Day 52: Independence

“Yes, my consuming desire is to mingle with road crews, sailors and soldiers, barroom regulars—to be a part of a scene, anonymous, listening, recording . . . . Yes, God, I want to talk to everybody as deeply as I can. I want to be able to sleep in an open field, to travel west, to walk freely at night . . . ” - Sylvia Plath

I think almost anyone who has trained as a Peace Corps Volunteer could tell you that training, while fun, is exhausting. One of the reasons for said exhaustion is the utter lack of independence: your days are planned out seemingly to the last minute, you can’t leave your host house after dark (aka after 6:30 pm), and you have to ask your training manager for permission to leave your host town. Don’t get me wrong; these are good policies for the safety and security of trainees. But as a 23-year-old woman used to the freedom of a car, late night dates with friends, and whatnot, it can be hard to swallow.

The promise of increased independence was one of the main reasons I was looking forward to FBT, or Field-Based Training.  In FBT, all the trainees are sent to towns around Guatemala where current volunteers live.  We basically shadow the volunteers for a few days, observing their work and their lives.

I was sent with one other beloved trainee to the town of San Cristobal in the department of Totonicapán.  En route, I was immediately impressed by the geographic diversity and beauty of Guatemala.  We had traveled a little previously, but getting out of the most highly populated areas was new.  Once we made it to site, I was impressed both by the hospitality of our host volunteer (she greeted us with kiwis, wine, Milano cookies, cheddar cheese, and a giant, beautifully quilted bed) and by the relevance/usefulness of her work.  We spent one day attending a large “training of trainers” (basically a teach-in for Guatemalan health care professionals, educating them on better methods of disseminating knowledge for the good of their communities).  We also spent time working with a local group of women to create a safe space for young teenagers to talk about problems at home, sex education, etc.

I really felt that both of these projects were making a difference in the lives of Guatemalans, and that if I could work on even one similar thing during my service, it would be two years well spent.  Yes, I know the Peace Corps does good work (it would have been kind of silly to join if I didn’t believe that), but it was so refreshing to finally see that.  It’s all too easy to lose sight of the real goals and impact of service during the grueling hours of training.

Of course, FBT wasn’t all work.  We passed memorable hours exploring the surrounding communities…

Cross-stitching guipiles, the blouses that local women wear (this project will likely take all of my two years to finish!)…

And making pizza, from scratch, with some neighboring Mormon missionaries.  I have no pictures of this interesting experience, but I hope you will enjoy this artistic mural shot in lieu of photographic evidence of our cooking skills:

All in all, I returned to Peace Corps Headquarters feeling refreshed, optimistic, and excited.  We made it home just in time to celebrate Guatemalan Independence Day, also known as Quince (the nation declared independence from the Spanish empire on September 15, 1821).  Even though it was a rainy day, my host mom and I got to enjoy a charmingly strange, and inexplicably long, parade (over two hours, for a small aldea!).  Why do I say the parade was strange?  It’s a bit of a toss-up between the sexual dances performed by young girls (in a culture where married couples often don’t dance in public, for fear of appearing shameless)…

The awesome costumes…

The visibly downcast male cheerleaders…

And the McDonald’s contingent:

But Independence Day isn’t just celebrated with a parade.  In my town, it also featured frequent ear-splitting bombas, dance and music competitions, and antorchas (a country-wide tradition, in which children take to the streets running, carrying huge flaming torches.  I’m not sure why this is such a popular activity, because each year tens of children allegedly vanish without a trace).  In an already photography-heavy post, I leave you with several more pictures of the Quince celebrations:

The pig roast

The greased-pig catch (not the same pig)

The greased-pole climb (definitely the same grease)

Day 41: Strange Medicine

"One learns a great deal sometimes from being sick."     - Alan Watts

The past two weeks have been undeniably difficult.  I’ve been hit fairly hard by the homesickness bug, as well as a fevery/sore throaty virus and some gastrointestinal maladies, which, despite your interest in reading my blog, I don’t think you really want to hear about.  Add to this the fact that it’s currently the rainy season (meaning gray drizzles every day), and you can understand why I felt pretty depressed.  Not even a (rainy) trip to the volcano Pacaya could improve my mood.  I subsequently had to make multiple visits to the Peace Corps Medical Office, and one harrowing taxi trip into the heart of Guatemala City, to visit the hospital lab for a blood draw.

(Long story short, for the medically inclined among my readers: at my first checkup with the Peace Corps doctor, he noted that my heart rate was 46 bpm, which caused great alarm.  Although this is normal for me (and my family members), he grew concerned about my thyroid, and proceeded to ask me lots of questions: How much do you exercise?  Do you handle cold well?  How about heat?  Can I touch your skin?  My hand is warmer than your hand; can you feel that?  How many pillows do you use?  I’m not kidding; he asked me how many pillows I use.  He then told me I would need to I report to Guate for a blood draw.)

While I was waiting for my test results, my sweet host mother was beside herself with worry.  She made me special teas, asked her friends for advice regarding her “americana enferma,” and fussed over me to no end.  In the end, all my tests were negative, and Peace Corps nurse discovered the cause of my illness: consommé.  I knew that my host mother had been flavoring soups with chicken stock; I didn’t know that she had been using it for every meal, to flavor rice, noodles, vegetables, eggs, everything.  Because consommé contains animal protein, and because I haven’t eaten meat in 8-9 years, my poor vegetarian intestinal tract just kind of gave up.  I therefore stopped eating consommé-flavored meals, and haven’t had any problems since.

Serendipitously, the past two weeks of training included both a study of traditional Guatemalan medicinal remedies and a fair bit of time in the local health center.  I now know that many Guatemalans rely on chamomile tea, safety-pin crosses, and red clothing to fight illness.  But my favorite local remedy has to be swinging a dead black duck over a crying baby, to cure said baby of the evil eye.  To be fair, most Guatemalans don’t buy these “old wives’ tales.”  They’re much more likely to report to the local health center, or Puesto de Salud, with their maladies.

The Puesto is most easily described as an ill-equipped Urgent Care.  It’s staffed by two nurses and their non-licensed helper; the doctor only comes in on Mondays and Wednesdays.  Local Guatemalans can come in for lab testing (including Pap smears!), diagnoses, free medications, and birth control, which means that a lot of locals consider the Puesto their primary care center.  This is unfortunate for several reasons: 1) the Puesto staff, while delightful, aren’t doctors; 2) the Puesto isn’t equipped to perform complex diagnostic workups; and 3) the Puesto is exceedingly overtaxed.  They are funded and stocked by the government, and have currently run out of most of their medications, including prenatal vitamins.  They also have only one blood glucose meter, in a town (and country) riddled with diabetes.

That being said, I’ve been quite impressed by the good work that the Puesto workers do.  They keep tabs on all the local health trends, including illnesses, vaccinations, number of people taking supplementary vitamins, etc.  They also go door-to-door to locate pregnant mothers who haven’t come in for their recommended four check-ups, or to give vaccinations to children and pets.  Their dedication to and enthusiasm for their work is really amazing.  Especially when you consider that they haven’t been paid for several months.  And on that bittersweet note, I take my leave!

Pacaya, one of Guatemala's active volcanoes

Day 28: Capitals

“For those who are lost, there will always be cities that feel like home.”

– Simon Van Booy

Fun fact: at least four different sites in Guatemala have, at various times, served as the capital city: Iximché (out of which the Spanish were driven by the Maya), Ciudad Vieja (destroyed by a flood), Antigua (destroyed by an earthquake), and Guatemala City (the current capital…for now).  I know very little about Ciudad Vieja, but I’ve now had the good fortune to visit the other three sites.

I spent last weekend on vacation from my host site, bumbling around Antigua with nine other volunteers.  We were all excited to be in a place with an actual grocery store, with restaurants containing more than two tables, and where it is societally acceptable to share stories over a beer.  But the highlight of the trip was definitely a hike up Cerro de la Cruz, a jungle-treed hill overlooking both the valley in which Antigua sits and the volcano on the edge of the city.  I’ll let the picture speak for itself:

Cerro de la Cruz, over Antigua

It’s also worth mentioning that Antigua gave me my first taste of Guatemalan nightlife (in our sites, we’re not allowed to be outside after dark, and are anyway too exhausted to go out).  My fellow trainees and I visited three different bars/clubs, all filled with pumping music, grinding Guatemaltecos, and cheap drinks.  It was an interesting experience to see another side of the usually conservative Guatemalan culture, but it really wasn’t my scene.  I would have been much happier chatting to the other trainees in a quiet café.  NERD.

Moving right along in our tour of capitals, three days ago all the trainees met up in Iximché (now a Mayan ruin site) for a traditional Mayan ceremony.  The ruins were beautiful, but seeing them made me feel strangely sad.  I think it had to do with the fact that the Mayan people, once the rulers of Guatemala, are now among the most disadvantaged Guatemalans.

The ruins of Iximché

The ceremony itself was really cool.  We were all assigned a nahual, or a Mayan inner spirit, beforehand, based on our birth date.  Nahuals are similar to zodiac signs, but there are twenty of them, and they’re crazy complicated.  I’m a Kan, also known as the feathered serpent, the quetzal.  It’s a symbol of creation, justice, truth, peace, and wisdom, all of which sound very impressive, and also of “sexual magic,” which sounds kind of intimidating.  Kans are northern spirits, which meant that I had to stand on the northern side of the altar during the ceremony.  Then, when the Mayan elder (for lack of a better term) gave thanks to Kan, I was given multiple candles and resin discs to scatter on the fire.

Speaking of fire, the ceremony was basically a pyromaniac’s fantasy.  The elder spent the entire 90 minutes murmuring thanks under her breath and pouring various things on the central fire: resin, candles, sugar, honey, vodka, beer, water, tobacco, chocolate, dirt, flowers, seeds, etc.  I’m not usually one for religious rites, but I have to admit that I found some peace and happiness listening to her ecstatic thank-yous and watching the differently colored candles dissolve into nothing.

Some of the materials for the ceremony

And now, you will see that I have tricked you, because I’m not going to describe Guatemala City at all!  I only passed through it briefly, just after landing in Guatemala, although the other trainees and I are scheduled to take a trip there this week (I’ll keep you posted).  Instead, I’m going to tell you about a place that has my vote for next capital: the Parque Ecológico at the summit of Monte Magdalena (this may not be its actual name…it wasn’t exactly labeled, and my guide book tragically makes no mention of this national treasure).

Anywho, yesterday, after diligently washing all my “ropa interior” (I don’t know why there is no word for underwear here), I set off on a hike with two other trainees.  We first climbed to the neighboring town, Magdalena, then scaled the local mountain.  It was a strenuous 90-minute climb, but it was more than worth it.  The summit rewarded us with amazing views of Guatemala, multiple rough-hewn picnic tables, and these crazy metal swings, apparently for small children, with remarkable swing radii.  We also got to feast on papaya and pineapple, which is just something you can do whenever you so desire here.

Signing off for now; sending you happy thoughts of exotic fruit.

The view from Monte Magdalena

My fellow mountain climbers

Afore-mentioned crazy metal swing

Day 18: Colors and Noises

"For ourselves, who are ordinary men and women, let us return thanks to Nature for her bounty by using every one of the senses she has given us." - Virginia Woolf

Allow me to preface this post with an apology for the lag in blog time, as I’m sure you positively live for my blog posts. I blame the lack of easy internet access, and the fact that I’m actually kind of busy (by which I mean I’m really busy!).

The past ten days have been filled with what feels like thousands of different activities, ranging from the mundane to the extraordinary. To add to my mental confusion, I’m constantly surrounded by new sights—majestic volcanoes, garbage heaps the size of houses, far-reaching lettuce fields; new sounds—frequent fireworks, cats fighting on my tin roof, the local elementary school band rehearsing Dancing Queen for hours on end; and new smells—incredibly concentrated truck exhaust, yeasty happiness drifting from my neighboring panadería, burning garbage.

One of the more beautiful street views I've seen

Some highlights of the past few days:

• I’ve started the technical training for my project, Maternal and Child Health (MCH). In other words, I’m learning actual facts about the health situation in Guatemala, as well as what I’m actually going to be doing for the next two years! Because none of the volunteers working in MCH are actually trained or licensed in providing health care, and because the Peace Corps isn’t an organization that provides health care, most of our work will be training Guatemalan health workers (Health Center workers, midwives, etc.) in the improvement of maternal health. We’ll also be working directly with Guatemalan women, which I’m really excited about.

• As part of our technical training, the other MCH volunteers and I got to visit a current MCH volunteer living about two hours from Peace Corps Headquarters. We sat in on a Pregnant Mothers’ Club, during which the volunteer and her counterparts from the Health Center explained various pregnancy red flags to a room full of very pregnant ladies. The audience seemed genuinely engaged, the information was presented in a simple but interesting way, and I left feeling really optimistic about the MCH project in general.

• My host mom is teaching me to make various Guatemalan foods, in preparation for my two years in the field. Although some volunteers pay their host families to cook for them during their service, it seems that most volunteers do most of their own cooking, often in their own kitchenette (comprised of a gas stove, a microwave oven, and a mini-fridge). I’m really excited to make my own food, but I also understand that I need to adapt my kitchen skills to the available ingredients. To that end, I’ve learned to make macuy soup (a simple noodle soup filled with the giant, exceedingly healthy leaves of the native macuy plant), plátanos cocidos (plantains boiled in sugar water…definitely a little less healthy), and chilaquiles (cheese and vegetables wrapped in corn tortillas, then fried in egg…definitely way less healthy, but very popular here). My host mom was also raring to teach me how to boil noodles, fry eggs, and heat refried beans; I had to gently inform her that I mastered these arts back in ’merica. She didn't seem to mind too much, especially after I promised to teach her how to bake cookies.

• I attended the most magical session on Peace Corps volunteer diversity. Basically, current volunteers spoke about their experiences as female, male, gay, lesbian, Jewish, Asian, African American, etc. etc. etc. volunteers serving in Guatemala. They discussed various ways of adapting to the local culture without sacrificing your self identity, the fact that many prejudicial comments come from a lack of information, and that every moment in Guatemala is a teaching/learning opportunity, balanced on a fine line of self-righteousness. I can’t really do justice to the power of the presentation, but suffice it to say that I left feeling deeply moved.

• I’m growing to love my fellow trainees like family, which I suppose is somewhat inevitable when you’re together in a foreign country, for 8-10 hours each day, with free calls to each other’s cell phones 24/7 (I have a phone now! Check out my contact page if you want to give me a ringle). I’m especially fond of the trainees living in my town, with whom I often run, play games at the local stadium, or just chat. As cheesy as it sounds, everyone seems to play a special role in the group—Hannah keeps me grounded, Naomi tells fascinating stories, Alex makes me laugh and asks insanely deep questions, and so on and so forth. I also feel compelled to give a special shout-out to Pablo, the other trainee from Minnesota. It’s been very therapeutic to share reminiscences about the Boundary Waters, Paul Bunyan, the Twin Cities, and hot dishes. The other trainees have dubbed us “Twinnesota,” which, let’s face it, might be the greatest nickname ever.

Some of my lovely co-trainees

And now, because I’m trying to keep this blog as honest as possible, it’s only fair that I share some of the things that have been difficult for me to process here:

• Gender roles. During an average afternoon jog, my fellow trainees and I get 3-5 catcalls from local men. I don’t like it. What’s more, at every meal, all the women are expected to serve all the men (who immediately start eating) before serving themselves. If a man comes home late from work to find his dinner on the stove and his wife watching TV, it’s quite standard for him to demand that she serve him. And it’s not uncommon for him to acknowledge the meal with a “Gracias, mujer.”

• Fleas. Most of the street dogs have fleas, which means that most of the streets are full of fleas, which means that it’s very easy to get fleas. Our training manager told us that when she served in Guatemala, she got fleas about once a month, and one of my fellow trainees has already gotten them. I’m trying to be careful not to get too close to any of the street dogs, and to keep my backpack off my bed, and all good things, but I’m also trying to come to terms with the fact that I will almost definitely have fleas at some point in the next few months.

• Lastly, and most importantly, the state of health in Guatemala. As of 2009, HIV/AIDS transmission is on the rise, 48% of children under the age of five are stunted by malnutrition, and approximately 140/100,000 mothers die during pregnancy or childbirth (for comparison, the same statistic is 28/100,000 in the U.S. and 6/100,000 in Japan). Most tragic to me is the huge discrepancy between indigenous and non-indigenous maternal health statistics. A single, powerful example is the maternal mortality rate for indigenous women (163/100,000) versus for non-indigenous women (77.7/100,000).

On that happy note, I’m signing off. I promise another, happier blog post soon, after my weekend trip to Antigua. Much love.

Day 8: The Apocalypse...Is Not So Bad

“Nora knows better than most that nothing lasts forever. Life doesn't, love doesn't, hope doesn't, so why would death, hate, or despair? Nothing is permanent. Not even the end of the world.”      - Isaac Marion

It’s the end of my eighth day in Guatemala, and I’m still moving.  What I mean to say is both that I’m still alive and well, and that my first few days have been filled with travel—between cities, between living places, and between states of mind.

After landing in Guatemala, I traveled with all 27 other trainees out of Guatemala City to the much smaller town of Santa Lucia Milpas Altas, where the Peace Corps maintains its Guatemalan headquarters.  The journey was marked by lush greenery, vividly painted buildings, and postcard-worthy mountain scenery.  There were also some more jarring sites: women and scrawny children bouncing around in the beds of pickup trucks, multiple near-collisions, and, at Peace Corps Headquarters, a friendly man standing guard with a battered rifle.

Peace Corps Headquarters itself is something of an Eden.  Within its razorwire-topped walls are soccer fields, single-room houses for Spanish classes, a medical center, a lounge for volunteers, and offices for the various staff members. The entire complex surrounds an inner garden/sanctuary.  It makes for a great lunching spot.

The other volunteers and I spent our first three days in Guatemala within a five-block radius of the Peace Corps Headquarters, living with host families and, in most cases, at least one other volunteer.  I was lucky enough to live with my co-trainee Hannah; we fumbled our way through awkward Spanish conversations and enjoyed strange new cultural experiences together.  For instance, our host family took us to their Seventh Day Adventist church service on our first night in-country.  The small church boasted a flashy sign proclaiming, “Win with Jesus!” and all of the songs (played over a tinny sound system) came from the website www.apocalipsis.com.  Even though the setting was strange to me, I was really moved by the fact that, at the part of the service where Catholics usually perform prayers of the faithful, the Adventists instead gave thanks.  In other words, even though most of these people live without dishwashers, showers, or computers, they’re more inclined to thank God than to ask for things.

Our first three days, spent at Peace Corps Headquarters, were full of basic orientations—to safety and security, to health during service, and to other volunteers.  We underwent Spanish language testing to determine how much we still need to learn (in my case: A LOT), and spent hours and hours discussing the Peace Corps Core Expectations.  Even though none of the activities were particularly taxing, the constant flow of information, from 7:45 am to 5:30 pm every day, left me exhausted.

On our third day, we got our living assignments for the next nine weeks.  Unlike our initial host family pairings, there is only one volunteer per family, and various volunteers live in different towns.  I’m living in the town of Santo Tomas Milpas Altas with the delightful Claudia.  She’s a single woman in her late thirties, which is unusual in Guatemala.  It’s also unusual for volunteers to live with a single person, because so many Guatemalan families live in compound-like structures permitting grandparents, cousins, in-laws, and innumerable pets to cohabit within small areas.  In fact, all the other volunteers in my town are living with enormous families.  But this living with a single lady has its benefits: fewer names to memorize, more opportunities to try my hand at household chores, and, of course, Guatemalan cuisine tailored to my likes and dislikes.  The other volunteers are feeling overwhelmed by beans and rice, while I’m feasting on strawberries, plantains, asparagus, eggplant, carrots, cucumbers, and eggs.

Claudia and I both like to get up early, so we go for long walks together most mornings.  She tells me all about the local farms and churches.  And speaking of churches, Claudia is an evangelist.  She told me that I could go to Catholic Mass with either of her sisters, both of whom live in town, and that my religion doesn’t matter to her so long as I believe in God, but I told her that I’d like to visit her church, to learn about her faith.  My subsequent visit to her iglesia was one of the strangest, hardest, and most extraordinary experiences I’ve had in my life.

The three-hour service began with one hour of raucous singing, populated by frequent “Alleluia!” 's and clapping from the audience.  And this singing wasn’t just from a church choir; this church was hooked up, with a lead singer, backup singers, a guitar, bass, drums, keyboard, sax, and two trumpets.  After the singing ended, a pastor from Guatemala City took the stage, and began preaching passionately to the excitable crowd.  Toward the end of his sermon, he invited the laypeople to come forward (I think for salvation, although my limited Spanish skills made it hard to understand).  One by one, people walked to the front of the church, dropped to the ground, and began sobbing.  This continued for some 15 minutes, until the pastor stepped down and patted them on the back.  Then the singing recommenced (now punctuated by intermittent groaning), and continued until the end of service.  It was an eye-opening experience, to say the least.

My days are now spent attending intensive Spanish classes with other volunteers at my language level, commuting to Peace Corps Headquarters by “chicken bus” to undergo further health and safety orientations, and running up and down mountains with other volunteers and their host brothers/sisters.  It’s a hectic schedule, but it keeps me from getting too emotional about the culture shock.

Apologies for this ridiculously long post.  I’m going to make it a little longer, and leave you with 10 Things I Have Learned:

1. Chris Matthews was a Peace Corps Volunteer.  That means he and I are meant to be best friends…right?
2. Guatemalan toilets are among the lowest of their species.  More specifically, they cannot tolerate any toilet paper (every Guatemalan bathroom contains a small trash bin, emptied daily, for used toilet paper).  Also, they don’t flush with the push of a button; instead, they require manual flushing with a bucket of water, relying on gravity to sweep the waste down the pipes.
3. Similar to toilets, most Guatemalan showers are…lacking.  Many homes don’t have showers, and many others, like Claudia’s, have showers that only produce cold water (we’re talking frigid).  Instead of taking ice showers, most Guatemalans choose to take bucket baths.  To try this at home (which I highly recommend), fill a 3-gallon bucket with cold water.  Add one pot of boiling water and mix well.  While squatting in your shower, alternately drizzle water over yourself and lather up with soap.  Then, marvel at how little water you actually need to bathe.
4. In Guatemala, an expensive avocado costs less than $0.50.
5. Toast is not a thing here.  Actually, it is a thing, but it’s sold pretoasted, and has the consistency of packaged croutons.
6. Eighty percent of the cocaine arriving in the U.S. passes through Guatemala.
7. If you go for a walk or for a coffee with a man who is not your dad or your brother, you two are dating, and will probably get married.
8. In Guatemala, it’s considered very rude to say “No thanks” when offered more food; this is because it’s assumed that you don’t like the cooking.  You always have to offer an excuse as to why you don’t want more: “Thank you, but I am very full.  Your food is so rich and delicious.”
9. Watching Miss Congeniality in Spanish with your host mom after a long day is a surprisingly great way to unwind.
10. Cooking oil and oil used as fuel do not translate to the same word in Spanish.  If you tell your host mom that you think many of the problems in the Middle East stem from its abundance of aceite, she will be very confused as to why you think Iraqis are swimming in canola oil.

Day 1: Miami

"Almost everything strange washes up near Miami."     - Rick Riordan

Ok, so I'm not near the beach in Miami, and I don't actually have any sense of the Miamian culture, seeing as the other Peace Corps Volunteers and I are spending all our time today in an airport hotel, but my journey so far has been inarguably strange (and kind of wonderful).  After forcing myself out of bed and away from my cuddly puppy at 4:00 this morning, I found myself alone at the MSP airport, hauling more than my body weight in baggage and feeling rather tearful. My nerves were not calmed by the airline agent helping me check bags, who promptly took my boarding pass, allowed four people to cut me in line, and gave my boarding pass to one of these other travelers (he was at least nice enough to chase her down for me). I then had my wrists thoroughly examined by TSA agents, after the full body scanner revealed the presence of suspicious wrist matter.

Thoroughly assured that my wrists did not in fact contain weapons (unless you count the guns attached to them, kind of in the biceps area), I made my way to my gate, scarfed down the last bit of my dad's delicious cooking that I'll get to experience for a long while, and boarded my plane. The flight itself was delightfully uneventful, and I was soon touching down in Miami. It was time for the fabled Staging.

What is Staging, you ask?  The simplest way to describe it may be Peace Corps 101. It involves meeting all the volunteers traveling to Guatemala with me, discussing our various anxieties and aspirations regarding service, and learning more about the Peace Corps process in general. My training group consists of 28 people (six men and 22 women), all of whom are quite young (the oldest is 33).  I’m a little bummed that I won’t be befriending a retired hippie this trip, but I can cope.  On the plus side, one of the people in my training group is from Minnesota, and anyone who knows me knows how I love my Midwestern brethren.

A bit more explanation about the group: we’ll be undergoing training together in Guatemala for the next nine weeks, although I’ll train with some people a lot more than others.  More specifically, I’ll be training quite a bit with the other nine Maternal and Child Health volunteers (the other 18 trainees are Youth in Development volunteers), as well as with people who speak Spanish at the same (low) level as me.  After the nine weeks of training, we’ll disperse to separate communities throughout the Guatemalan highlands, with phones on which we can call each other fo free.  It is unlikely I will be living with or close to another volunteer.

Back to Staging: I won’t bore you with the details of our team-building exercises, but I will say that I was repeatedly struck by how kind, thoughtful, and funny all the other trainees were.  I was definitely worried that some of the trainees would be preachy, or overenthusiastic, or some other adjective I don’t like, and so finding out that this was not the case was very encouraging.  A less encouraging fact about my co-trainees is the high level of Spanish language skills they seem to possess.  Don’t get me wrong; this is great for the Peace Corps, and for the people of Guatemala.  But it definitely makes me worry a little bit about whether I’ll be the class dunce. The first two people I met were both native speakers, and a lot of other people studied abroad in Argentina, Costa Rica, Spain, etc. etc. etc.  My one-week spring break trip to Mexico pales in comparison.

But let’s return to encouraging signs—almost all of the trainees wanted to get dinner together, which to me showed enthusiasm and personability.  So we headed to a Cuban restaurant near the hotel (I was really stoked about this, because I kept imagining all the delicious Cuban food from the movie Chef).  Unfortunately, it turns out that Cubans really like their meat.  The corn stew I ordered was chock-full of unidentifiable meaty lumps, and I had to send it back (I know, I know, I’ve become that vegetarian…but it’s been so long since eating meat that I’m afraid it would now make me sick).  I was then able to thrive off of side dishes, including rice and beans, fried yuca, and plantains, all of which were delicious.

After a quick dash to the local gas station to obtain super healthy breakfast food (by which I mean Poptarts), it was bedtime for Bonzo.  I had thought that our 12:30 pm flight meant that we would be able to sleep in, but alas, we were leaving for the airport at 7:30 am (from an airport hotel no more than five minutes from the airport, mind you).  I’m not sure if the excess travel time is just the Peace Corps being cautious, or if they have some additional airport activities planned (?).  In any case, hasta luego.