Kathryn and I loving every second of our swim at Semuc Champey after a weekend of co-teaching at IGA in Coban

Definitely could have stayed for a week... or a month

Memorial Day lesson with the second-year ACCESS students. Proud to represent!

It's Halftime

Today marks the halfway point of my time here in Guatemala. I can remember that, before I left in January, I’d randomly lose myself in thinking about what it would feel like to be in the 5^th month of my 10-month grant period. Would I be lonely and empty of new ideas for the classroom, having already booked my plane ticket home for November? Or would I be content and energized, ready to make the most of the second half of my stay? Since today, June 9^th, is the day that I laboriously tried to imagine for so long, it seems perfectly appropriate to answer these questions from my 5-month-ago self. 

Recently, I’ve felt strong waves of something like homesickness, but it actually isn’t the feeling of missing home. Instead, I’ll self-diagnose it as friendsickness. Definition: The sentiment of missing those not with whom you’re merely acquainted but with whom you have a relationship of deep trust and strong mutual commitment. Two weeks ago, I made a 2-day trip to Florida for family reasons, and I won’t deny that as I walked through the Houston airport on my layover, I felt comforted by the excessive number of Starbucks cafés (I don’t even like their coffee that much) and the fact that I could understand ALL of the jokes I overheard between my fellow native-English speakers. But what comforted me most was a 5-minute phone call that I made to one of my very best friends in Pennsylvania. As I was waiting to overindulge myself in what would turn out to be sushi and the incredibly large American classic fudge brown/cake sundae, I realized I could do something I hadn’t been able to do for 4 and a half months: call a friend. The whole idea was wonderfully simple. I didn’t have to send an email or post on facebook what times I’d be available to skype, remind her of the time difference, and then apologize for not having internet for the two hours we were supposed to talk. All I had to do was find her name in my phone and press “call.” Oh, the beauty of it. Though I don’t remember the conversation in its entirety, I’m pretty sure we spoke about why I was in the States, what she should pack when she visits this June (2 weeks!), and how her new job was going. More than the words we exchanged, being able to get a hold of her with ease brought such happiness, which eventually turned to sadness as I realized that I’d be returning to the email-facebook-skype routine very soon.

After returning to Guate a few days later, I led a discussion in my conversation club about the proposed risks of joining facebook at an early age, specifically before the age of 18. In addition to resulting in physical changes in the brain that may lead to shorter attention spans, the scientist reporting in the article we read shares that the social risks may be just as dangerous. She explains that because social networks like our beloved facebook make friendships so accessible, actually being with friends in person can become obsolete. Certainly, this is the extreme of what can happen to FB users, and many of us maintain that we primarily use it to keep in touch with friends who are far away or who we don’t see as often as we’d like for whatever reason. Still, even for those of us who make this latter claim, I think the message of what, to me, is a scary extreme is important to keep in mind. Even though I didn’t ask my students directly, I think this conversation probably affected me more than it did them. [Side note: I’ve learned that teachers often get just as much, if not more, out of lessons with their students. This is a secret, though…the students can never know :)] As much as facebook softens the blow of being separated from close friends, it cannot and should not serve as a substitute for in-person opportunities. Por lo tanto, every second that I spend with Carolyn during her stay will be rich in love and gratitude. It’s a friendship that has taken years to mature and that I’ve grown to miss in its physical absence.

In terms of my pre-departure musings, however, I’m quick to answer the second question with a resounding YES, knowing that being content and excited about the future doesn’t come without heartache. I’m absolutely certain that when I’m back in the States, my heart will ache for the life I had in Xela despite the fact that I’ll be content in walking the path God has laid for me. That’ll be good, though; if I’m still missing Xela, that means I’ll be finding a way to come back.

Making tortillas with the best at the Vargas home during Mom's Holy Week visit

Post- Easter craft lesson with the kiddos at the IGA branch in Huehuetenango

View from the summit of volcano Santa Maria 12375 ft

The hikers a.k.a. some of my amazing colleagues!

Come and See

I happily report to you that I've accomplished two of the goals I mentioned in my last post: 1) I've changed my work schedule to allow for more effective lesson planning and social time, and 2) I've started volunteering at a refuge for street dogs here in Xela, Asociación Amigo Fiel. Actually, I think it may be the only one in the city, not to say that we couldn't use about twenty more of them here. My homeless canine neighbors have been on my mind since I arrived to Guate-- a somewhat unwanted memory from my month-long stay here in 2010. Consistent with this memory, the street dogs (chuchitos) hold their posts in the parks, both in and outside of the street markets, and on claimed sidewalk corners. And when you walk on those sidewalks, they pass you by, often swerving sideways to create more space between you and them, occasionally glancing up to meet your eyes. Some live in packs and clearly look to one dog as the group's leader, and others appear to be loners. It's just as easy to tell when a female dog is in heat; she jogs down the street with several male dogs following in her wake. All of them are thinner than your average american Sparky, with the exception of those who are pregnant or whose stomachs are swollen for disease-related reasons you don't want to think about. To put it another way, upon returning home, all of them would be showered with exclamations of "Why, you're nothing but skin and bones! Let me fix you something good to eat." Yes, this is what people would say..that is, if these pups had homes to which they could return. 

I don't paint this grotesque, Sarah McLachlan raise-funds-for-the-animals-TV commercial picture to have you pity them because, honestly, they already have plenty of that. Love, not pity, is what they need. As much as we crave a way to change this reality, they crave our love. It hasn't taken me long to realize that the volunteers who spend time at the shelter cleaning up after, playing with, and feeding the dogs understand this two-fold desire. To really internalize the conviction to fight for change, you have to know the beneficiaries. You have to scratch their ears, clean up their poop, and refill the water bucket they've dirtied for the fifth time with their muddy paws. It's like any other passion-developing process: you have to "come and see," in the words of Mother Theresa. Certainly not everyone feels called to go and witness the same tragedies, and they could not possibly be expected to. Really, there are too many good causes in our world for us to know about and stand by them all. But I hope that sharing my first impressions with you now, as well as other thoughts on this in the future, teaches you something new and reminds you of why you have the passions that you do. Many of you have shared stories with me about projects in which you've been involved, things you've seen that have touched your hearts. I'm inspired by it all, but I can't possibly give of myself to each and every one of those causes. That's okay, though, because it doesn't matter who's doing the giving..it just matters that someone is.  

Buenos Días hugs from Diego,

the Thompson family's precious pooch.

Rena Thompson, Gabby, and Kathryn in front of the church in the municipality of Chamula, Mexico. The "township" is inhabited by the Tzotzil Maya people, who speak 1 of the 50+ indigenous languages still spoken in Mexico!

With 2 students and the U.S. Ambassador to

Guatemala, Mr. Arnold Chacon, after the new ACCESS cohort's induction ceremony.

A project one of the other teachers and I did with the ACCESS students to celebrate World Water Day.

New things

If I have any doubts as to how fast time is going down here, all I need to do is look at the date of my last post to see that it's seriously flying by. Really, wow. In the last few weeks, I've: joined my colleagues and U.S. Embassy staff in "officially" welcoming in a new cohort of ACCESS scholarship students, played paintball in a field by the mall, made the long-awaited move from hostel to third-floor apartment (which allows me to spy on roof-top brawls between street cats...oh yeah, and have a beautiful view of the city), begun taking 1-1 spanish classes, and crossed the Mexican border ON FOOT with two other Guate Fulbrighters. "On foot" may sound glamorous and call to mind a series of potentially excellent Kodak moments, but really it was thanks to a landslide that had blocked any through-traffic along our route. Once across, we hopped onto another bus and sped the final three hours to San Cristobal de las Casas, where my friend Lilah's mom was waiting for us with the family's beloved dog, Diego. The three of us must have looked like train-wrecks after the journey, but Rena and Diego didn't drop any hints that they thought so. Instead, we piled into the car, and she launched us into a wonderful whirlwind of a weekend in San Cris.

The weekend in Mexico was nothing short of therapeutic, not just because of the city's relaxed personality but also because of the company. Spending three days with Kathryn and Gabby, who are stationed in two other locations here in Guate as English Teaching Assistants, was like being with two sisters. We laughed, ate, and shared openly the ups and downs of our experiences so far. The two of them also made me realize that there's so much I still don't know about Xela. Those of you who know me well know that I'm a day-time person and that when it comes to night-time energy, I don't have too much of it. Consequently, because I spend the better part of my days working, I don't have the time I'd like to do things that would help me get to know the city on a more intimate level. By three months into my semester abroad in Budapest, I felt like I'd successfully made the transition from tourist to resident despite the fact that my Hungarian still only got me as far as ordering vegetables at the market. I have to say, I don't think I've made that leap yet here in Guate. At first, this realization made me sad and left me feeling defeated. Have I been focusing too much on work? Am I using exhaustion as an excuse to brush aside opportunities to try new things? Questions like these came and went for a bit, but I ultimately came to the conclusion that it's all ok because I have 7 MORE MONTHS. My first step will be to amend my work schedule to allow for more time in the evenings to take a class, volunteer, do research for my side project, etc. The second and much more difficult step will be actually filling my time with these things and holding myself accountable to do so. Sure, it's overwhelming to think about, but as my mom would say, one thing at a time. It's kind of like how my Spanish teacher and I describe the process of mastering the Spanish subjunctive...poco a poco.

Close-up of the damage

Tuesday was Carnival in celebration of the last day before Lent. Here in Xela, the tradition is to crack egg shells over each others' heads, and most of them are filled with flower petals or confetti. Most of them. I was lucky enough to take an actual raw egg to the head! They got the gringa

An adorable attempt at Happy Birthday in english, followed by the much more entertaining spanish version

With Franz, his sister Sigrid, and their cousin Manuel at Tilapa Beach

Nuestra casa es tu casa

My mom is the reigning queen of clichés. I love teasing her about (what I think are) dated phrases, some of them well-known expressions and others...well I just have no idea. But mama, you know it's all in good fun. And actually, last weekend, I welcomed a famous cliché with wide open arms: a variation of mi casa es su casa. My 23rd birthday was Sunday, and as I shared in a previous post, one of my new friends who is currently studying at IGA refused to let me spend my birthday anywhere but in his beloved Santa Lucia Naranjo, one of eight aldeas outside the coastal city of Coatepeque.

After an ear-popping 2 hour drive through the mountains that insulate Xela and give the city its trademark chilly climate, we reached the flatland that stretches to the Pacific coast. Even though we were visibly in a more tropical area, it wasn't until I rolled down my window that I actually believed it was at least 15 degrees hotter than it had been in Xela that morning. As we pulled aside of Franz and Sigrid's parents' house, I felt a twinge of nervousness, though it left just as quickly as it came. Franz's mom stepped off the porch, breaking from her lunch preparation to give me one of the best hugs I've received so far in Guate. As she pulled away, she grasped both of my arms and said, "Nuestra casa es tu casa"-- our house is your house. Goodbye cliché and hello words sweeter than the oranges that we bought on the side of the road to snack on during the drive. And trust me, those oranges were some of the sweetest fruit I've ever had.

Many of you can empathize that holidays and other "special" days always make you feel more sentimental when you're far away from home. Maybe it's the nostalgia for family and friends, or maybe it's the momentary panic that comes with glimpsing what life could be like alone on days that the rest of society deems as times when no one should be by themselves. I don't know the reason, but, after last weekend, I DO know that spending those days with another family can certainly take the edge off. Not only did Franz's dad wake up at 6am to set off fire-crackers in their side yard, a birthday celebration tradition here in Guate, but he also serenaded us with a breakfast prelude that wished me a happy birthday and many blessings throughout the rest of my life. A few of us trekked to Tilapa beach late morning and then headed to meet the rest of the family for a river-side picnic lunch. Even though the spanish was a bit fast-paced for me, resulting in many please explain glances in Franz's direction, I joked, laughed, ate, and reclined in the warm breeze as comfortably as if I were with my own family. What a blessing wrapped in a birthday I will never ever forget.

A presentation well done!

Running buddies! Amparo is also the EducationUSA rep at IGA, and she graciously invited me to be a "guest speaker" for a presentation on the importance of having community service experience when applying to college. She was incredible, of course, and our workshop attendees didn't run away screaming after I delivered my piece in Spanish, so I'd say it was a success...these post-presentation smiles thought so too

Beware: Gringa teaching her first lesson.

"Teacher, we can't understand your strange accent."

Feel the love

A day of affection. A day for lovers. A day of friendship. If you ask a Guatemalan what they celebrate on Valentine's Day, they'll most likely describe it using one of these phrases unless they don't like the holiday, in which case you'll get various amusing responses complete with hand gestures. Now, my new friends and colleagues almost always love to find a good joke in my culture-related questions, but they weren't kidding when they described what February 14th would be like in Xela. All of those first three descriptions fit my day today, though I didn't directly experience the second one (don't worry, Adrian). In fact, most of my days here are filled with affection, love (again, platonic), and friendship.

I'm certainly no expert, but I'm positive there's no shortage of affection in Guatemala, including its many welcome and not-so-welcome forms. I'd even extend this assertion to all of Latin America. Why? Its cultural roots are surely various and widespread, but I'm convinced that we foreigners, in particular, make instant contact with this affection thanks to one simple thing: besos. I think these little one-cheek kisses are incredibly powerful. Exchanged during a first meeting or between old friends, besos break down barriers that handshakes often put up. Instead of coming away from a greeting with unsettling thoughts like, "Wow, he really gave me a dead fish with that handshake," you've already bypassed any akwardness with besitos by getting close enough to the person to put your lips to his or her cheek. And it's absolutely wonderful never leaving class without 20 besos from your students; it's respect, gratitude, and well-wishing all in one.

Friendship. I knew this would require patience, but I just haven't felt like waiting. I've shared with some people that it's often felt like freshman year of college. On one hand, you want to be super outgoing, and on the other, you desperately want to avoid being labeled "the clingy one." I've tried to find a balance, and while there's certainly much more time to develop relationships, I've stumbled upon some good beginnings. One of the students with whom I'm doing a language exchange outside of class (I help him with English, and he speaks Spanish with me) immediately invited me to hang out at his house with his family on Sunday when I mentioned that I didn't have any plans for my birthday. And one of my colleagues has now become my running partner, which always makes exercising before sunrise significantly more enjoyable. When she asked whether I'd want to help her with a marathon training plan, I was all hugs and besos..I was so excited. I'd missed running SO much and was anxious to have it back in my life. Now it's not only a regular part of my routine, but it's also great bonding time with a new friend.

Many people have very wisely warned me that my grant period will be punctuated with ups, downs, and plateaus. I 100% believe this, but it's comforting to know that even in the darkest of times, I won't have to look too far to feel the love.

The IGA high schoolers are definitely

a rowdy bunch, but they sure can dream.

Some intentional puddle-jumping

One of the things that's been a blessing and a curse so far has been what I'll call CUIDADO. I don't leave the hostel for one of IGA's evening classes without a "Con cuidado, Valeria," and when a fellow teacher accompanied me to buy a cell phone, she made clear that my role in the process only required that I hold onto her arm and not speak spanish because it would give me away as a rich American, obviously. In Guatemala City, my IGA colleagues, as well as a pleading hotel staff, forbade me to take white taxis, leaving me with green and yellow taxis as my two options. The other day, after I observed a class across town here in Xela, I asked one of the other teachers his advice on the quickest route home. He offered a helpful, directive response but, faithfully, didn't leave me without a, "And if someone asks you where you're going, you just keep walking and don't answer."

Now, by no means do I intend for my sarcasm here to demean the great blessing its been to have new friends as well as strangers looking out for me, the "blonde one." (Am I a blonde?) But the curse of it all is that it's planted a seed of fear that, while probably very beneficial, sometimes annoys and even embarrasses me. Yesterday, I was speaking with one of the hostel staff members, Julio, who is around my age and works two jobs. He manages the hostel Friday, Saturday, and Sunday and runs a shop Monday through Thursday.

Me: "Julio, dónde está tu tienda?"

Julio: "En La Democracia."

In my head: Oh no. Not in La Democracia!

This reaction has been shaped by the many warnings I've had to avoid trekking though La Democracia, an extremely large outdoor street market in the city. I even remember our leaders cautioning us about this when I was here for my internship two years ago. Looks like gringos are still getting the same message. While undoubtedly well-intentioned, is this the message we should be receiving and then spitting back out?

Quite honestly, I've walked through that very market every single day on my way to IGA's second location for its high school and scholarship program classes, and it's easily one of the best parts of my day. The hodge-podge of smells, some more malodorous than others, is inexplicably interesting to me: Tamales mmm...car exhaust, cough cough...a woman's perfume, slightly familiar...dog _______, ew, hold my breath. And the people! It feels like everyone and their mom in Xela is there buying, selling, or just passing through. It feels like hard work, tired hands and feet, and hope for a better future. It feels like home.

So, back to Julio. If I were to actually share with him my initial perception of the market's reputation as a dangerous place where foreigners shouldn't dare go, I'd be slapping his 9am-7pm job #2 in the face. And this is a young man who had the courtesy to advise me on the best hours to go to the gym, should I join one, so that I might avoid trouble from guys "with attitudes." Should I walk through the market with my backpack unzipped and my purse overflowing with quetzales, Guatemala's currency? Absolutely not. Should I avoid the market like a huge puddle I'd rather not step in? I think absolutely not. I'm getting my feet wet.

New home for the month

My room in hostel Casa Doña Mercedes,

where I'll be for the next month while I

continue the apt. hunt. Note my little wall

shrine to love from America :)

The hostel's jungle-ish courtyard.

Love the colors

For the glory of Old State

While my intention for my blog is that it generally be a way for me to share about what's going on here in Central America, one of the other Guate Fulbrighters reminded me that not everything on my mind in the next 10 months will be Guate-related. And Cate, your words couldn't resonate more with me than they do in this moment. I fell asleep last night after google searching pages and pages in hopes of uncovering the truth about JoePa's condition. And if I can get a good idea of what's going on at home while I'm here in a country that dedicates 5-10 channels to soccer and .5 to American football, I imagine that all of you are well aware of the controversy over whether Joe passed away last night. I woke up well before my alarm this morning and again reached for my computer to comb through the latest news.

I remember sitting at Iron Hill with two of my F&M co-workers one afternoon just shortly after JoePa had lost his job as legendary PSU Football coach. We were sharing our thoughts, and something that Ryan said hit me in a way that surprised me because even though I agreed with him, I couldn't actually believe I was agreeing with him. He said that he thought JoePa's health would rapidly decline in the wake of the scandal, though, at this point, not too much had been publicized about his cancer. Driving home after that conversation, I realized I wanted to do something that would surely label me as my father's daughter. I wanted to write a letter to Joe. I didn't want to talk about the scandal, but instead I just wanted to say thank you to him for what he's meant to me and my family. Well, time flew by, and I didn't mail anything to Happy Valley. And now that I'm in Guate, it could take two weeks or two years for a letter to reach him, so I'm going to write right here.

Joe,

I write to you as a loving fan and member of the Penn State family. I didn't spend four years in State College as a student- that was my dad- but I spent a lot of time on campus throughout my childhood. I can't recall my first football game, but I can recall my first impression that Beaver Stadium was a special place on game day. Everyone and everything, down to the metal bleachers, felt alive, and so did I. Even after we lost my dad, who was our Penn State alum, we proudly remained a Penn State family. You'll be happy (or perhaps very humiliated) to know that we even hauled a life-size cardboard cut-out of you from our basement to our living room to its rightful place beside our TV every Saturday in the fall. You and what your program has stood for brought us together in good times and bad, whether we were huddled around the same pre-game snack feast or not. There's really nothing more to say than thank you. If F&M doesn't mind, I'm going to continue to share my love for the blue and white with a school that has brought immeasurable happiness to my past and will undoubtedly bring joy to my future. Thank you for being a huge part of that for me and for the thousands of people who hold PSU in their hearts.

I wish you peace and happiness in the same way that you've inspired it.

For the glory of Old State,

Valeri

Leaving comfortable

Tomorrow, I say goodbye to what has become a comfortable routine in a surprisingly short amount of time. As I've shared, getting to know the teachers at IGA here in the capital has been really special and indescribably helpful. And I really do mean indescribable, because even though I've come away from orientation and class observation with treasure troves of teaching notes, the most valuable thing that I'm taking with me to Xela is a feeling. It's the twinge of excitement we get when we are just beginning a journey and can envision hundreds of possible routes. It's the hunger to share and learn as a group that blesses a classroom experience. It's the satisfaction that comes with knowing you've set someone up to feel good about themselves. It's all of these things, and each one demands taking steps away from what's comfortable. So, let's hope I feel pretty uncomfortable in the next few weeks (I can assure you that this will happen) because then I'll know that I'm at least doing something right!

Today Guatemala welcomed a new president, Otto Perez Molina, here in the capital. I had a great view of the celebratory fireworks

A volcano or two in the not-so-far-off distance!

Orientation DONE!

Today was my final day of orientation, and despite the fact that it stretched on for six hours, it was a great last day. I don't think there could have been a better way to prove to me that I've made some fantastic friends than how the teachers reacted to my obvious lack of proficiency in Spanish (for now!) this morning. Unlike the other workshops, Berta conducted today's first session in Spanish. Luckily, there was a handbook to accompany her presentation, so I could read along. Still, I wasn't left on my own. Every 2 or 3 minutes it seemed, one of my colleagues would lean over and ask whether I was able to follow along and if I needed anything explained. Of course, none of them had to take the time to do that; we were all visibly tired from the week's training, and they had plenty of other things to worry about. But, they took the time to ask. Sitting there, I realized I was flanked by friends.

And to triple my happiness, Berta asked some of the other teachers to read certain parts of the handbook aloud, and I just remember being in awe of how smooth their native tongue sounded. Between their rolling r's and patient accents on particular letters, I eagerly lost myself in listening.

El Instituto Guatemalteco Americano, where I'll be for my week of orientation

First Days

Hola desde Guate! I feel so blessed to be writing from welcoming, sunny Guatemala City, the bustling capital of Guatemala. These past few days have been filled with friendly new colleagues at IGA (http://www.iga.edu/), my beloved plátanos fritos, tv hilariously dubbed in Spanish, and, of course, that totally unexpected experience that just HAS to happen on the first day of any job. After feeling good about an hour of yoga and a filling breakfast on Monday morning, I quickly descended into stress when I discovered that my shower didn't work, as in the knobs fell off when I tried to turn them. Needless to say, I had to head off to my first training session at IGA with scary hair..not good. Fortunately, no one seemed to be offended (as far as I could tell), as everyone made a wonderful effort to include me in the workshops and make me feel comfortable. And to be honest, there's no way I couldn't have felt at home, considering my very first workshop topic: The Writing Process. <3 F&M Writing Center.

I'll be here in the capital for training for the rest of the week and will head to Xela at the end of next week, where I'll be for the next 10 months. I'm a little sad that I won't be able to continue to get to know the staff here at IGA in Guate City, but if the teachers and administrators I've met so far are any indication of the kind of people I'll be working with in Xela, I'm in for one incredible teaching environment :)