I took a trip home this month. Back to my beloved STL, my
family and friends, my baseball and my beer. After a whirlwind visit, I flew
out to the only other place I’ve ever considered home – DC. I didn’t get enough
time in either place, but the time I did spend was wonderful. A few things,
however, struck me quite differently than they used to.
One, the simplest of all, and yet the most difficult to
adjust to, was the toilet paper. For four months now, I’ve been throwing used
toilet paper in the trash can. At first, I think most people from the State
find this kind of gross. We aren’t comfortable with letting the stuff sit there
in a trash can; we want it gone. But I had a very hard time kicking the habit
and going back to my former, immediately-flush-it habits. And what’s more, I
didn’t like it. Flushing toilet paper instead of canning it no longer makes
sense to me. It’s paper, it goes in the trash. Whose idea was it to flush it?
How did we all end up doing it that way? I don’t get it. But don’t worry. While
I was home, I managed to remember that in the States, it goes in the toilet.
Most of the time.
Two, things that work. Wifi. Water pressure and showerheads.
Buses that run on schedule. None of these are reliable in Guate. I’m pretty
sure I did a little victory dance taking my first U.S. shower. But then, I also
had some trouble understanding the urgency of getting to the bus stop by
exactly 6:04.
Three, the buildings. And the city landscapes in general. I
had forgotten how large and how shiny we like to build things back home. Not
that Guatemala doesn’t have its fair share of modern architectural ventures; it does. But something about walking around DC made me sort of… simultaneously marvel
at and question the design of everything around me. It seemed that every
building was intended to compete with those around it. Who could construct the
shiniest, sleekest, most polished stone-glass monolith to make their suit-donning
minions feel important? But at the same time, wasn’t it nice? It did make me
feel good, to be in a place that seemed taken care of. And the rowhouses lining
the streets of Shaw-Howard, with their colored bricks and miniature front porches,
how are those any less charming than Antigua’s rainbow of colonial walls? They
aren’t. Both are beautiful.
Four, grocery shopping. Specifically, the produce section.
Whoa. That was a lot of food, all in one place. And so spread out, and so
organized, and so clean. In Antigua, I have two options for produce, and
neither looks like that. I usually go to the market, which is open air, and the
food is freshly plucked from wherever it came from. Still sporting the dirt
from the farm, the stems, the leaves, everything that has been shed and rinsed
for our glistening produce displays in U.S. stores. I buy my Guate fruits and
veggies from dozens of individual vendors who sell their wares in small
quantities. So, okay, it’s a farmers’ market. A crowded, inexpensive farmers’
market serving as the vendors’ main source of income. Their biggest competition
is Antigua’s grocery store, the Bodegona. But the produce there doesn’t look a
whole lot different from that in the market. And the produce section as a whole
spans a space that I’d compare to say, the size of my living room. The space
occupied by one produce section in the States, meanwhile, could probably form
the foundation of an entire house. Everything with its neat little section. And
so. Much. Food. I might have gotten lost.
Five, food trucks. Food trucks get their own category
because they represent a lot more than just selling food out of trucks. Which,
I should first explain, works a lot differently in Guatemala than in the
States. A Guatemalan food truck is a guy with a pickup parked on the side of
the road selling ceviche out of the truck bed. The food truck trend in the States
used to excite me. Now I can’t believe the fact that it’s even considered a
“trend” and not just… something someone does to make a buck. And in Guate, it’s
with so little regulation or backlash. I remember reading news in the States
about standing businesses requesting limitations on food trucks – where they
could park and sell food, at what times, on what days. Because God forbid
someone with a less costly business concept is actually able to stay afloat in
a sea of Starbucks’ and Cosi’s. Small businesses in Guatemala – and I mean
really small businesses – don’t face nearly the same level of challenges. If I
want to start a business selling pancakes out of my living room, I can. If I
want to get a motorcycle and ride around town selling ice cream out of a
cooler, I can. It’s a lemonade stand-style economy in Antigua. But it’s not
about teaching sweet childhood lessons in basic math and customer service. It’s
about putting food on people’s tables. And for me, they’re adding to the
character of the town, the simplicity that I so enjoy about living here. On
wheels or within walls, no U.S. dining experience can compare to eating
burritos at El Farol. While the cook grills my veggies, his daughter does her
homework in the back room, and his son learns to walk in between the tables. Because
the restaurant, to them, is just one room in their house. That’s the kind of
small business I wish we had more of back home.
I was surprised by the things that struck me so oddly during my visit. But I was happy to see them in a new way. New perspectives add value to experiences, and no experience will ever be as valuable as going home.
