Vivonoche de Antigua la segunda parte

Last night I witnessed the most bizzare nightlife fusion- karaoke in Antigua. As many of you know I am a karaoke efficianado. I´ve sung karaoke at many bars in many cities. The process is almost always the same, and the ediquit is fairly straight forward- you pick a song and when it comes up you sing it. Being a fan of karaoke I was stoked when a few of my classmates mentioned yesterday that there was karaoke that night at club Dos Mil (2000). Since I´ve been feeling isolated from my classmates (because they are all very young and usually about five minutes into listening to them spout off about their twenty-one-year-old views of the world I feel old and irratable) I also figured it would be a good opportunity to bond. However, evidently in Antigua karaoke is 40 percent karaoke and 60 percent spring break. As we pushed into the densely crowded bar a group of college-aged girls were standing on the tables singing a sloppy rendition of something cliche. We sqeezed past the hordes of bro-y white dudes and twenty-something girls and attempted to reach the bar. I started looking for a karaoke book and the karaoke host. The host was no where to be seen. In fact there seemed to be no order or rules to the karaoke. It was just drunk groups of people crowded around the microphone. Was this some kind of karaoke Anarchy? Finally I found someone who explained to me that the bartender also acted as the host. So I scrawled some of my standards on slips of paper and handed them over, happy to know it was not in fact a karaoke free-for-all.

It took over an hour and a half for my song to come up. In the meantime I watched the very white crowd freak out as standard after standard came on. Summer Lovin´, I Will Survive. I sat on the edge of a couch near my co-workers watching them gleefully sing along. I did not. I felt old, and out of place. Finally my song came up- after my classmates had left and the bar had begun to empty out. Bohemian Rapsody is one I like to pull out for singing-happy crowds. However a few individuals took the desire to sing too far. A girl with sleepy drunk eyes stared me down while holding out her hand and repeatedly requesting the mic. Sorry drunk girl. My song, my mic. Then a tall Austrailian dude stood next to me chanting over and over"let me sing. Let me sing." I held my ground and continued to sing "nothing really matters...anyone can see...nothing really matters...nothing really maters to me..." then I handed him the mic figuring he could finish off the song for me... I always mess up the "anyway the wind blows..." so I figured my charitable act would also work out for the best. However, drunk Austrailian who had spent the past three minutes demanding I let him sing didn´t even sing it. I yelled at him. He appologized adding "well you sang it really well so I guess it´s ok that you didn´t let me sing". Thanks dude.

Today was my first day without plans. After breakfast Jamil and I went to Old Town Outfitters- a small operation that provides unique tours and some outdoorsy gear- to pay for our trip tomorrow. We are going to Monterrico beach to kayak through the mangroves. We had attempted to book a trip to Tekal for this weekend but it didn´t quite work out so we decided to put it off until next weekend. I´m just excited to finally get out and do something active in nature. After a nap we walked around the marcado which is vast. They have booths with everything from odd meats to clothes. It´s overwhelming but kind of awesome in a rediculous way.

G.A.E.V. (Gracias A Dias Esta Viernes)

It is my first friday in Antigua after a very long week. I´ve gone from feeling out of place and uncomfortable to finding a bit of a groove, and from speaking practically no Spanish to being able to hold short (although often technically incorrect) coversations. Since I have been here a week I think it´s due time I do a post on the nightlife in Antigua- mostly because it is so bizarre. Being a town that straddles an odd line between old and trendy, impovershed and thriving, and crawling with English speaking tourists while the natives rarely speak a lick of it themselves- Antigua has an equally odd nightlife. It is vastly geared towards the predomanantly young tourist/student population-to a point I find almost insulting.

We headed out last night because one of the two students who are in my homestay house was heading home today. Being my first real time out I was amazed by the hordes of club-wear clad non natives who swarmed the streets. I don´t know where the native Antiguans hang out but it isn´t in downtown Antigua. We walked past Monoloco- a local dance club known for its super cheap ladies nights (Q3- which is esentailly 40 cents), and typical sleezy club scene. From its dark neon lit depths poured the driving beat of a Kanye song or something similarly popular in the US right now.

Our destination was...well I can´t remember the name...but a bar that is nestled in one of the many crumbling ruins that exist throughout the town. It was a pretty cool place- cement stairs spiraling up to the bar. Half was a partially open patio that lookoed out over the ruins. It was cool except the empty Gallo bottles that I could see strewn around ground- a kind of extra f-you to the locals. We will build a bar in your ruins and then not even respect them.

A issue I´ve had since I got here is how little authenticity I feel exists. At the bar my friend ordered pizza, the band played Sublime and Jimi Hendrix covers, our host mother frequently serves us things like pancakes, spagetti and hot dogs. In coming here I wanted street tacos and Guatemalan music. Instead it seems like Antigua has rolled over a submitted to what they belive the typical non-native likes/wants.

However, perhaps on the other hand it is the Guatemalen culture embracing the bounty of the other cultures that continue to colonize it and I shouldn´t expect them to stick to the illusion of authenticity when they´ve just surcumb to the inevitability of change.

Antigua has some pretty nice knockers

This post goes out to all of you who appreciate a good set of knockers.

....Antqiue brass door knockers that is.

Mi escuela

Since the main purpose of me coming here was to attend a Spanish immersion program I think it´s about time I talk about my school. We have class for 7 hours a day. Classes begin at 8am and end at 8pm. We have a 2 hour lunch break which would seem excessive if I did not have to walk 15 to 20 minutes each way for lunch. Classes are 1 on 1 with an instructor who speaks only spanish. The classrooms are small ¨salons¨ that have tin roofs and no door. There are at least 20 of these rooms. Maybe as many as 40. They open up into a lush courtyard with plants, flowers, birds- even an avacado tree. Each week we are given a different instructor. This week, my first week, my professora is named Anna.

Now four days into my class I can say two things. First, that I am already much further along than I was from two weeks of that other class. Second, that my brain has never been so tired. At first I didn´t understand why I would come home, completely drained and end up in bed by 9. Then, yesterday, while listening to people talk in spanish over breakfast it occured to me that my brain is tired because it´s constantly having to work. English is so ingrained in me that I can space out while listening to people talk and still know what is going on more or less. With spanish I have to be thinking constantly, searching for words I recognize in the rapid torrent of gibberish. Those I do recognize need to be processed, runing them against the vast bank of words that have been installed over the past few days, words my brain is not use to accessing yet. It is a real life example of brain mapping in action.

The day is mostly spent in the salon. We have worked through regular verbs, present tense and now theres a lot of memorizing and conjugating and stringing things together into vain attempts at complete sentences. The advantage of the 1 on 1 is that I really get a chance to spend a lot of time awkwardly speaking. We frequently switch between the lesson at hand and conversations that force me to exercise both applying and comprehending my new vocbulary. Some times I think my instructor is frusturated with me. I forget words she has just told me, cannot remember to pronouce my Vs as Bs, and always use bien when I should say bueno and piquito when I should say piquenio. However, I already can feel a vast improvement, and as tired as I am at the end of every day I look forward to what I will be able to do at the end of my fourth week.


This sign cracks me up every day. Be careful with your head.

Me no gusta mucho lluvia

Have I mentioned it rains a lot here? The first few days it was sunny until around 5 when the dense cumulus clouds that had been assembling unnoticed arround the perimiter of an otherwise clear sky would launch their attack, and joining forces pelt the unsuspecting city below. Although considering it happened every day "unsuspecting" is perhaps not the right term. In any regards it was tolorable because it usually came around the time my day was winding down anyway. Monday the rain started earlier- around lunch time. The second half of my class proved difficult as the rain on the tin roof drowned out much of the conversations my teacher and I attempted to have. Yesterday the rain started before I woke up and never stopped- in fact it only intensifed as the day went on until around four pm it built into a creshendo of a downpour that left me unable to hear anything my teacher said at all. We gave up on lessons and instead attempted conversations about favorite foods "¿la comedia favorita?" (where I attempted to explain Sushi "uh...pescado y arros y...uh...seaweed? Seaweed? Um...plantas de Oceano?"), Halloween (where I explained the phenomenon of "sexy" constumes. "En Estados Unidos las sinoritas gusta...sexy..uh...constumes...sexy enfierma...sexy policia...sexy mariposa...") and box vs. bottled wine. Evidently in Guatemala boxed wine is considered equally good as bottled wine.

Anyway...Five rolled around and so I bundled up in my rain jacket and braved the streets. One block away I came across a complication. The street was more river than road. A brown river coursed through the street carring with it neumerous bits of trash which has previously occupied the nooks and cranies between the cobblestones. I stood on the sidewalk- rain thundering against my hood- contemplating the inevitable cross. I was in flip flops, my pants already hiked up to accomodate for the flooded ground- my feet couldn´t get any more wet. However the idea of wading through the river of brown sludge and trash was nauseating. Finally, after several of my fellow students had gathered along the sidewalk to ponder the same problem, I decided to just do it. Gross. Gross. Gross. But I made it home.

My shower isn´t hot, my room has no heat, and in Guatemala dinner is not a warm meal. Thus after dinner, clad in hoodie and yoga pants I curled up into my twin bed, before 9 yet again, and read until I passed out.

However, today it is sunny and beautiful. With all that cloud cover I forgot there was a volcano towering above the town.

"Mi espanol es no bueno"

"¿Bob Marley es muy popular en Guatemala?" I asked my airport shuttle driver. About fifteen minutes into our drive from the Guatemala city airport he had switched from a local hispanic radio station to a CD of Bob Marley. I suspected perhaps he did it to please the very white girl who sat silently in his passenger seat.

"Mucho touristas en Guatemala." He answered, confirming my suspicions.

I had intended to come to Guatemala with a summer Spanish 101 course under my belt. However due to a teacher with whom´s teaching style I did not mesh I had a meager two weeks and what little I knew from being in California. Going to a foreign country knowing little of the language didn´t phase me because Antigua is full of English speaking students who travel to attend the language schools. I assumed that they were so use to catering to the student population that everyone knew at least a working ammount of English. In fact I was worried that I would not be able to immerse enough. Once again- I feel like a typical sheltered American. A vast majority of Antiguians "no hablo Ingese". The first indication that I might be in trouble were when my aformentioned driver picked me up. When frazzeled, travel weary me met his "¿como estas?" with a quizzical look he followed up with "¿habla espanol?". Now I know what "¿como estas?" means. However 9 hours of red-eye travel had left me a little slow. Adding to that the fact that he did not, in fact, "habla Inglese" I started to panic a bit. I was all about immersing myself but had expected a bit of a safty net. It turned out he did know a tiny bit of English and so we managed a few strained exchanges.

A few examples of my attempts at conversations:

"¿Tu....uh....usted vivo en Antigua o Guatemala City?"

After several instances of drivers cutting in front of our large van "Uh...Guatemalan..uh...drivers...(insert me doing the standard "steering wheel" motion to indicate "driver") es muy loco!"

"¿Donde voy? ¿Esquela o mi casa de Antigua familia?"

I´m sure he was use to new students and humored my very broken Spanish- correcting me gently and repeating his questions to me in the simplest of terms.

"¿Donde eres?"

"Tu gustas Bob Marley?"

An hour or so later he dropped me off at what would be my home for the next month. The door was answered by Franchesca, one of the host mother´s assistants. She spoke no English. She showed me around the house:

"Tu cuarto. Tu bano. Agua."

She then handed me a key and went back to cleaning.

There is no lock to my room. I can lock it from the inside but the outside closes with a sliding bolt. It opens to a small outdoor stoop (across which is my small bathroom which is reminicent of the small, space efficent ones you find in RVs) which means that when I am not in the room there is nothing keeping anyone else out. This made me a bit nervous for the few valuables I had brought (including my recently aquired passport). I looked around my room and saw a cabinet with key holes. Hoping I could use the key to lock up my stuff I sought Franchesca out again. I know neither the word for "key" nor "cabinet" so she met my question with a blank stare. After a few attempts at miming I gave up.

"Pardon, mi espanol es no bueno" I said apologetically. Feeling incredibly sheepish. What was I thinking coming here with so little Spanish? This promised to be a long first week.

Luckily I had brought a lock for my suitcase so I finally decided to stick everything of importance in there, lock it and slide it into the cabinet. Having put everything away, and quelled my concerns about my things dissapearing, I decided I might as well go out and walk around the city. With my trusty messenger bag slung across my torso I headed out- running into Franchesca on the way. I figured a quick "adios" would be sufficent to get me out of the door without more akward exchanges. No such luck. She attempted to tell me when lunch was. I thought she was asking if I was going to get lunch. I said "si". She asked if I ate meat "carne". I thought she was asking...well I don´t know what I thought she was asking. I said "no". She looked concerned. She asked if I was a vegitarian. I said "no". She looked confused. Luckily the tired wheels in my brain turned just in time for me to piece together what had just happened. "No. No Vegitarian. Si carne! Carne bueno!!". She looked less confused but not particularly enthused to be dealing with my very pathetic Spanglish. Finally I understood. Lunch was at 1. Dinner was at 7.

"Comprehendo?"

"si"

And I walked out into the cobblestone street.

After wandering in slow circles through the vaguly marked streets, filled with a vast town of non-English speakers I was a little overwhelmed. I attempted to find a place to change my american dollars into Guatemalan currency Quesales. Despite what I swear the website for my school said, American dollars were NOT redily accepted. I was even turned down by Burger King when I turned to the familiarity of their standardized Americanized lobby. By the time I got back to my homestay for lunch I was, frankly, a little paniced. I wondered how long it would be before I was able to communicate. Then in walked a guy who appeared to be roughly my age. I took a breath, swallowed my pride and attempted, yet again to have a conversation in Spanish.

"Hola. Me llamo Molly."

He gave me an odd look.

"Mucho gusto. Me llamo Jamiel." Then said, in English. "Are you from Antigua?"

Suddenly my stress and tension dissapated. Other English speakers!

"No! California!" I said. "You?"

"Texas."

Forget about total immersion. I´d never been happier to meet someone from Texas.

Some pics of where I am staying:

"No, gracias"

While I am trying very hard to settle into this foreign country and culture and resist my typical American-ness the one place I cannot seem to overcome, or even process the culture shock is the level of poverty. Having never left the cushy comfort of the United States prior to this the most experince I´ve had with extreme poverty is in the form of our homeless. However there´s a vast difference between coming into contact with homeless- who are "others" within a generally well-off society and a culture where poverty is the norm. From the moment I landed in Guatemala City I found myself watching, wide-eyed in amazement, as miles and miles of worn buildings, dirty streets, and crudely built homes wizzed by. I watched a construction crew toss cinder blocks through the center of a roughly build wooden scaffolding, as men balanced every ten feet up caught them and tossed them up to the next. No machines, no OSHA regulations- just crude manpower.

As we wound up the mountain the dense green hillside was peppered with homes. They are small and boxy. The "nicer" ones are made of weather-worn stucco, the more humble- of sheet metal assembled into walls and a roof. From each a string of colorful laundry streches out like Tibetian prayer flags. Also along the windy road from Guatemala City to Antigua was a steady stream of foot traffic- women and men with various packages perched upon their heads. Fruit, firewood, water, etc. I saw one woman who had stopped to rest- her feet planted on either side of a dirt ditch, her legs forming a tent under which her small child played.

In Antigua and Santiago (and many other towns I´m sure) the streets are filled with women and children who will approach you will textiles, neclaces, toys and other items for sale. I can only meet their persistance with "no Gracias". I feel ashamed by how uncomforable it makes me. I drop my eyes to the cobblestones as I pass them, watching the water trickle between the uneven stones-hoping I will not have to turn another child with sad dark eyes down.

I feel ashamed that I don´t know how to behave, that my last 28 years have given me no context with which to process this. However I´m also incredibly greatful that I am here, and am a little less ignorant.

Guatemala is muy verde

As a traveler I´m a window person. I´ve rarely flown anywhere when my nose wasn´t permanently attached to that two-foot thick piece of plexiglass at least 50% of the time. Even though I´ve flown across the United States many times I still get a childlike thrill from watching the landscape slowly pass below me. I also like being able to check periodically that we are, in fact, not crashing. Thus I am very familiar with what our vast country looks like from 30,000 feet. It is generally a gradiated checkerboard of browns- taupe, tan, sand, etc. Occasionally there is a small greenish patch around a whitish patched where the topography slopes upward a few thousand feet into a mountain. However from coast to coast the United States looks pretty much the same from the air. Thus, when I awoke at 5am on my flight to Guatemala I knew I was no longer in the US. The landscape below me was comprised of rich green peaks that thrust upwards like choppy waves on a lake.

Considering Guatemala is currently in the middle of its rainy season it is no surprise how incredibly lush and green everything is. In the three days I´ve been here the weather has started sunny and humid and turned into thunder/lightening/torrential downpour by 5pm. Today it was raining by noon. Luckily it is still warm and so as I type this I´m wearing flip flops and shorts with my rain jacket. Tropical rainforest weather I guess. Turns out the cobblestones serve a very good purpose-allowing me to traverse the flooded streets without getting my feet wet.

Is alive, and arrived safely...

...but is struggling with uploading photos, internet cafes and Spanish speaking keyboards so updating will have to wait until later.

Preparing to depart

It is currently Thursday morning. The cool, overcast weather and my evening of serious quality time with my little brother both find me a little sluggish. But I still have packing to do, people to see, and other loose ends to tie up before tomorrow evening when I head down to the airport in San Francisco. Time to rally.

People have been asking me a lot lately "are you excited for your trip?" I think my response usually comes across as less enthusiastic than expected. Don't get me wrong, I am very excited to be going on this trip. Not just because of the beautiful destination, or the promise of coming back with a working knowledge of Spanish, but ultimately because it represents how much my life has changed in the last year. However, I will admit that a small part of me is also a little terrified.

As some of you know, this will be my first time out of the country (not counting the hour or so my brother and I spent driving through Ontario four years ago on our way cross-country.) I am going alone, to attend an immersion program for a month through PLFM. As far as first time abroad situations go I predict this will be fairly tame. Antigua is a hotbed for foreign students studying spanish and thus is inundated with out of towners and geared to accommodate non-natives. My school is providing me with a ride from the airport, a private room with a host family who feeds me 6 days a week, and a community an home base that will make for a graduated introduction to a new country and culture. While this may make for a slightly less authentic South American experience it is also comforting for me and those friends and family members who are concerned about me getting molested in an alleyway.

Ultimately I look forward to this trip and all the ways it will expand my view of the world and force me to grow as a person (or for the food, alcohol and shopping... could be either.) I make no promises as to how frequently I will update this blog, but since some of you are hoping to use it as a daily validation that I am still alive and haven't been kidnapped and sold into white slavery, I will make an effort to post something as frequently as is convenient to my existence down there.

Nos vemos.