Una Quinceanera a Woon Kooc

Last night was the quinceanera of Ceci, one of the daughters of the family I am living with. This is a *big deal*. I feel really lucky to have been here for the celebration and to have been invited (though my stomach doesn´t feel the same way). The celebration began days in advance with Carmen (my host mother) making about ten large plastic flower centerpieces to place on the tables at the restaurant where the party would be held. Shiny white material was purchased, a dress was commisioned. Hair was done, nails painted, makeup purchased. Carmen painted 50 cloth napkins with flowers and wrote "15" in the corner. We stood over the kitchen table, folding the napkins, tying them with a bow, preparing them to hold the silverware at the restaurant--a homemade party favor.
When i returned home on Tuesday afternoon, the house was abustle with excitement as everyone prepared for the celebration. I became the official photographer, digital camera in hand, a soaked up the frantic energy, the dogs running in circles, Maria´s jealous antics. (Pictures to come).
The service took place in a large church around the corner. Ceci walked in, escorted by the father and three youth (training to do whatever it is that catholic youth train to do in the church during their communion classes). Ceci looked like a bride. I was worried that my knee-length skirt and stockingless legs would be to riské, but Ceci beat me out. Her floor length, sparkling dress had no sleeves, a tightly laced empress waist. Glitter on her arms, a light blue eyeshadow, and hair pulled back to reveal shining earings. The service was short--much about sangre, el cuerpo de Christo. And much about the ´povre´which was quite encouraging. There was music, a guitar played by a young man with a great voice. Though the church was cavernous the service was intimate. When communion was completed, the service concluded, Ceci left first, followed by the father and the young assistants.

On to Woon Kooc.
Who knew that Xela has its very own Chinese banquet hall?? It was on to Woon Kooc for dinner and celebration. We began with waiting. Much waiting for what I´m not sure. Eventually, it arrived....Tall glasses of tang! My favorite overly sweet flourescent orange drink. And then there was more tang. And then the kids were served hamburgers. I was beginning to think that this wasn´t a chinese restaurant. But the waiters were wearing those little red waiter-vests like big chinese banquet halls. And the room was overly big, just like many weird, suburban chinese restaurants. And they were pushing carts like in Cinatown, and on every table stood a lable-less bottle of black liquid i hoped was soy. And then came the whiskey. Lots of whiskey and water. The kids had finished their hamburgers and most were on to their second course of sugar packets. By the end of the night, not a sugar packet was to be found. Apparently sugar is an appropriate apetizer and desert. I politely refused this pre-diner snack, but was met with looks of confusion. The fact that i fail to put sugar in my tea or coffee is totally uncomprehensible.
And finally....the meal. I wish i could tell you what it was. There was rice. And brocolli and meat. Fried meat. Sauteed meat. And ham, definitely ham in the rice. My stomach could tell you more, but i think it would rather forget the night existed.
And cake. A wedding cake really. Layered, with flowers, curls of icing, pink dots, the lot. Sheet cake hear is awesome. None of that dry, flaky stuff we settle for. This is drenched in peach syrup, moist and spongy, sweet and dense. When i woke this morning, there was cake for breakfast. At school today it was one students birthday and there was cake.
So two weeks and two birthdays celebrated here and christmas on its way. I may break my record for most amount of cake consumed in a three week period. We´ll have to wait and see. perhaps there will be cake for dinner.

Oops (again)

I could probably title most of the entries "oops" as i will continue to leave a trail of misunderstanding in my wake. This one revolves around the discovery of my ipod by Maria, the 7 year old in my house. I was listening to some music while doing some homework when she came in my room and wanted to listen as well. Realizing that she wouldnt understand what I was listening to, I told her I had some Spanish music. Idiotically, I did not go for my Spanish folk music, but somehow found myself handing her the Orishas, Cuban hip hop. Now, I thought that i understood some of the lyrics, but apparently, I was wrong. As soon as Maria put the earphones to her ears she let out a gasp, a giggle and put her hand to her mouth in embarassment. I can only imagine what the lyrics were, and it may be months before I know, especially since I dont even know which song she was listening to, but I quickly recovered the earphones and switched the song to Silvio Rodriguez, another singer whos lyrics i cant completely translate. But á song with the words three sisters in the title cant be that inappropriate for a seven year old. I hope. The ipod is now securely hidden away when i leave the house. Im hoping the incident can be one of me and marias little secrets...

Chico Mendes

Saturday at 6 i arose in the bleary dark of my room, before the parakeets in the courtyard outside my room had begun their morning chirping. The rest of my family was deep asleep, and i stumbled into the kitchen, overtired, a bit dehydrated from an evening consuming a few too many gallos (the Guatemalan beer), put on the kettle and tried to excite mýself for a day of hiking. I hadn´t slept well, as somehow, lying awake, burried past my eyes in covers, hat snug over my ears, spanish words and verb conjugations ran through my mind without cessation. A cup of yummy tea to warm me and pan dulce in hand, i made my way over to the school where I was to meet a small group of students for a trip to the nearby mountains with a member of the environmental organization Chico Mendes

Taking a pick=up out of the city limits and into a nearby village at the base of the mountain, we bumped along in early morning wind and clouds. Chico Mendes is committed to reforestration projects in the mountains surround xela. Much of the poverty present in the rural, primarily Quiche community in the area has been forced to cut down trees for firewood. But it is this very process that has made their communities even more compromised. The recent Hurricane, one of the worst environmental disasters in Guatemalan history, left thousands homeless or burried under the powerful mudslides that resulted from the loose soil on mountainsides without trees falling under the pressure of the torrential rain. Armando, the guide grew up working and walking in the forest through which we were to hike. In his own words, he knows the forest "como mi palma" and has begun the process of imparting the same knowledge to his children. They came along for the hike, two boys about 5 and 7 with boundless energy and a girl about 13 who met them step for step. they literally ran up the mountain, with backpacks full of food for our lunch and never seemed out of breath. All the while yelling vamos vamos to those of us lagging behind. Walking up the mountain, Armando would stop repeatedly, pointing out various medicinal plants, 200 year old pines, signs about the regulation tree cutting in the forest (punishable with 10 years in jail if the trees are not already dead). His knowledge was truly amazing, even just of all the various small paths winding their way up the mountain. Whe we reached the top after almost 3 hours of hiking, the views from the windy, grassfilled plateau stretched on for miles. We saw all the way to Lake Atitlan to the west, the view to the east one of clouds, hundreds of feet below. We could see patches of mountainside disappeared in the hurricane, could understand how complete the devastation was, how sudden. On our way down the mountain, after a lunch of tamales cooked over a fire and sweet te de jamaica, we passed an outpost of forest guards, a group of men (not sure if there are any women) who have a 24 hour outpost, high in the mountains where they are guarding the ancient pines from those who attempt to cut them down for Christmas trees. They rotate on 48 hour shifts until the 24th of December, when they will remove their tents and hope that the trees will remain until next year they begin their watch again. I am thinking about volunteering with Chico Mendes in their greenhouse nearer to Xela before I head to Nicaragua. Well see if thís is feasible, but their committment to reforestration, their politics are really inspiring and something I would love to be able to help in even the littles way.

Arrival

I´m now in Xela, my first computer use since leaving the states, and with a weird keyboard with letters and accents in new places and most of the keys rubbed off anyways, so pardon the typos. I also cannot figure out how to get the ´at´ symbol to work to write email, so i keep copying it from my address book. how silly. perhaps i should just ask. what a novel idea. i completely remember having this same issue four years ago in mexico. you´d think i would have learned and remembered. apparently not.
Anyway, I arrived in Guatemala city on Friday at around 8:30 and was met by Lisa´s cousins, Aaron and Corinne. Aaron works at an American school in the city and Corinne volunteers at this really amazing organization where she teaches women´s literacy classes to women from the city. The majoprity of whom make their living by selling things that they find in the city dump. They work with such opposite sides of the population, it must be a bit weird for them. They live in a pretty swanky apartment in a very nice part of town. We dropped off my things and then went to eat tacos nearby in this area with all the nightclubs. we passed some bizarre photoshoot of scantily clad women posing on a motorcylce. aaron thinks we saw the guatemalan Paris Hilton.
Saturday Aaron took my to Antigua-a very pretty colonial town crawling with foreigners. This old many asked if we wanted a guide and aaron agreed. He was very nice and clearly knowledgeable about many things. And also well know, as old people all around the city kept waving to him. But he kept saying that old steps were the remains of mayan temples... Alas, as with everywhere, I suppose you have to choose what to believe.
When we returned to the city, we relaxed in the apartment. When Corinne returned from a hike with friends from her work, we were invited to her friend Monica´s family´s home for dinner and some sort of procession. It turned out that it was a sort of pre-procession for el dia de concepcion del virgin maria or something. the real day is the 8th, but since that is a weekday, the procession is on the weekend before. Saturday was the day when the youth get to process through the neighborhood carrying this altar with a statue of the virgin. And the event is repeated on a much larger scale the next day with adults. The kids must have walked for two hours in circles all in and out of the winding, dark streets, followed by a waxing and waning crowd of familymembers and two memn pushing a car battery that powered a small stereo ant lit up the skirt of the virgin.
Guatemalans are obsessed with marcuetas (firecrackers) and really all things firey. Four year olds were setting off firecrackers in the street, chasing each other with flaming sticks. They sell the firecrackers in bands, like amunition, and you can separate them or do huge amounts all at once. the sounds are deafening, reverberating off the stucco houses. We helped decorate Monica´s house with balloons (interestingly they use the same word for bladder and balloon) and streamers. As the procession wound past her house, the kids grabbed the balloons and streamers, holding piles of colorful globes in front of their faces and chasing each other until they fell in big, bright piles of popping balloons, burried beneath their treasure. It was quite a site. If only i could have seen the adult procession, which apparently involves a live band and much larger crowds and a much larger statue of the virgin. Corinne took many pictures, which i hope to link to soon.

Oops

So i ended up buying maple cookies. And then when we opened them, my host family noticed that they are made in canada and much confusion insued because i had said they are cookies that are really popular in my part of the US. and then they thought i was from canada. And today, o my first day of class, they told us not to give the host families gifts. oops. they should have told us that earlier. so now i am a hyper-gift-giving canadian. perhaps it´s better if they think i´m from canada...