Whoa Nellie...

While in Antigua Tyler and met some great people and totally gave up on spending an entire month in some tiny little mountain town called San Pedro. We went to check it out mostly just because we said we would but only would stay a few days before we'd return to Antigua for classes. That was over one month ago and we've only been able to tear ourselves away for a handful of little half day trips because life out here is so great.



These little towns have been so good to us. For one thing, our classes were wonderful and I couldn't possibly recommend Casa Rosario any more. It hardly seems real, we're studying one on one with charming local teachers in one of the prettier gardens I've seen.



And boring everyday life was made spectacular when in the shadow of a gigantic volcano. Be it putting out laundry, or strolling home from school it's hard not to be in nonstop awe when looking up the face of this act of geological fury. This is Volcano San Pedro, with our little village on the side taken from Panajachel on the other side of the lake.



I was well impressed with that volcano. But my sense of it, much like my sense of San Pedro changed really quickly. It turns out that this whole inland sea is actually a vast volcanic crater. And that Volcano San Pedro, for all its former fury is more like a little pimple on the real volcano. Consider my mind blown!


Goodbye San Pedro, I will miss you!

Studying Swedish in Spanish

One of the many pleasant diversions of life in San Pedro is the cool people from all over the world we've been meeting. We've found it difficult to get a 100% Guatemalan experience because there is too much of a World experience to ignore. For example, in the midst of our intensive Spanish studies Kristina, the Swede above, started teaching me some great words that we simply don't have in English (nor Spanish).

One such word is Lagom (prounounced Laa-gum) which kind of means 'the right amount, not too much nor too little.' So when someone asks you how much food you want, you say Lagom, which means you want a bit but that you want there to be enough for everyone. Not only do we not have that word in American English, but in the land of super-sized jumbo burgers we don't even have that concept.

Or Fika (prounounced fee-ka) which is the social act of going to eat or drink something small without specifying what. More like 'Lets go eat or drink as an excuse to talk.' This must be enormously handy when inviting a cute stranger on a first date. I know I've been accidentally rebuffed when inviting someone out for a coffee or beer and they say they don't drink either (at least, I think it was an accident. It's not real rejection without a restraining order).



Care for a Fika?

Only the Swedish could make up this splendid word for 'Not Squeaky.' For example, this desk is Pokvanligt* (pronounced perk-van-likt). This comes from the root Poka (Sex), and Vanlig (friendly). So, instead of saying: 'this desk is well built, sturdy and doesn't squeak' you simply say that it's solid enough to have sex on. Any culture that describes everyday objects by their erotic possibilities will forever have my undying respect.

*In Swedish this word has all sorts of accents that I don't know how to recreate here nor even pronounce fully. But what can you expect from a people that can say "Yes," or "Agreed" with nothing but a sharp intake of breath?

Good eatin'

While making plans to visit a developing country Tyler and I resigned ourselves to living a more challenging, less immediately appealing life. We knew we would have to sacrifice much of our quality of life. We were leaving behind good friends and loved ones, favored restaurants and our comfy homes.

The truth is we had no idea what we were getting into. For one thing, over the last month the both of us have eaten better than either of us have in many years. San Pedro is full of really phenomenal restaurants with cuisine from all over. Below is a picture of a local specialty Bananas Latino... Bananas fried with rum, some secret spices and a little sugar.



For less than the price of eating our fill of fast food at home we've been able to dine in a well manicured garden, sip on a glass of Chilean wine and casually watch the evening unfold. The local food too is delicious, healthy and almost always appealing. Tortillas, beans, and rice show up in almost every meal but seems to hit the right spot everytime. The fresh fruit is fantastic sliced up on the street, or blended into a yogurt licuado in front of our eyes. If only someone could convince the Guatemalans to brew slightly stronger coffee and start up a few microbrews this place would be culinary Nirvana.



To reflect a small part of my appreciation I've started a photoset of some of the food we've been having. So, click there whenever you want to wish your computer had a monitor that you could taste.

All this being said, after a month on the road Tyler and I are starting to evolve how we travel. We started going out for three meals a day. Which dropped, more or less, to two once we started classes. Lately, to save money, we've been averaging closer to one meal out and just eating some of the fruit and bread we've found to supplement it throughout the day. And we've started out this week by resisting the impulse to go out to eat at all. Last night, for instance, most of the students at our school shared all the food we'd had hidden in our rooms. What initially started as a simple dish turned into a veritable feast that left us all satisfied and smiling.



Buen Provecho!

To Climb the Nose of an Indian

The day Tyler and I arrived in San Pedro we declared two goals we needed to accomplish before leaving. One was to climb the Nariz de Indio mountain, and the other was to mount the Volcano San Pedro. This weekend we climbed former. Indian Nose is so named because the mountain range looks like a prone native, check out this view of it from our roof:



We rounded up some likeminded adventurers hitched three rides on the back of pickups to Santa Elana and started trudging up. Since we really hadn´t the foggiest clue where we were going and were too cheap to hire a guide I took over as the fearless leader and led us up a cornfield that went up the steep slope. Upon reaching the top of the farm, muddy and tired, we realized that the trail ended far from the peak. We ultimately got some advice from a farmer, tried anew, and worked our way up to the top. We stumbled across a native ceremony on the top so we had to be quiet while we ate a lunch of fruit.


*Those of you new to Flickr, if you click some of the pictures like the one above you´ll see notes we add to them labeling things in them. Try it!

And drank in the view:



The pickup ride up was harrowing, winding up a twisting mountain road in a truck that could barely rev so we decided to walk down the long way and go straight to San Juan. Along the way Tyler came across a whole field of high altitude Guatemalan coffee; something he has sold tons of in Albany.



We made it home totally exhausted but that night we heard merrily fast music coming from next door to Casa Rosario so we investigated. We stumbled into a free neighborhood dance party complete with a great band and friendly locals and danced well into the next morning.

Ode to a Solid Stool

Life abroad has different rhythms. Some days its fast paced and stressful, other times its slow and utterly relaxing. Sometimes people have challenges with external events, things that happen to them when in a foriegn environment. Sometimes people have internal challenges when coming to terms with life far from home. My most serious complaint about this trip so far, however, is that magical moment when internal woes become external.

You see, when a man sits in the smallest room of his house he likes to fancy himself a WWII Pilot dropping bombs rather than a firefighter spraying a fire. Or perhaps a lumberjack casting logs into a river rather than a gardener spraying down a field. And when this particular agriculturist felt an internal compunction to hose down the very same garden half a dozen times in the same morning I begrudgingly admitted that all was not well.

Today we've been in Guatemala for three weeks and not coincidentally I've gone three weeks without personally issuing anything to the world with any structural integrity. Once in a while thats ok, but I'm starting to wonder if I'll ever hear my distinctive 'Plop' sound again.

In the beginning there were plenty of good reasons for my soft disposition. A long night of drinking on our last night out; but even after I gave up the liquid diet my entrails did not. There is also my affinity for verde salsa picante, a type of liquid fire one pours on food to spice it up which later pours out with no less burning spice. So I adjusted my diet. I toned down the salsa, ate more bananas and tried to eat things that already looked like what I wanted them to a bit later in the day.

The closest I came to controlling the enslaught was to use the upper half of my body to outsmart the lower via a siege strategy I gained from my studies of war in the European middle ages. I formed a blockade on the north end of my person, and denied any food to pass. The theory was that this would disarm my more southern contingent thus rendering it impotent. It retailiated with a psychological maneuver worthy of Napolean. Despite having given it very little to work with it threatened a massive offensive, a geyser erupting not unlike the `Old Faithful' geyser in Yellowstone national park. Initially I reacteded with disdain, I knew it must bluffing because I had denied it any ammunition. But eventually, as the pressure built, my confidence broke and I ran to the ceramic bowl battlefield. When the enormous pressure building trickled out more like a leaky faucet than a volcano erupting I knew I had been duped.

It´s difficult to to win an arguement with ones own alimentary canal. Deep within myself I have discovered a capacity, possibly superhuman, to render all solids into liquids. I have been profoundly humbled by this knowledge and in my defeat have conceded some of what I´m looking for in life. Instead of demanding that my body perform solidly on a regular schedule I beseech it, with manifest humility, for mercy. My southern regions now dictate the rhythm of my days and I simply beg it to continue to giving me a little bit of warning and enough control to use that information.

Is this too much to ask?