewhat more relaxing weekend than I've had in a while. I'd be alot happier though if we knew we had a couple more people going. I've been organizing the trip, and for one reason or another the group has been hemorrhaging people who had either committed fully or told me they were all but sure they'd come. We're down to five now, which is making the cost/person of the minibus that we're renting alot higher than anticipated. The latest blow was that one of our group got robbed by someone staying in his hotel last night, and can't afford to go now. I guess I shouldn't stress out too much; it's only about $40 per person for the transport, but here you can do a whole lot with that much.

Anyhow, more updates when I get back.

In the meantime, I wanted to at least post a brief summary (and some pictures) of the trip I took last Sunday. We went to Momostenango, a city about an hour and a half from Xela. They were having a huge city-wide fiesta to celebrate the day of San Felipe, the city's patron saint. (The fiesta lasts for about 10 days.....these people know how to party)

On the way we stopped to spend a little time with a family who weaves traditional Mayan carpets, blankets, clothing, etc.

Spinning the raw wool into thread.

Various colors of dyed wool waiting to be used on the looms.

The largest loom, about 8-9 feet across.

They made us tortillas over the fire that rival any I've ever had. They also made a tea out of cinnamon and a grain that they toast (something like wheat....) that was pretty amazing.

A formation of eroded sandstone outside Momos.

Streamers adorning a building on the town square.

A float of San Felipe carried in the parade.

Dances, using caricature-like masks.....unless I'm mistaken many of the dances were poking fun at gringos, specifically the Spanish. One of the dances featured overblown caricatures of white people in ridiculous European-style clothing...clown-sized ties, etc.

My god they set off a lot of fireworks. The noise was deafenening much of the time. Here, the remnants litter the ground.

The Finca, and its Discontents

2006-08-01T13:54:00.000-07:00

On Saturday I went with a group to tour an industrial Coffee farm or finca, which is a pretty rare experience to get. There are a ton of finca tours in Guatemala, but they're all happy little co-operatives, or small, friendly, family-owned operations. The tours focus on the process of making coffee: when to pick the beans, how they're sorted and roasted, etc. It all ends up with a nice cup of coffee on the porch.

On the other hand this tour spent a lot more time talking about the various ways that the owners (or patrones) often cheat the workers, and the vast discrepancies in income that these large fincas perpetuate. While the Guatemalan administrator of the finca allows our guide to bring small groups of foreigners to raise awareness, the owners do not know, and would probably fire the administrator if they found out. We were asked not to publish the name of the farm, so that our guide can continue to take groups in the future.

The owners of the finca are a European family The finca we toured was about 1850 acres. It is the smallest of three fincas that they own. They show up once in a rare while, but aside from determining if the administrator has successfully produced the expected yield for the year, they have practically no involvement in daily operations.

Coffee farming is a strange process. Coffee beans grow inside a small fruit, about the size of a grape. The whole process of removing the berry pulp, drying the beans, sorting them by quality, roasting them, and packaging them for wholesalers can be accomplished by 10 families that live on the farm year-round. However, for the two and a half months of picking season, the farm employs about 200 more people to harvest the berries. This process can only be done by humans, they have to move through the rows of plants, picking only the ripe berries, and leaving the rest to mature later. When you've finished a row, you go back to the beginning, and pick the berries that have ripened since your last pass....and so on for two and a half months.

The automation that they have set up to process the beans is incredible. None of it uses any electricity, it's all powered by a small stream running through the grounds. Watching the whirring machinery in the building where all the processing is done was enthralling. There won't be a single bean to process until mid-September, and yet the wheels spin ceaselessly. The water powering the various mechanisms doesn't wait for the harvest.

For the 10 families who live there permanently, life is relatively good. Which is to say that they would appear incredibly poor to folks in the U.S.. But each family has a small home, (well, everything is actually owned by the patrones, but they are granted access to it) and possibly a chicken or two. The houses are positioned strategically around the finca. Each family, in addition to their normal duties, is also responsible for watching for thieves that might brave the barbed-wire fences to steal from the fruit trees or the wood pile, or whatever.

For the 200 people that come from hundreds of miles around (often walking) to gain temporary work during the harvest, life is decidedly worse. There is no school locally that will teach their children. The kids end up missing about a month of school, and are often needed on the farm anyway. The children are usually responsible for picking the low-hanging berries that are difficult for their parents to reach. We were shown a large building, perhaps 40 yards by 15 yards, which will house 30 families. These are not your average American “Mom, Dad & 2.8 kids” families. These are Guatemalan families, which means more like 5 children, and probably a grandparent or two. Pulmonary problems are very common, since people often work in the rain, and sleep crowded together on concrete floors.

The patrones' helicopter pad in the foreground, while Santiaguito [see "Laguna Xicabal" entry for more on Santiaguito] blows off steam in the background.

Interior of main coffee processing building

Belts connect the wheels of different apparatuses

Spinning wheel closeup

A view of the lower fields of the finca

While I couldn't take any pictures inside the temporary worker living quarters , this is the entrance.

Lo Mata, o No Lo Mata?

2006-07-31T15:40:00.000-07:00

Last night we were at a bar called Tecun. It's one of those bars in Guatemala where the foreigners usually outnumber the native Guatemalans 3:1. It's right by Parque Central, and it's probably the safest bar in the city....they usually have a security guard at the door. And here in Guatemala, when you see a security guard, they are almost always carrying a big shotgun. So you don't mess around. But it was a quiet Sunday night, and since it's unlikely anything is going to happen with a quiet crowd on a sunday night, I think that the security guard had gone home. About 10 pm most of the group of about 15 people from our school decided that they were headed home to bed, but a few of us stuck around because we were still waiting for food we had ordered. Tecun has notoriously slow service...and so about 6 of us remained at 10:30. The group consisted of my friend Richard, who works for Habitat for Humanity here in Guatemala, myself, and 4 German students who had just arrived on Friday.

We were sitting there chatting amiably, when a Guatemalan man approached us. One of the German girls, who had been taking photos earlier, had attracted his attention. He wanted her to take a photo of he and his two friends sitting on the other side of the bar. The man wanted her to take the picture with her camera, and then email it to him. She patiently explained, in the best spanish that she could muster, that she had not brought the cord required to connect the camera to a computer, and thus would have trouble sending him the picture. He, being drunk and not having any experience with digital pictures, insisted that she could find an internet connection in many, many places in Guatemala. Richard, jumping in with his fluent spanish, once again explained the problem to the man but he persisted, becoming more and more angry with our delays.

Deciding to put a finer point on the matter, the man lifted his shirt and extracted a large black pistol from his waistband. He declared that he would have to shoot us if the girl did not comply. He then proceeded to ask the entire group a series of questions, “Is this a toy, or a real pistol.” The group agreed that it was real, but the man demanded that a couple of us feel it to confirm it's authenticity. “Does it kill, or does it not kill?” he asked. Again we all agreed....”lo mata, lo mata.” He extracted the clip, asking us to verify the presence of bullets. He dropped the clip and had to retrieve it from the floor. At this point the danger of him accidentally firing the gun probably surpassed the danger of his intentionally harming someone, but I wasn't willing to discount the latter scenario, either, given his demeanor.

The group roundly agreed that the best course of action at this point was to take the picture, and then get out of there as fast as humanly possible. The girl and Richard went over to their table to take the picture and a conversation ensued. Apparently one of the man's friends, who knew French was able to determine from Richard (who also speaks fairly fluent French) what had occurred. The two friends, who were apparently a little wiser to the ways of technology than their buddy, immediately understood the necessity of actually getting the photo onto a computer. They also quickly figured out what their friend had done, and having a somewhat more civilized attitude towards the use of small arms in commercial establishments, were embarrassed by his actions.

One of the friends brought us a liter of Gallo (the national Guatemalan beer) as a peace offering, and explained that his companero was not from Xela, but from the campo. He was just a poor country mouse who didn't understand the ways of the bustling metropolis. He could not be expected to understand the subtle intricacies of when it was, and when it was not appropriate to use death threats to induce someone to do him a favor. We assured the man that we understood fully before making as swift an exit as we could manage. After all, soon the psychotic would have one more beer drowning his tenuous inhibition to use deadly force while proffering a picture.

Proyecto Y'abal

2006-07-30T16:21:00.000-07:00

Last weekend we went up in the mountains with my friend Yet's project Y'abal. (I'm also helping Yet spruce up the website, so hopefully you can check back soon for a whole new, improved, more user-friendly site)

The project is helping two villages (composed of refugees that were displaced by hurricane Stan) to build permanent houses. The people, which used to live in the tropical region of Guatemala, farmed bananas and other tropical fruit. They were forced to relocate to the high plains, where it always seems cold and rainy. In addition to having to leave their homes, which were washed away by heavy rains and mudslides, they've had to adapt to a totally new climate. They've also had to find new ways to make a living, since it's impossible to grow bananas anywhere near their current homes.

Most all of the 200 or so people in the two villages are living in temporary shelters, made up of a roof and heavy plastic sheeting.....basically a tarp... for the walls. Only about half of the villagers that I met speak spanish, many spoke only Quiche, a mayan dialect. Often, there was a line of translation in the group. English(American #1) to passable spanish(American #2) to better spanish(Mayan #1 asking American if this is what they meant to say) to Quiche. It makes you wonder what actually gets through, but everybody is good humored about it and eventually everybody figures out the basics.

To anyone who's been on a "Skipper Brigade" Habitat for Humanity trip, some of these pictures will look strikingly familiar, only everyone's wearing long sleeves and sweaters, and the sun is nowhere to be seen.

This is the house we worked on, with part of the village in the background, and the fog rolling through.

In the previous picture, you'll notice that most of the houses in the background are just temporary roofs, with tarps hanging down on each side. Mostly provided by USAID, the tarps say this[see picture].......seeing the tag line every where I went around the village made me cringe over and over. My only hope is that none of them know enough english to have a clue what it says. (Many of them were hung upside down.....so it's thoretically possible.....although it could have just as well been a political statement)

Three of us mixing glop, the cement that they pour to reinforce the cinder blocks. It's nice that it was cool, but it's still impressively hard work at 10 or 11,000 feet.

Two men carrying huge stumps using a strap that goes around the forehead.....I was impressed. Especially since I was out of breath just from mixing concrete.

A backstrap loom, which the Mayan women use to weave. It can be attached to pretty much anything. The women weave smaller items like the traditional, brightly colored clothing ("traje") that you see them wear. The men use much larger, wooden frame looms to make things like blankets and rugs.

A very common part of the traditional traje for Mayan women is a large cloth that wraps around, much like a satchel bag, to hold something on her back (very often a baby). Here, a stuffed panda bear subs in, as a small girl immitates her elders.

Xicabal Addendum

2006-07-30T15:46:00.000-07:00

My friend Joy sent me some more pictures of our trip to Laguna Xicabal that I thought I might post. Especially since I never actually end up with any pictures of me in any of these places......so, just to prove I was actually there:

This first one is a picture of me taking a picture of Hermes. Joy seemed to like the Gnome idea.

From left to right:
Tony (former roommate, and co-dirt-pudding-creator [see entry below] from Indiana), Joy, Perrine, (both of whom we met on the trip, and I have spent a bit of time with since) and me

A picture of Perrine sampling one of the notoriously alcoholic "Choco Mad" imitation oreo cookies [see entry below]

Cena Internacional

2006-07-28T15:08:00.000-07:00

We've had a couple of "international dinners" as Friday evening activities at ICA (my spanish school).

The first one we were actually supposed to prepare a dish typical of our home country. Which poses minor problems when you're a vegetarian American. Especially when calculating the odds of finding GardenBurgers or SmartDogs in town are would make your engineering friend who works at NASA go into hysterics - we're talking 1 in 80,000!. [No, that's not an exclamation point for emphasis, that's factorial...I can already feel Jake trembling]

So what's typically American, and doesn't contain meat? Our answer? Dirt pudding.
For those of you who haven't been blessed with the opportunity to try dirt pudding, it is composed of pulverized Oreo's, layered with pudding (sometimes vanilla, sometimes chocolate; I think it's better with a combination.) you finish it off by scattering gummy worms throughout. The end result, once the final layer of oreos goes on, looks distinctly like potting soil. The first time I ever had dirt pudding, it was presented in a large houseplant pot, with a fake houseplant actually planted in it. It was served with a trowell. For a 9 year old boy, it was the coolest thing I had experienced in months, and made a lasting impression.

So Tony (another extranjero from Indiana) and I set out to confer the same awe upon the student body of ICA, at least those who'd never had it. Personally, I'm sure that we put more work into our dish than anyone at the school. We were lucky to find a large blue sand pail, which was the perfect receptacle, early on. However, after that, the whole venture took a turn for the worse. We couldn't find gummy worms - only bears and, strangely... octopi. So we proceeded to cut off the tentacles of each octopus, fabricating relatively convincing approximations of worms. Finding pudding and imitation Oreo's was relatively easy. However, cooling down a huge pot of pudding in the 4 hours we had to prepare was more difficult, and was complicated significantly by the fact that our family doesn't have a refrigerator. Tony ended up fetching bags of ice, so that we could fill the sink (using an improvised drain plug - no, they didn't have that either) with enough cold water to cool the pudding.

The cookies looked exactly like their American, brand name counterparts, and when crushed behaved exactly like oreos in every way but one. They reeked of alcohol. I'm not sure what it was. Our best theory, at the end of it all, was that they used some sort of chocolate extract....which would involve alcohol like vanilla extract. Whatever the contents, the house smelled like we were brewing moonshine in the non-existent bathtub when was all over. I got a questioning look or two from our host-mom before we explained that it was the cookies - at which point the looks changed to highly skeptical. After we convinced her to sample one though, she quickly came around.....so to speak.

Somehow, a fair portion of the smell emanating from our pail had dissapated before we had to carry it up the hill to school.

During this journey, the many passers-by conferred on us a multitude of looks which progressed approximately from:

"Is that a huge blue bucket they're carrying?"

to

"What the hell are those guys doing carrying around a huge blue bucket, in the dark, on a friday night??"

to

"......(sigh).......crazy gringos........"

One of my biggest regrets of the trip is that I never got a picture of the whole mess. Suffice it to say that it went over well. Tony and I also amused ourselves for about twenty minutes, watching the parade of people who passed by the table to peer questioningly into the bucket of dirt sitting next to the cakes, speculating with friends, poking at it tentatively with a spoon. Eventually, of course, each group made a short presentation explaining their particular dish, and the gig was up.

The second dinner we had was last week, and was actually a cookoff. However the school said we were limited to either making pizza or sandwiches. So, pizza it was.... this story is significantly less exciting, we were able to prepare our eggplant and garlic pizza without incident. This time my group consisted of Tony's sister, Gina; Eva, a Dutch woman who later confessed that she loved the movie "White Chicks"....really??; and Ida, an American from Conneticut.

We did not win the cookoff. The group who did made their own dough, and made one of their pizza's in the shape of guatemala. They also put mint leaves on one of their pizzas - with no tomato sauce, and some walnuts it was surprisingly good....nice and light. Try it sometime.

I do have a few pictures of the second dinner, however, so I'll share:

Our half-eaten, cheeseless, pizza. We made a cheesy one too, but we had some lactose-unfriendly people so we made one minus dairy. The cheesy one was more popular and got eaten before I got a chance to take a picture.

Group members Ida (left) and Gina (right)

Eva and Ida. Eva was excited about the german wine, because it was the closest thing to something from home she'd seen in weeks.

Enrique and Yulie, the directors of ICA. Enrique refused to make a normal face for any of my pictures.