Don't know if this message goes back to your phone, but thanks for keeping us informed. I think this wasn't the wisest idea, but I had a few of those when I was younger (and still do). Praying that you will be safe.
Love,
Mom
Which I recieved after I arrived. I was feeling wordy and so my fingers got the best of me and out poured the following:
That message made me chuckle.
I'm here!! Can't comment much as only just arrived, but have been very blessed by the kindness of strangers.
First, when I took a taxi after breakfast to get to the bus terminal, I was confused because the taxi driver was saying that the terminal I wanted to go to did not service the bus I needed to take. Well, actually that is the abbreviated version-- what he really said was a lot more complicated but I didn't understand most of it. And sure enough-- he drove me past the place and it was not at all what I had read online that it would be. So he took me to a bus station that had bus lines all throughout Guatemala. This place was a lot farther out from where we had agreed upon, so I was expecting him to charge me more. All the other taxis in Guatemala had shrifted me and I expected this guy to be no different. I had just hopped into his car when he rounded a corner-- we had no formal contract or understanding between us. But no, he quoted me at the original price. And then he parked his taxi and said, "Let's go find what bus you need to take." He traipsed all over that huge terminal with me, asking several uniformed folks along the way. Finally we (he) found it and asked the price, and then explained to me that I would need to take a ferry once I got there. After I bought my ticket, I realized I should probably use the bathroom before I left because I didn't know if the bus would stop (it didn't). So I asked where it was and the bus driver pointed in the general direction, but my taxi driver took me in tow to find the exact location. As we were walking, he said "Be careful and watch your stuff. It can be dangerous here." He seemed genuinely concerned. Then he waited for me outside the bathroom and escorted me back!! :) This was a bit excessive but very kind. He had also given me his number and asked me to call if anything went wrong.
The converted school bus I took is called a "chicken bus" because people cram into it with everything and their chickens. I didn't spot any chickens but I did hear an upset puppy yowling from two seats over.
I was worried I'd miss getting off where I needed to go because there weren't actual stops-- the bus would merely slow down somewhat and people (including old bitties) would just sort of hop off. But just as I was about to tap the bus driver on the shoulder (I'd sat right behind him, partly for this reason) to ask if he could tell me when to get off-- like a little lost kid-- I spotted the sign I needed and kept following it as we approached.
Then I was in Santiago and boarded a full boat. When I turned around I saw that there were three Caucasians a few rows back. One was an American guy who spoke halting Spanish, but the two girls he was talking to appeared rather fluent. In any case, they were LOUD. And hippies. I will never call myself this again as I was grossed out by what I saw. Dreadlocks and the whole shebang. I didn't get the full picture until one of them walked up to the front and exchanged her bongo drums that she'd been banging on for a guitar-- and sat back down. Her legs were so hairy and her feet looked like they belonged to another ethnicity, they were so dirty. Worst of all, there was this cloud of foul odor following her around, like rotting fruit. The Guatemalans sharing our boat had dirty feet as well, but the rest of their appearance were tidy and neat and I couldn't help but cringe.
I'm not sure if I should be somewhat relieved or equally put off by the fact that these girls took every opportunity to remind us all that they were NOT Americans. (They were Canadians. You know, because that is sooooooo different.) They spoke French so I'm guessing they're from Montreal. I didn't actually hear them speak French. They spoke exclusively in Spanish to the guy and later to a fellow passenger. I have to imagine others on the boat were also internally rolling their eyes at these girls. I wasn't listening to everything they said-- and I couldn't understand it all, either-- but at one point one of them was declaring how rude it was when Americans assumed she spoke English and came up to her saying, "Hello, how are you doing?" She viewed it as disrespectful. "You're in another country! Speak the language!" she declared.
I found this argument amusing / ridiculous. Just yesterday, the guy from Iceland approached me and spoke English. Was I to be offended that he assumed since we were both Caucasion that we both might communicate? He didn't speak much Spanish-- would this girl rather he didn't visit Central America at all? And that's the thing-- I can't help but assume that this girl has a huge double standard, because I doubt she would side with the Americans who think immigrants to the states should instantly speak English.
I agree, one should attempt to learn the language if one is going to spend any length of time in a different country. But to insist on speaking Spanish (loudly) with your fellow Canadian friend, when Spanish is clearly neither of your native languages, is just weird.
Whatever. I'm done analyzing the ridiculous. :)
When the ferry arrived at the dock, I didn't exactly know where to go. Actually I didn't know where to go at all. I asked a few people but no one seemed to know. There was this huge funeral procession/ parade going on, with tons of people walking behind a fake-looking casket. It was obviously a religious procession and I felt very much out of place walking behind it with my backpack and jeans and white skin. I was worried I might be offending folks by joining in, but I didn't know where else to go and thought the last person I'd asked directions from had pointed me that way. One of the Guatemalan girls from the ferry turned around and smiled at me. Still, I was growing more and more uncomfortable with the situation when a man walking next to me asked me which country I was from. I then asked him if he was from Guatemala and he and his wife said yes-- from here. Seizing my chance, I asked them if they knew where the school was. He didn't-- but called out to his cousin ahead of us. Oh great. I was going to interrupt the whole parade. It would probably the pallbearers who would be consulted next.
The cousin did know and gave me directions, but, likely seeing my confusion, thought better of it. He motioned me over to a women sitting with some girls. Taking one of them, he said "Here! Show her where the Cooperativa school is!" The girl looked up at me, rather alarmed, but took my hand. Another little girl about her size held on to her other hand.
And that is how I walked up and down the streets of San Pedro Laguna, holding hands with little girls.
They were 8 and 9 but looked much younger-- they only came up to my hip! I was also rather surprised at how trusting her parents were. This would not have happened in Honduras.
Even though the countries are so close, I can already tell some differences. 90 percent of the women and girls I've seen-- from a bigger city like Guatemala City to small San Pedro Laguna-- and all the cities in between-- wear traditional, bright- colored skirt/shirt/belt combinations-- and different patterns for each. Also, the language-- I don't know what it's called, but I've heard a lot of people speak it. It sounds like a cross between Dutch and Swedish. I'm listening to some folks speak it right now... They look the farthest thing from Swedish.
I meet my host family at 5. Am hoping that goes well!
Ok, I've typed an essay! Guess I had lots to say. I feel like I could write a book-- though I'm not sure who would want to read it :)
Xoxo
Hannah
I'm here!! Can't comment much as only just arrived, but have been very blessed by the kindness of strangers.
First, when I took a taxi after breakfast to get to the bus terminal, I was confused because the taxi driver was saying that the terminal I wanted to go to did not service the bus I needed to take. Well, actually that is the abbreviated version-- what he really said was a lot more complicated but I didn't understand most of it. And sure enough-- he drove me past the place and it was not at all what I had read online that it would be. So he took me to a bus station that had bus lines all throughout Guatemala. This place was a lot farther out from where we had agreed upon, so I was expecting him to charge me more. All the other taxis in Guatemala had shrifted me and I expected this guy to be no different. I had just hopped into his car when he rounded a corner-- we had no formal contract or understanding between us. But no, he quoted me at the original price. And then he parked his taxi and said, "Let's go find what bus you need to take." He traipsed all over that huge terminal with me, asking several uniformed folks along the way. Finally we (he) found it and asked the price, and then explained to me that I would need to take a ferry once I got there. After I bought my ticket, I realized I should probably use the bathroom before I left because I didn't know if the bus would stop (it didn't). So I asked where it was and the bus driver pointed in the general direction, but my taxi driver took me in tow to find the exact location. As we were walking, he said "Be careful and watch your stuff. It can be dangerous here." He seemed genuinely concerned. Then he waited for me outside the bathroom and escorted me back!! :) This was a bit excessive but very kind. He had also given me his number and asked me to call if anything went wrong.
The converted school bus I took is called a "chicken bus" because people cram into it with everything and their chickens. I didn't spot any chickens but I did hear an upset puppy yowling from two seats over.
I was worried I'd miss getting off where I needed to go because there weren't actual stops-- the bus would merely slow down somewhat and people (including old bitties) would just sort of hop off. But just as I was about to tap the bus driver on the shoulder (I'd sat right behind him, partly for this reason) to ask if he could tell me when to get off-- like a little lost kid-- I spotted the sign I needed and kept following it as we approached.
Then I was in Santiago and boarded a full boat. When I turned around I saw that there were three Caucasians a few rows back. One was an American guy who spoke halting Spanish, but the two girls he was talking to appeared rather fluent. In any case, they were LOUD. And hippies. I will never call myself this again as I was grossed out by what I saw. Dreadlocks and the whole shebang. I didn't get the full picture until one of them walked up to the front and exchanged her bongo drums that she'd been banging on for a guitar-- and sat back down. Her legs were so hairy and her feet looked like they belonged to another ethnicity, they were so dirty. Worst of all, there was this cloud of foul odor following her around, like rotting fruit. The Guatemalans sharing our boat had dirty feet as well, but the rest of their appearance were tidy and neat and I couldn't help but cringe.
I'm not sure if I should be somewhat relieved or equally put off by the fact that these girls took every opportunity to remind us all that they were NOT Americans. (They were Canadians. You know, because that is sooooooo different.) They spoke French so I'm guessing they're from Montreal. I didn't actually hear them speak French. They spoke exclusively in Spanish to the guy and later to a fellow passenger. I have to imagine others on the boat were also internally rolling their eyes at these girls. I wasn't listening to everything they said-- and I couldn't understand it all, either-- but at one point one of them was declaring how rude it was when Americans assumed she spoke English and came up to her saying, "Hello, how are you doing?" She viewed it as disrespectful. "You're in another country! Speak the language!" she declared.
I found this argument amusing / ridiculous. Just yesterday, the guy from Iceland approached me and spoke English. Was I to be offended that he assumed since we were both Caucasion that we both might communicate? He didn't speak much Spanish-- would this girl rather he didn't visit Central America at all? And that's the thing-- I can't help but assume that this girl has a huge double standard, because I doubt she would side with the Americans who think immigrants to the states should instantly speak English.
I agree, one should attempt to learn the language if one is going to spend any length of time in a different country. But to insist on speaking Spanish (loudly) with your fellow Canadian friend, when Spanish is clearly neither of your native languages, is just weird.
Whatever. I'm done analyzing the ridiculous. :)
When the ferry arrived at the dock, I didn't exactly know where to go. Actually I didn't know where to go at all. I asked a few people but no one seemed to know. There was this huge funeral procession/ parade going on, with tons of people walking behind a fake-looking casket. It was obviously a religious procession and I felt very much out of place walking behind it with my backpack and jeans and white skin. I was worried I might be offending folks by joining in, but I didn't know where else to go and thought the last person I'd asked directions from had pointed me that way. One of the Guatemalan girls from the ferry turned around and smiled at me. Still, I was growing more and more uncomfortable with the situation when a man walking next to me asked me which country I was from. I then asked him if he was from Guatemala and he and his wife said yes-- from here. Seizing my chance, I asked them if they knew where the school was. He didn't-- but called out to his cousin ahead of us. Oh great. I was going to interrupt the whole parade. It would probably the pallbearers who would be consulted next.
The cousin did know and gave me directions, but, likely seeing my confusion, thought better of it. He motioned me over to a women sitting with some girls. Taking one of them, he said "Here! Show her where the Cooperativa school is!" The girl looked up at me, rather alarmed, but took my hand. Another little girl about her size held on to her other hand.
And that is how I walked up and down the streets of San Pedro Laguna, holding hands with little girls.
They were 8 and 9 but looked much younger-- they only came up to my hip! I was also rather surprised at how trusting her parents were. This would not have happened in Honduras.
Even though the countries are so close, I can already tell some differences. 90 percent of the women and girls I've seen-- from a bigger city like Guatemala City to small San Pedro Laguna-- and all the cities in between-- wear traditional, bright- colored skirt/shirt/belt combinations-- and different patterns for each. Also, the language-- I don't know what it's called, but I've heard a lot of people speak it. It sounds like a cross between Dutch and Swedish. I'm listening to some folks speak it right now... They look the farthest thing from Swedish.
I meet my host family at 5. Am hoping that goes well!
Ok, I've typed an essay! Guess I had lots to say. I feel like I could write a book-- though I'm not sure who would want to read it :)
Xoxo
Hannah
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