Buenvivir

Caribbean coast. Zero complaints.

Arriving in Costa Rica felt so familiar. Like stepping into the home of a good friend you haven’t visited in a while. You still know where they keep the cups in the kitchen, you know? That’s what it felt like for me to come back to Central America. I could navigate the city, I spoke the language, I recognized the smells. I knew the feel of the air and the shape of the trees and the colors of the buildings. In many ways it was the same home away from home I knew so well before, but a new country in a familiar region also offered a lot to explore.

I was traveling this time not for work but for school. Rather than leading students, I was a student myself, on a field course as part of my graduate studies. I joined a small cohort of peers focusing on Monitoring and Evaluation (M&E) of sustainable development projects. And while M&E is a skill set that I have long wanted to get some real training on, my biggest takeaways from the trip ended up having very little to do with it. What I learned was (arguably) much more valuable.

To set the scene, Costa Rica was everything you think – lush green mountains, volcanoes, tropical forests with beautiful bright-colored flowers, and picturesque beaches. We ate rice and beans (usually gallopinto) every day for nearly every meal, along with super good coffee and fresh juice made from delicious fruits, a lot of which are hard to find in the States (guanabana was a fave). And yes, there were sloths, along with monkeys and toucans, and sneaky iguanas who would show up next to us at breakfast.

Plato casado aka meal with all the fixings - rice, beans, plantains, etc, plus mango juice

We spent the first six days of the trip on the campus of EARTH University, basically in the center of the country. EARTH was a big part of our inquiry into M&E and sustainable development. It’s an agricultural university that brings in students from all over the world to learn sustainable farming practices, community development strategies, and business skills. The idea is that they will then return to their home countries and become “change agents” for sustainable development. We were there to learn about the different projects their students work on, as well as some related social enterprises in the area. We saw:

Seeds of the lipstick tree

• Native plant gardens. One fun thing there was a tree whose seeds broke open into red powder that was traditionally used as make-up.
• Organic farming projects, in particular an experimental banana farm where we tasted like seven varieties – pink bananas, tiny bananas, bananas with seeds, they had it all!
• A different, non-organic but certified sustainable banana plantation which was much bigger. Bananas were pulled around on cables (“banana trains”) to and from harvest, and we got to see the whole operation of sorting and prepping for market - including distribution to Whole Foods. It was way cooler than I thought it’d be.

The banana train, produce en route to a Whole Foods near you

• A small farm and budding eco-tourism venture at the home of an adorable older couple named Lila and David. They told us their goal was to build a place where the children of the neighborhood could plant their own trees and watch them grow as they were growing, too. Where is my heart-eyes-crying emoji?
• Multiple cacao farms where we gorged on a thousand varieties of chocolate and sweet fresh cacao fruit, and learned about the whole bean-to-bar process. We also spoke with a member of one of Costa Rica’s indigenous tribes about the spiritual significance of cacao. There are whole complex legends around it but basically chocolate is the drink of the gods. I definitely see how they drew that conclusion.

Cacao tree

Throughout each site visit, we were supposed to be gathering data for our project, which was to outline a formal evaluation design for one of the sustainable development initiatives we saw, based on our observations and conversations with the people working there. So we interviewed several people involved, and one common theme surprised us all. It’s something Latin Americans call buenvivir – good living or more accurately, quality of life. Over and over when we spoke with folks about their definition of success – What is your hope for this farm? For this business? What is your ultimate goal? – they told us they wanted to live a good life and improve the lives of people in their community. Financial success and production were a means to achieve buenvivir, but they rarely mentioned profit, only stability. I was surprised to hear such a resounding chorus on this from people all pursuing small enterprise. Maybe I’m cynical but I really don’t think we’d get the same answer in the States.

There's a sloth up there! I'm sorry,
what were you saying? When's lunch?

Outside the project, I had fun living a college lifestyle again and getting to know the other students in the cohort. We would organize snack runs into town, dance parties at the nearest bar, meet-ups at the campus coffee shop, and exploratory quests to find a hidden swimming hole we’d been told about. We played cards and drank beer in our “dorm rooms” at night, and ate all our meals at the school cafeteria. It was impressively easy to feel, and act, like a kid again when I was back in that setting. Several times I caught myself doing the exact same things that get under my skin when my own students do them – getting distracted during a scheduled speaker, getting frustrated when we weren’t given enough free time. Light bulbs went off. Next time I may cut my kids some slack.

Final sunset from a San Jose rooftop

After nearly a week on the EARTH University campus, we spent a final two nights on the Caribbean coast in Cahuita. It was beautiful, beachy, and full of ex-pats. I don’t blame them for wanting to relocate there – I could have played in the waves a bit longer. But after the program ended I quickly caught the bus back to San Jose for one more exciting new encounter. I got to meet up with a whole branch of my fiancé’s family whom I’d never met, the Costa Rican side. His cousins brought me to dinner at a mirador – a fancy restaurant up in the mountains that overlooks the city. We had a lovely view and an even lovelier time getting to know each other. 

Because of the family, I know I’ll be back in Costa Rica one day, and I very much look forward to it. I mentioned at the beginning that I felt very at home there, in a lot of ways. I also got to depart from my norm enough to feel refreshed by the end. I focused on the present, and experienced buenvivir – remembering that sometimes living a successful life means slowing down and enjoying the beauty around you.

Some Greek Perspective

Hello again! Catching up here… So I recently returned from two weeks in Greece, and I think it’s an understatement to say I learned a lot.

I learned some things one would expect: The language and roots of English words (The Greek word for Thank You is the root of the word Eucharist – ponder that, Catholic friends); Greek mythology and archaeology (ask me about the truth behind the myth of the Minotaur), the historical roots of democracy, notably enshrined at the Acropolis in Athens; current political and economic concerns; and, excitingly, how Greek food is made, from farm to plate.

Ancient theater outside the Acropolis

I also learned a lot from working with my students. On the one hand, managing teenagers in a foreign country, collaborating with their teachers, and being the logistics point person AND activity facilitator, day in and day out, presented a whole host of challenges and learning moments that I won’t bore you with. But on an academic level, we got to do some really neat stuff [*pushes glasses up nose*]. My group was there to study sustainability issues, particularly how societies historically adapted to sustainability challenges, and how culture influences sustainable (or unsustainable) behaviors. We learned about food production (honey, filo dough, olive oil – including tastings!). We visited a bio-energy manufacturer that traced its origins back to Greece’s post-World War II days when people were building barbecue pits out of “repurposed” bombshells. And we had students speak with a local NGO that works to reduce food waste and combat food insecurity.

Crete's olive covered hills

Food was a big theme throughout the trip. Greek food is delicious and we ate tons of it: tzatziki, Greek salad, dolmas, dakos, yemista, souvlaki (I broke my vegetarianism a couple times to try), gyros, and my favorite, filo-wrapped cheese pies with honey and sesame. It was all so delicious! Most meals were served mezze style, and we ate our weight in tasty dishes, but even after stuffing ourselves, we often had more than we needed. After a few days the students picked up on this and confronted us about it, asking if we could donate the leftover food instead of throwing it away. So we did. Their consistent notice of food waste sunk in so much that I even watched this “Wasted!” documentary on the plane on the way home. I recommend it! But I digress. The students, though, came away from their experience with some thoughtful reflections on their consumption habits and ideas about creative ways to be less wasteful. So that was a nice lesson learned.

Dakos and Tzatziki

Loukoumades

Greece was overall a really cool, easy place to travel (as an American) – inexpensive, walkable, with friendly people who mostly speak English. I got to have some of my own fun there in the days before the students arrived. Mostly, I walked around taking photos of street art, drinking coffee, and eating sweets (loukamades, bougatsa, and others – did I mention the food was good?). One particular night stood out though. We stopped to confirm reservations at one of the mezze restaurants, and the owners, Yianni and Maria, offered us tastings of some typical house liquors. One, homemade for the Christmas season, was flavored with pomegranate, and the other with a special, kind of herby plant resin called mastiha that is only found on the Greek island of Chios. Both flavors were lovely.

Street art in the colorful Plaka neighborhood

As we sat down with Maria and Yianni, they shared their thoughts on the recent controversy over the naming of the country of Macedonia (aka Skopje or FYROM or the Republic of North Macedonia), which borders Greece to the north. They were not happy about the Greek government’s decision to compromise on the name and were planning to participate in a big protest near the Athens central square the following morning. Their perspective reflected a nationalist sentiment that we are not unfamiliar with in our own country – they felt encroached upon and threatened by other nationalities “taking” something that “belongs” to Greece. But the unique context of their much longer and more complex history, and the fact that the conflict was less about physical territory than it was about identity and public memory, made the conversation all the more fascinating. And while I might disagree with them, as did many other Greeks we spoke with, I was taken with the full scene: a classic mom-and-pop taverna, traditional spirits, and passionate discussion. In that moment I felt so transported into their world.

The "Macedonia is Greece" protest the next day (I went to check it out)

Between that night at the restaurant and my evolving new job, Greece was a reminder for me to never assume I know the full story of something I’m not totally engrossed in. I can only keep trying to learn.

A Note to My Former Self Regarding the Elusive Dream Job

I’m back! I haven’t written in this blog for many years. I originally started this as a way to update family and friends about my post-college travels, and then later again about my experiences the year I lived in Guatemala. That was over five years ago now.

After college, people would ask what I wanted to do – what was my dream job? I would say, anything where I can get paid to travel. And for the past five years, I have indeed had such a job. I traveled all over the United States, working with middle and high schools to bring their students on educational programs in Washington, DC. I loved my work, but it was missing one qualifier to my original statement – what I REALLY meant when I said travel was travel internationally. I still felt like I was falling short of the dream.

So this year, things are changing. I am starting a new chapter in my career, with a new company where I will lead high schoolers on educational trips around the world. I get to combine my wanderlust and my passion for working with young people, hopefully sparking in them the same fascination with global issues and cultures that I remember experiencing when I was in my teens. In addition, I am working toward a Master’s Degree in International Education, and in August I am marrying a partner who shares my penchant for travel. All of these elements combined, this year is going to take me (literally and figuratively) to new corners of the world. And since I am notoriously bad at sharing photos and updates with those of you back home, I thought reviving this blog might help me stay connected.

Before I dive into my new adventures, though, I want to start with a recap of the places my work has already taken me in my own country. Some highlights:

1. Massachusetts in the fall. In my previous job, I went to Boston probably six or seven times a year, but no time was better than October. The autumn leaves were spectacular – I’d often catch myself veering off the road as I gaped at them, and in between meetings I would find parks or trails to stop and meander in the rainbow colored woods. The suburban towns of Boston are also quintessential main street USA – every street seems to be lined with white picket fences and American flags straight out of any idealistic patriotic campaign ad, and every little town has a square with a statue honoring some hero of the American Revolution. In addition to “leaf peeping,” some favorite experiences in Mass have been hanging out near Fenway Park on opening day, watching the sunrise over the beach at Plymouth Rock (although the rock itself is completely underwhelming), perusing witchcraft shops in Salem, and exploring the Boston Common and the Back Bay, my top two areas downtown, on both sunny days and snowy ones. 

This puppy and I had the same reaction to Plymouth Rock - "That's it?"

2. Road trips in the Southeast. Unlike Boston where our business was saturated, in the South I worked with just a handful of schools scattered across several states and towns. So I would often fly to one city (Charleston or Charlotte, or Nashville) and drive to the others (Columbia, Savannah, Chattanooga, a few times Huntsville, and others). It was usually a great chance to enjoy warmer weather, extra-friendly people, and different pieces of U.S. history. Some of my favorite memories there were visiting family in South Carolina, country music singalongs in Tennessee, and the Civil Rights Trail in Birmingham’s Kelly Ingram Park.

Live music in Nashville

3. California coast. It goes without saying that Cali is a beautiful and fun place to visit. Through several trips, I trekked around San Francisco and the Bay area, and once down to L.A. I got to watch surfers in the sunset on the beach in Encinitas, walk amongst the redwoods in Muir Woods, and taste tons of LEGIT burritos and tacos up and down the coast. And I saw some buddies and soaked up the sunshine along the way. West coast vibes are always easygoing – my style.

4. Some honorable mentions. These didn’t make my list of peak highlights but they were still memorable destinations: New York, Connecticut, Philadelphia, Chicago, San Antonio, Miami, and Fort Lauderdale. I got to visit old friends in several of these cities, try delicious food, and take in the sites and sounds of notable places like the Alamo and River Walk, the Rocky Steps, Lincoln Park, and the NYC skyline view from Brooklyn. I loved every chance I got to walk around and get a feel for each place. 

I could go on and on about the plethora of cool little nooks and nature-seeking detours I’ve found in my U.S. travels. In the day-to-day grind, I didn't always take note of how lucky I was to get to see so much of this country, but looking back on it, I have been incredibly fortunate. I may not have had THE dream job I envisioned, but I had A dream job that sent me places I might otherwise never see.

Right now I am on my way home from Greece - my first trip with my NEW dream job - and that will be my next story to tell. I am looking forward to another year of expanding my knowledge of the world, from my own backyard to the other side of the globe. Thank you to all who have cheered me on and built me up along the way, and I can’t wait to share more soon.

View of Mount Rainier flying home into Seattle - Life is pretty cool sometimes.

Floating, Free Falling, and a Beautiful Finish

The clock first started ticking in mid August. The more tourists I talked to, the more I realized that despite spending over half the year in Guatemala, I had barely seen the country. I had visited Lake Atitlan twice, and nowhere else. That would be like... like living in San Francisco and never going to Yosemite, or living in Florida and never visiting Disneyworld, because on weekends you always just go to the same beach. I was having a wonderful time in Antigua and Guate City, but I wasn't seeing new places. And my time was beginning to run out.

I immediately grabbed a co-worker and made plans to see the beach that weekend. The closest and most popular beach to Antigua is Monterrico, a 2.5-hour drive away on the Pacific Coast. It's known for its black volcanic sands and unruly undertow in the surf (you can't really swim there, you'll get pulled under before you can blink). We booked a shuttle to go just for an afternoon. On the way, our driver pointed out signature sights of the coastal lifestyle: farms growing loofah and papaya, others culturing shrimp, and my favorite of all, the home of a family who raised crocodiles in their backyard. Oh, what a business to be in.

The rest of our beach day was spent strolling the hot, grey-black beach, and taking a tour of the mangrove swamp nearby. It was a quiet day outside peak season, so my friend and I were the only ones on the tour. Our original tour guide decided at the very last minute to have lunch at our scheduled time, so he sent his 13-year-old son, Carlos, to guide us instead. We walked behind the family home where they kept their "lanchas" (little dugout canoes), and Carlos led us into the swamp, piloting the boat with a long stick. He showed us through the tunnels formed by the mangrove trees' tangled roots, pointed out birds' nests, lizards, different types of cranes, and flying fish, all the while navigating through a sort of magical network of sunny waters and lily pad fields. It had such a peaceful effect; we were happy to feel lost there, but very glad that Carlos knew the way. It was his backyard, after all.

Where the year went after that, I have yet to comprehend. Suddenly, it was December 6th, and Safe Passage had closed its doors for the year. I didn't want to let them go, but the silver lining in saying good-bye to so many special people was the whirlwind end-of-year tour that began the very next day. With a group of ten colleagues, I boarded a bus to Rio Dulce. Then from bus, we hopped to boat and stayed one beautiful, warm sunset and one cloudy sunrise at a resort on Lake Izabal. Next, another boat down the river to Livingston, where we emerged from towering, tropical green cliffs on either side of the waterway into the open blue Caribbean waters beyond. The same route had once been taken by (real live!) pirates in the 16th century, a fact contributing to many an entertaining daydream during our little cruise. We stayed two nights in Livingston, long enough for me and a few friends to explore Siete Altares (a series of rounded-edged waterfalls attached to the Rio) and spend an afternoon beach bumming and sipping Coco Locos (a coconut sliced open, plus rum) on Playa Blanca. It was the quintessential paradise we had all dreamed of on so many dreary, rainy work days. We saw the sunrise every morning, and we ended the nights with seafood feasts and hammock pow wows.

With my time limited and my bucket list still beckoning, I and a couple friends broke off from the group early to see one more "must." We shuttled our way inland to Semuc Champey, a national park and yet another land of enchanted wonders. We stayed at an eco-lodge that overlooked the park's main attraction: a series of naturally turquoise spring-fed waterfalls and pools, wedged in a thickly forested valley of vines and trees older than history. It was gorgeous. Despite clouds and rain, we went on the full tour of the park, which began with a hike up the cliffs overlooking the pools for a stunning first view. Then, our guide, Toto, took us down to the water, where we followed him (with a great deal of blind trust) on series of short cliff jumps and natural rock slides in and out of the falls and pools themselves. At one point, Toto dove into the water, under a rock ledge, and disappeared, until he emerged a minute later from the other end of the same cliff some twenty feet away. Then, he instructed me to do the same: "Your nose, up! For the air. You go only one second under water." I followed him into the depths and out of sight, under the rock where he revealed a small inner crevice that allowed us to breathe just above the surface. We were walking along the underbelly of the cliff that, from the outside, had appeared completely submerged. That was the first moment in which I thought I was doing the craziest thing I would do all day. But the tour carried on to even more insanity after lunch.

Crossing the iron bridge that hung some 30-40 feet over the river at the foot of the falls, we next entered a cave. Toto turned us over to a cave guide, who handed us each a tall white candle and led us into the darkness. With the candles as our only light, we slowly navigated the freezing underground waters, wading and even swimming when necessary, stopping here and there to take in the dim sight of the beautiful rock formations and massive inner caverns. Then, we stopped. The guide told us to stay put and wait for him to light the way. He scampered ahead, extra candles in hand, into the darkness. You could tell by the way he moved that he was so familiar with every inch of that cave, he probably didn't even need the light. When he finally came back to lead us on, we could see why it took such time. The tunnel ahead rose abruptly, and in order to keep going, we would have to climb, one by one, straight up the middle of a roaring, gushing white waterfall. When my turn came, caveman handed me the rope that was attached somewhere invisibly above, counted to three, and thrust me into the pounding rapids that immediately engulfed me at the base of the fall. Talk about blind trust - all I had was the rope in front of me, and this guy's word that I would make it to the top before I drowned in the rush. Well, okay. Finding my footing and following the rope's trajectory, I climbed into the cascade, and in four careful hoists, miraculously made my way over the top of the waterfall. My friend who had gone ahead of me laughed. "So crazy, right?!" Not much farther along after that, one more pool and one more cliff jump awaited, this one about a 15-foot drop. After the waterfall, that seemed easy. "Jump right in the middle," the guide says. "Otherwise, you hit rocks." Splash, we survived.

After the cave tour, Toto took over again, bought us beer, and handed us inner tubes for a quick but relaxing float down the river. Our adrenaline settled. We thought the tour was over. But after coming ashore, as we walked back up toward the lodge, we crossed the big bridge again. Three quarters of the way across, Toto came to a halt and began collecting our tubes. He pointed to a spot in the murky river waaaaaaaay down below: "You can jump here." As if it were obvious. My eyes widened as I leaned over to look. There? No. No f***ing way, Toto. This time, he had to be joking. This was no baby cliff jump, this was a method of suicide. I waited for a smile and a "just kidding!" but as I waited, two guys from our tour group hoisted themselves up and over the iron rails and off the edge, just like that. Falling, falling, falling, splash....... and they surfaced. Well, I couldn't let them be the only ones. If your friend jumped off a bridge, would you jump, too? Yes, apparently I would. THAT was the craziest thing I did that day.

I returned home from Semuc the next day with four days left in Guatemala and one more bucket list feat to accomplish: hiking to the peak of Acatenango, the volcano that dominates Antigua's western skyline. And it was to be an unforgettable finale. With a group of eleven friends, I climbed through steep farmland and forest trails, past the treeline and above the clouds, five and a half strenuous hours to our campsite just 200 meters below the summit. From the site, we could see two active volcanoes (Fuego and Pacaya) erupting in the night, the silhouettes of countless distant mountains, the bright lights of the capital, the faint Pacific coastline, and the streaks of shooting stars above. It was the most indescribably beautiful sight I have ever seen. No one wanted to sleep, no matter our fatigue. We sat around the campfire for hours, sharing jokes and favorite memories, and quietly absorbing the dreamlike scene around us. We were awestruck, weary, happy, filthy and exhausted, and on top of the world. I could not have asked for a more perfect ending to the year.

That night, as I looked out over the country, I could see the places I had explored. I thought of the people I had grown to understand, and this little world I had become part of. Or rather, the places and people that had become my world. I felt overwhelmingly grateful for it all. Grateful, and unsure of how it would feel to leave that world behind. But I've come and gone enough times to know that you never fully leave a place once you are part of it. You keep pieces - images, feelings, lessons learned and relationships forged - with you forever. That's how our little worlds evolve, and in turn, how we do. So I head now for the next adventure, knowing Guatemala will be with me for a long time to come.

This year, when I give thanks...

My volunteers often comment that their experience with our communities helps them remember to be grateful for what they have. They talk about what they have learned about our students: the rough conditions in which they live, their varying and often volatile family dynamics, the disheartening odds they face, and their resilient spirits. In reflecting on these realities, the volunteers make comparisons to their own background. Many times they realize aspects of their lives that mark them as privileged, advantages they never knew they had in life.

I have experienced many moments here that evoke similar reflections, the most resonating of which usually result from interactions with the mothers we work with. A few weeks ago, for example, we hosted a "Family Day" at Safe Passage, where we invited the students and their parents to come in for a day of games, prizes, fun, and food. One main event was a raffle where parents who had won tickets over the course of the day could win small prizes. As they were getting ready to call ticket numbers, one of the moms, Juana, turned to me and said, "Could you help my mother?" (She gestured toward the grandmother next to her.) "She can't read." I looked at the tickets. Each had a 3- or 4-digit number printed on it, in numerals. I looked at the older woman. From my experience with our families, I could guess that she had never been to school. As they called numbers and I scanned through her tickets looking for winners, I thought about what her life could have been like. I cannot fathom growing up and raising a family without this skill that I have always considered so basic. I cannot imagine looking at a printed "203" and viewing it only as figures on a paper, with no decipherable meaning. Her grandson is in our preschool program. He is three years old and probably not far from surpassing her in what we consider education and academic skill. But the knowledge she must possess that has no relation to academics... I can't imagine that either.

That woman's daughter, our Safe Passage mom Juana, graduated this past weekend. She officially passed the equivalent of sixth grade in our adult literacy program, meaning that she has completed elementary school for the first time in her life. I don't know how old Juana is, but I would guess she is not all that much older than I am. I know she has at least three children. Before this weekend, she had never had a graduation before. She had never felt the support of family and friends gathering to celebrate this kind of personal achievement. She beamed. And she was not the only one. Five mothers passed the grade alongside her, and another eight parents graduated the same day from the middle school level. Their parents, including the woman from the raffle, watched them with what I saw as a calm, content form of joy. Maybe the same joy my Grandpa once expressed when he looked around at our Thanksgiving celebration and saw his great-grandchildren running around so happily. Feeling the assurance that you have left a mark on the world, and that your mark is beautiful and ever-growing. That your children will have better opportunities than you did.

I have always known that I was lucky and privileged, relative to most people in the world. And I have always understood that my wealth extends beyond the material (we give thanks for good health, for loving relationships, for simple happiness). But this year, I am thankful more than anything for the opportunities I have had in my life to learn. I have learned from my parents, my teachers, and now, from the families I have worked with. And by all of their lessons, I am better able to work on my own beautiful mark on the world.

On the Day of the Dead, the blog is alive!

Iiiiiiiiiit's back! Despite my best intentions, I've been pretty MIA on the blog these past few months. Mea culpa. Guatemala has definitely not been void of stories to share, and I will do my best to catch up here, starting with this weekend.

Halloween kicked it off. With Day of the Dead on Friday, everyone had the day off, so Thursday night's party went all night. Antigua's streets were predictably packed, and music blasted on every block. I dressed as my favorite ball player (Yadi!), showing pride despite the bummer World Series finish the night before (more on that in future posts). Friends got together, creative disguises and hilarity ensued. A classic Halloween success.

The real highlight of the weekend for me, however, came the next day, Day of the Dead. Latin American tradition devotes this day to the remembrance of loved ones who have passed. Typically, families spend the day at the cemetery praying and "sharing meals" with their ancestors. When I learned about this in school, I thought it was a little creepy and... silly. But after seeing it in practice, I can't believe the beauty of the experience. Families dressed in their finest, most colorful attire, graves re-painted brightly and covered in blankets of flowers, sun shining, children scampering around, old men chatting and ladies relaxing under trees, and the occasional apparent moment of silence and reflection from group to group... the whole scene was a celebration. Not dwelling on loss or hoping fruitlessly for a sign from beyond, as I had imagined, but a beautiful display of love and togetherness.

That scene took place at the cemetery in Sumpango, a town about 20 minutes down the highway from Antigua. We went there because, in addition to the cemetery gathering, Sumpango hosts a unique Day of the Dead tradition - kite flying. The kites represent an opportunity to communicate with the dead, and a warding off of bad spirits. Many are a typical size, but the ones that upgrade the event from local tradition to full-blown festival are the massive, multiple-stories-high works of brilliant tissue-paper art that represent months of preparation and meticulous care. The big kites display gorgeously intricate artwork, and messages in appreciation of nature, life, and the people's Mayan heritage. Visible over the hill from the cemetery, and in the skies above, the kites added yet another impressively beautiful feature to the Day of the Dead celebration. I could not imagine a more peaceful image.

For the first time in a long time, this weekend I was able to stop thinking about work and take time to reflect on my (ever-shrinking) time in Guatemala. I am so grateful for the beauty I have witnessed here, in unsolicited kindnesses, in personal growth, in nature, in art. In something as simple as a kite in the wind. I never thought I would find this kind of joy on the Day of the Dead.

Highlights and New Heights

I saw the wave coming at the end of May. Five teams in four weeks, and my family on their way to Guatemala – I knew June would be a rush. It’s been awhile, but here are some highlights:

I finally got to join the Safe Passage mothers for their Saturday morning running club. The day I went, it was five moms with about four kids in tow each; the youngest was 2. The mom in charge of bringing snack that day ran the whole 30 minutes in her traditional traje (woven ankle-length skirt) and flats. Snack was refried bean sandwiches.

On a similar note, playing ultimate frisbee on Sundays has gotten epic with the rainy season. Playing sports in the rain always has been and always will be twice the fun.

Work got wild. I led all those teams, in a row. They were almost all high schoolers. In many ways different and in many ways the same week to week. One team came from a Jesuit school that had me flashing back to my high school experience a lot more than average. Another team engaged me a in a plot to solicit a serenade for their student leader by a dark and handsome Guatemalan guitarist. Multiple teams had dance parties with the Safe Passage students. Nothing breaks down cultural barriers like a spontaneous teenage dance party.

I moved, again. Third move, fourth living situation, and this time, really, it will be the last. I now share a house with two friends, Amanda (the same roommate from the last house) and Melissa. It’s a one story little casita that costs less and is much closer to the center of town than we used to be. We call it Los Tulipanes (The Tulips) for a sign conveniently posted outside our door with that title. To save money even further, I opted to take the smallest room, which was built originally as the maid’s quarters. On our first night, we discovered that Amanda’s room, the master, has a wall switch that rings a bell in mine, should she need to call me to bring her hot beverages, etc. Like that scene in Cinderella, haha. Anyway the place also has a baby little courtyard and a comfy family room with fireplace. We have instituted periodic family dinners. I know I said I planned on making the last place my home, but this place already feels like home without my trying.

And finally, the highlight of highlights, just a day after we took over the new home, my own family came to Guatemala! Lisa (my sister) and my dad arrived just in time to meet my Jesuit team (an easy group for my family to mingle with, for sure). They shadowed me on the job for a few days, getting the official Safe Passage tour and a few project sessions in with some students. Lisa made instant friends with my team members, and with the kids in their classes. Dad was a beast at groundskeeping in the preschool, hacking up weeds so fast he broke one of the shovels. They were a mighty force.

On the days I was able to take off work, we went exploring together, discovering new wonders and basking in Guatemala’s natural beauty. We took a gorgeous hike at Earthlodge one day, catching the view above the clouds. Another day, we hiked Volcan Pacaya. We took a completely different route than the previous time I’d gone, complete with lush forest and picturesque views of a crater like called Amatitlan. When we got to the top, we roasted marshmallows on open vents emitting volcanic steam. The top of the volcano, as before, was windy and barren - a rough, out-of-this world landscape. But our tour guide’s tag-along puppy kept us company the whole time, reminding us that soft comforts were still not far away.

Near the end of the visit, we took the family tour on the road and headed out to San Marcos, one of the towns along the Lake Atitlan shore that I had yet to spend enough time in. True to the reputation I knew of it, it was full of hippies. Lisa and I got massages from a woman named Beatriz and sipped “raw” almond-banana smoothies under the fan-like leaves of ceiba trees. The three of us stayed in a hotel that the tour sites describe as “Alice in Wonderland for adults” where each room had a theme; ours was recycled art, and it was possibly the coolest (indoor) place I’ve ever slept. Everything was constructed with colorful old glass, the walls sported mini murals of indigenous stories, and every nook and cranny was creatively utilized. And it was up high. Dad kept saying how it felt like a treehouse.

Our last adventure together in San Marcos was a visit to a park along the town’s western shore. We rented kayaks, hiked a small hill to a Mayan “ruin” (circle of stones?), and took a swim off the rocks. I was easily persuaded to jump off the 25-foot-high platform set up over the water. The second time, I even managed to do it without screaming. It was a beautiful day.

I am hoping that more days like that one are on the horizon. Having now passed the sixth month mark in Guatemala, I am officially in the second half of my year here. I’ve lived here longer than I’ve ever lived anywhere outside the U.S., and I feel like I still hardly know this country. There are still cities to get lost in, peaks to ascend to, views to wonder at. It’s time to make a bucket list – everything I want to be sure I do before my time here is over. The way things have been going, I know time's not about to slow down and wait for me.