So last night I played futbol (also known as soccer or football) for the first time in my life. Besides dabbling very intermittently in hockey, I´ve never played a sport really. So, as I climbed into the minibus, which took us to the field, with two male students one of which had been the star forward on his college team and a bunch of maestros (teachers) from the school who played every Thursday night if not more often, I was a little intimidated. I prepared myself for what I figured would be the most embarrassing few hours of my life.
There were embarrassing moments, but they didn´t ruin the experience for me. Twice I think my reflexes assumed I was playing volleyball and attacked the ball with my fist. Two other times I accidentally kicked one of the best players on the opposing team in the shins. I guess the teachers were used to students playing with them and being horrible because they didn´t seem to mind my apparent lack of experience and were very nice about it saying, ¨Esta bien esta bien!¨ I found that I´m a bit tougher than I expected and didn´t mind being rammed into a fence fighting for the ball or roughly knocked about. I even made a goal! Ok ok, another player on my team worked the ball literally a foot from the net and then yelled at me, ¨Lleva lleva!¨ (which literally means ¨carry carry!¨ but everyone yelled it so often during the game that I figured that it was a morphing word and in this context he meant for me to kick it). My foot connected with the ball, the ball flew through the worn net, the goalie cursed and I felt like a real (very bad) futboller.
After watching a game up close I gained a lot of respect for futbol players and athletes in general. I realized that playing a sport incredibly well takes a ton of mental as well as physical effort and hours and hours of training just like playing an instrument or dancing does. Of course I KNEW this already, but being on the field while a bunch of men were twirling around handling the ball with their feet just as fluidly and easily as I can handle a bow or a guitar pick made me really realize how beautiful sports can be.
I can´t ever decide whether I absolutely love sports or absolutely hate them. I hate that they can very easily breed competitiveness especially in really young kids; I hate that US football players and other types of sports players get TONS of attention and money while dancers and musicians make barely anything while working just as hard, if not harder; I hate that sports are so commercial and that the players are yet another form of advertising.
BUT I love the camaraderie that being on a team encourages; I love the beauty of teamwork; I love the complexity and intuition one must have to know what everyone is doing and what they´re about to do all at once; I love the adrenaline rush; I can´t say that I love sweating profusely and turning bright red, but I do love feeling absolutely exhausted, taking shower and falling into bed achy and feeling my whole body relax into sleep.
So another completely new thing I did this week was teach an English class. The school here has a free afterschool program for local kids and I have volunteered for the past week with the English class of five Guatemalan children. Before today, there was another girl I worked with who I was mostly learning from so I didn´t have to do much, but today she has the flue and asked me to take over.
I was scared out of my mind beforehand but I somehow came up with a few things to do, the time flew and it ended up being lots of fun. We played hangman, they drew and described their favorite animals, and drew and labled a person. I wish I was here next week to teach more!
This is my last day in Xela. From here, Mom and I will take a bus to the Mountain School, which is supposed to be MUCH warmer (thank you!) but have tons of mosquitoes (blech!). I don´t know whether I´ll be near a computer while there, so if you don´t hear from me for a week or so, it´s not cause I don´t love you all, it´s just cause I´m busy basking in the sun and getting tons of bug bites. Love to all!
Friday, October 26, 2007
Monday, October 22, 2007
Photos, mountains and yoga.
I have tried to upload pictures and failed. Perhaps blogger hates me or perhaps I am extrememly incapable with technology, dunno. I tried to upload photos to Facebook and for some reason that didn´t work either. Arg!
On Saturday I woke up at five AM to go on a hike with other students from the school. Despite taking place ridiculously early, the hike was awesome. We rode in a small bus for about thirty minutes and then climbed for another hour before reaching our destination: one of the mountains that guerillas used during the thirty-six year war here in Guatemala. Our guide, one of the teachers here, is an ex-guerilla and told us about having to go for days without food, having very few hours of rest, and other hardships common to the revolutionary life. The view was specatular and I took a ton of photos, which I can´t share right now! From the mountain we could see a huge volcano to the south and the pacific ocean. Thinking about the many deaths that happened on and around the mountain while staring out over the lush volcano was something I´ll never forget.
The rest of Saturday I slept and finished reading First Lady from Plains; the autobiography of Rosalynn Carter. Sunday, Mom and I went to a yoga class, which was crazy hard. I´ve done like, one yoga class in the past, but being a dancer for so long, I was cocky and confident that I could do a little yoga class. Well, Mom failed to tell me that this yoga class was not just any yoga class, but the hardest one the Yoga House (yes there is a Yoga House in Guatemala. It is run by a co-op of hippies). Apparently she didn´t know it was the hardest class either, so I can´t blame her really. At any rate, the class had about ten people with the instructor (I very muscular dude with a beard and a long ponytail) in the middle. For the most part, I kept up, though it was dificult. But some poses were way too pretzely for me to pull off. There´s this one where you´re supposed to support all your body weight with your arms, wrap your legs around your arms and cross your ankles then you kind of rock forward until your head is between your arms. It´s crazy. I wish I´d had my camera during the class because there is no way I can accurately describe the incredible stuff these people can do! Needless to say I woke up this morning really really sore. I think I´ll go back for an easier class next time.
On Saturday I woke up at five AM to go on a hike with other students from the school. Despite taking place ridiculously early, the hike was awesome. We rode in a small bus for about thirty minutes and then climbed for another hour before reaching our destination: one of the mountains that guerillas used during the thirty-six year war here in Guatemala. Our guide, one of the teachers here, is an ex-guerilla and told us about having to go for days without food, having very few hours of rest, and other hardships common to the revolutionary life. The view was specatular and I took a ton of photos, which I can´t share right now! From the mountain we could see a huge volcano to the south and the pacific ocean. Thinking about the many deaths that happened on and around the mountain while staring out over the lush volcano was something I´ll never forget.
The rest of Saturday I slept and finished reading First Lady from Plains; the autobiography of Rosalynn Carter. Sunday, Mom and I went to a yoga class, which was crazy hard. I´ve done like, one yoga class in the past, but being a dancer for so long, I was cocky and confident that I could do a little yoga class. Well, Mom failed to tell me that this yoga class was not just any yoga class, but the hardest one the Yoga House (yes there is a Yoga House in Guatemala. It is run by a co-op of hippies). Apparently she didn´t know it was the hardest class either, so I can´t blame her really. At any rate, the class had about ten people with the instructor (I very muscular dude with a beard and a long ponytail) in the middle. For the most part, I kept up, though it was dificult. But some poses were way too pretzely for me to pull off. There´s this one where you´re supposed to support all your body weight with your arms, wrap your legs around your arms and cross your ankles then you kind of rock forward until your head is between your arms. It´s crazy. I wish I´d had my camera during the class because there is no way I can accurately describe the incredible stuff these people can do! Needless to say I woke up this morning really really sore. I think I´ll go back for an easier class next time.
Friday, October 19, 2007
Crazy Taxi
I apologize for the long wait for a blog and also any typos or mispellings in this one because the spell check hates me and Im far too impatient to carefully check this rambling bit of writing.
After taking two taxis this morning to an awesome Mennonite (yeah, weird huh?) bakery where Mom and I procurred all types of delicious goodies, I find myself interested in how people drive in different countries. Now that I´ve traveled to three different Spanish speaking countries I´ve noticed that they vary in accent, quality of life, and even types of food, but they have one thing in common: taxi (and I assume other) drivers. Whether because these countries lack traffic laws (I haven´t seen one speed limit sign here) or traffic enforcement (there were signs in Buenos Aires, but no one seemed to pay a bit of attention to them), in general, people in these three countries are crazy drivers.
When Mom, Dad, my friend Chelsea and I were in Buenos Aires nearly three summers ago, we often took taxies to get around the enormous, sprawling city. After our first experienc, my dad and mom tried to always take the subway when possible. I, on the otherhand, looked forward to the jolting taxi rides that often threw me into Chelsea´s lap and had my mom clinging to the saftey handle above the window. After the inital few rides, I overcame my fear because I didn´t see a single accident even though our driver would often speed by other cars with mere inches (I´m not exageratting!) separating us. When in Buenos Aires, it being the first Spanish country I visited, I thought crazed, reckless driving was a phenomenon particular to the city or maybe the country. But when we then traveled to Spain the following year, we experienced the same type of seemingly reckless yet, my mom and I later theorized, very intuitive driving.
Our theory is that peope in Spanish speaking countries generally have a history of being very close, open and friendly and that traslates into their driving as well. People seem more aware of one another and of their surroundings, which allows them to drive five cars abreast a three lane road, or hurtle through intersections without stop signs or signals. I haven´t seen many people talking on cell phones while driving, (though I´m sure there are those who do) and the people just seem to KNOW what´s going on all around them. It´s really very interesting to experience this sense of being with other people while driving that doesn´t seem to exist in the US, or at least Atlanta.
When driving in Atlanta, I find that people tend to rely heavily on traffic signals, stop signs and other traffic indicators. It seems Atlanta drivers feel safe talking on their cell phones, listening to loud music, and generally not being fully present to their driving because the countless signs and signals create a sense of inherent safety. Here, however, stop lights or signs are rare, mostly only found in the central part of town, therefore people are forced to pay more attention while driving.
If you find this interesting (yeah I know driving is kind of a weird and possible dull subject for most) add your comments about driving where you live and what you think!
Next blog I promise I will share some Guatemalan news and photos (my mom has the camera and usb chord at the moment). Cheers!
After taking two taxis this morning to an awesome Mennonite (yeah, weird huh?) bakery where Mom and I procurred all types of delicious goodies, I find myself interested in how people drive in different countries. Now that I´ve traveled to three different Spanish speaking countries I´ve noticed that they vary in accent, quality of life, and even types of food, but they have one thing in common: taxi (and I assume other) drivers. Whether because these countries lack traffic laws (I haven´t seen one speed limit sign here) or traffic enforcement (there were signs in Buenos Aires, but no one seemed to pay a bit of attention to them), in general, people in these three countries are crazy drivers.
When Mom, Dad, my friend Chelsea and I were in Buenos Aires nearly three summers ago, we often took taxies to get around the enormous, sprawling city. After our first experienc, my dad and mom tried to always take the subway when possible. I, on the otherhand, looked forward to the jolting taxi rides that often threw me into Chelsea´s lap and had my mom clinging to the saftey handle above the window. After the inital few rides, I overcame my fear because I didn´t see a single accident even though our driver would often speed by other cars with mere inches (I´m not exageratting!) separating us. When in Buenos Aires, it being the first Spanish country I visited, I thought crazed, reckless driving was a phenomenon particular to the city or maybe the country. But when we then traveled to Spain the following year, we experienced the same type of seemingly reckless yet, my mom and I later theorized, very intuitive driving.
Our theory is that peope in Spanish speaking countries generally have a history of being very close, open and friendly and that traslates into their driving as well. People seem more aware of one another and of their surroundings, which allows them to drive five cars abreast a three lane road, or hurtle through intersections without stop signs or signals. I haven´t seen many people talking on cell phones while driving, (though I´m sure there are those who do) and the people just seem to KNOW what´s going on all around them. It´s really very interesting to experience this sense of being with other people while driving that doesn´t seem to exist in the US, or at least Atlanta.
When driving in Atlanta, I find that people tend to rely heavily on traffic signals, stop signs and other traffic indicators. It seems Atlanta drivers feel safe talking on their cell phones, listening to loud music, and generally not being fully present to their driving because the countless signs and signals create a sense of inherent safety. Here, however, stop lights or signs are rare, mostly only found in the central part of town, therefore people are forced to pay more attention while driving.
If you find this interesting (yeah I know driving is kind of a weird and possible dull subject for most) add your comments about driving where you live and what you think!
Next blog I promise I will share some Guatemalan news and photos (my mom has the camera and usb chord at the moment). Cheers!
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
The First Day in Guatemala
Mom and I arrived in Guatemala City on Sunday at 12 10 at the very modern, all concrete, steel and glass airport. After pushing our way through a loud throng of people, many waving signs with names on them and many others selling nuts and bread, we waved down a cab and asked our driver to take us to the bus station. We had thought that we would have to wait for the 3 30 bus but because our flight was a bit early we thought we might be able to catch the 12 30. Our driver hurtled through the streets and after 15 minutes stopped in front of the ALAMO bus station. We began to get out of the taxi but he was out and back into the car in a few seconds and motioned for us to stay put. He took off again, rounded a corner and came up beside an ALAMO bus. Honking and waving at the driver, he pulled in front of the bus and slowed beside the sidewalk. The bus, thankfully, slowed behind us and Mom quickly paid our driver and we switched vehicles. Forty or fifty people took up nearly every seat on the bus but, thankfully, we found the last two seats together at the back and settled in for the four hour ride.
The journey was beautiful, which made up for the fact that we quickly became uncomfortable in the small bus seats. Most of the trek was on winding, two lane, mountain roads that would be scary enough to traverse on a large bus without other vehicles hurtling along in the opposite direction. Regularly, our driver overtook the smaller trucks in front of us and I often saw out the front window another bus face to face with ours. I was surprised that I was not more afraid, but, I figured that our fifty or sixty year old driver had been doing this long enough to know how not to kill his passengers.
Before coming to Guatemala, I knew that it was a volcanic country and very fertile, but I never considered just how lush and green the whole place is. It is ridiculous to think that eighty percent of the population lives in poverty, for the country is so rich in fertile land. I found out yesterday that the main problems are the local government (big surprise) and, guess who, the U.S. The US company, United Fruit, owns over 75 percent of the land in Guatemala and exploits ít´s workers to no end. It also cheats the Guatemalan government by not paying proper taxes.
Anyway, back to the bus. At one point we stopped and five or six women wearing traditional Mayan clothing came on the bus selling delicious looking chicken, tortillas and other delectible items. Unfortunately, we had been instructed not to eat street food and we had to content ourselves with the few carrots and bit of trail mix we had left in our brown paper food bag. We passed many small farms and towns, all very ragged in appearance. We saw many, many corn fields, though not the huge, endless, flat ones you may find in Indiana, these fields extend over steep mountain sides and are as ragged as the houses.
Finally, we arrived in Quetzaltenango, took a cab to the Proyecto Linguistico, and settled in with our families. I´m out of internet time, I´ll write more tomorrow.
The journey was beautiful, which made up for the fact that we quickly became uncomfortable in the small bus seats. Most of the trek was on winding, two lane, mountain roads that would be scary enough to traverse on a large bus without other vehicles hurtling along in the opposite direction. Regularly, our driver overtook the smaller trucks in front of us and I often saw out the front window another bus face to face with ours. I was surprised that I was not more afraid, but, I figured that our fifty or sixty year old driver had been doing this long enough to know how not to kill his passengers.
Before coming to Guatemala, I knew that it was a volcanic country and very fertile, but I never considered just how lush and green the whole place is. It is ridiculous to think that eighty percent of the population lives in poverty, for the country is so rich in fertile land. I found out yesterday that the main problems are the local government (big surprise) and, guess who, the U.S. The US company, United Fruit, owns over 75 percent of the land in Guatemala and exploits ít´s workers to no end. It also cheats the Guatemalan government by not paying proper taxes.
Anyway, back to the bus. At one point we stopped and five or six women wearing traditional Mayan clothing came on the bus selling delicious looking chicken, tortillas and other delectible items. Unfortunately, we had been instructed not to eat street food and we had to content ourselves with the few carrots and bit of trail mix we had left in our brown paper food bag. We passed many small farms and towns, all very ragged in appearance. We saw many, many corn fields, though not the huge, endless, flat ones you may find in Indiana, these fields extend over steep mountain sides and are as ragged as the houses.
Finally, we arrived in Quetzaltenango, took a cab to the Proyecto Linguistico, and settled in with our families. I´m out of internet time, I´ll write more tomorrow.
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