Hello hello! I hope you all enjoyed your Thanksgiving activities. We had lots of interesting conversations with our family, indigenous Mayans mind you, about the story, fact and fiction behind what is a favorite holiday of mine. They have asked us on several occassions about the status of indigenous people in the US, and we always tell them there are some, but not many, then give them a brief over-view of the history between the US government and the indigenous (American indian) population. I think part of being here is to be as honest as we can about the United Sates, being critical but not bashing our own country, especially important in Guatemala with so many ties to our country. So many Guatemalans in the states and returned immigrants have such a starry-eyed view of el norte (the North, which completely ignores Mexico also to the North of Guatemala, refers to the US). The discussions we’ve had with the family have been really interesting, leading them to compare their own situation as indigenous Guatemalans and their relations to their own government throughout the history of their country. The best part, to me, is that we get to watch them all think, adding this new information to things they’ve heard or lived through, and what they come up with when it all melds together in their head after a few moments. Our family here pretty much rocks. I will have you all know, these discussions took place two times, once while helping them harvest the last of their corn, the other while sharing with them the wonder that is PUMPKIN PIE! So that’s very Thanksgiving appropriate, right?

Originally we thought it would be fun if we could get some friends to come to Temux, have our family help us butcher a turkey (because they definitely know how), and fix all the stuff to share with them. The problem is that where we live is REALLY far away from pretty much all the other volunteers, so this proved very inconvenient. We also lack sleeping space. But we wanted to share with our family part of Thanksgiving even if we couldn’t do it all, and we were totally jonesing for some pumpkin pie. They had Libby’s pumpkin puree on sale in the large supermarkets in Antigua, Xela, and Huehuetenango, so we packed an extra large can back to our site after Reconnect, and used the 9×13 teflon pan from a US care package (thanks Dick & Ann) plus a mini glass pie pan to whip up enough for everyone. And I also prepared to eat ALL of that if necessary. I kept thinking of my cousin who, during her time in Barcelona, made pumpkin pie with a Thanksgiving meal and everyone thought it was awful, so I thought maybe our family would not like it either. I was excited to eat all of it. 🙂 But just in case they liked it, we kept the mini-pie hidden for just the two of us. That was a good idea. They LOVED the pumpking pie, minus the two little boys, who quietly gave their pieces back to their grandma, and she was more than happy to eat them. Nas took a few bites, examined the pie, and asked, “Can you teach Masha how to make this? She wants to know how. In fact, I obligate her to learn how!” He was laughing when he said that, but Masha, one of the oldest girls, looked at me smiling shaking her head yes, she wanted to know how to make this. A thank you to my father-in-law, again, for the pumpkin seeds. We told them we have them, now the whole family is excited about making sure those grow, so they can eat loads and loads of pumpkin pie. Here they have a big squash called chilicoyote, which they eat either diced and mixed in with black beans, or mashed up with lots of sugar. We like the former and hate the latter dish, but chilicoyote is a lot like pumpkin in texture and consistency so we kind of want to experiment and see if we can make a chilicoyote pie. The family was also pretty excited about that idea because they have no problems producing those around here.

That was all a few days before Thanksgiving. We’d decided to meet up with some fellow PCVs, Huehuetecos all of us, in the capital and put together a meal. I mashed 4 pounds of potatos by hand with a tiny wooden masher, and Fletch made a double batch of ginger snaps before we took off on Thursday morning for the 4 hour ride south. As I walked down the path from my house to the micro-bus, a turkey crossed my path, and I felt it would be a very good day. We walked into our friend’s apartment to a steaming hot kitchen and a table full of desserts. The weather was weird for what we’re used to, but the kitchen scene was about right. The only catch: the oven in which our turkey dinner was cooking was a big aluminum box the volunteer had constructed to fit over her 3 burner stove, the edges didn’t match up and let out heat, so there were three people wetting and replacing towels over the box seams to ensure the turkey cooked. They’d been at it since about 6 am, and we arrived just after noon, so we joined in to relieve some of them.

We ended up as a group of 9 PCV’s and 1 Guatemalan friend who came along, putting out the spread at about 7 pm. It was beautiful. I think we did a pretty good job with our resources. But in particular, a shout out to Nick Bardo who was the real force behind the turkey, cooked and stuffed just like home. At the top is a picture of Nick and his bird. We each went around the table and said what we were thankful for, then we all ate ourselves silly, as you should on Thanksgiving. At the time I thought that was an okay thing to do.

Turns out, I’m apparently completely unaccustomed to American food these days, as were a lot of other volunteers. The tiny bathroom in the apartment got loads of use that night. I thought I was the only one who got ridiculously sick, but our friend who slept next to the bathroom informed me otherwise the next day. She didn’t sleep all night for the traffic. It wasn’t enough illness to have been something badly cooked, and everyone’s illness manifested itself differently. Fletch felt ill, but never got sick. In a way, it was funny, and we laughed about it. However, on Friday, we went to a restaurant in the capital, where I could order any number of things, and the only thing that seemed remotely palatable was beans and tortillas, so I ordered them without thinking. That’s when I really laughed. I bought beans and tortillas at a restaurant?! I guess I’ve finally adapted to the diet.

We spent the whole weekend in Huehue doing exciting things like seeing Mayan ruins, and going to the grand opening of the first real mall to reach this far out capital city. We felt, along with a friend of ours, that we should check it out. They were running free shuttles from the city center to the edge of town where the public transport didn’t go so the average citizen could get there. Hmmm, does that mall arrangement sound like anything familiar? So we went. Also, we’d heard there was going to be a movie theater, which really would be exciting. The mall is quite far from being finished. More than half of their stores were still empty, and the crowd was so strange, gathered in a fairly modern building, ladinos dressed like any American would be and then the traje wearing men and women wondering around. The McDonalds outside had the longest lines I’ve ever seen, tables spilling into the parking lot and full of people. We did not stop but did take advantage of the McDonalds trolly that drove people to and from the central park. The movie theater was a big fat lie. Bummer. But there was a Subway at which I bought pretzels, for the first time since I left the US. Yum.

The mall was full of Christmas decorations, the central park in Huehue was sporting a huge tree, sponsored by Gallo beer (about the only beer you can get in Guatemala because they’ve got a pretty thorough monopoly going on here) and topped with their trademark rooster head. Gallo means rooster. On Saturday night we went to a pizzeria that was all decked out for the holidays. It was so strange yet kind of fun to be somewhere so urban and festive. It wasn’t terribly overwhelming since we were leaving early the next morning.

Our Sunday ride back was the luckiest trip we’ve experienced yet. We stood out on the street at 7:30 in the morning, just across from the bustling market, waiting for a northbound bus to pass. The first one that did didn’t seem to believe that I was waiving to him and went right passed us. I was so annoyed, until this nice black SUV stopped and rolled the window down. A guy who looked to be about my age asked in English, “Where are you going?” We told him we where we were headed, and he was going to a town within two hours of us. We hopped in when he told us to. This was about the sweetest ride I’ve ever had. Normally this journey up and over the Cuchumatanes is done in an overcrowded, falling apart school bus where our bodies are insanely bounced around, legs bash against the seats in front of us which makes it slightly painful to walk for the rest of the day (for me anyway since I have huge tendonitis knots below my kneecaps), and at least of a few of the windows are stuck permanently down so that we are covered in road dust and pretty much ready to be done with the trip by the time we arrive in the town this guy was taking us too. Turns out he’s an optometrist who has a clinic in Xela, and another in Soloma. He comes to work up north every 15 days or so. He talked to us the whole ride, invited us to dinner with he and his wife the next time we pass through Xela, which we go through every time we have to go near Antigua, and talked to us about Guatemala. He offered to get me coffee from his wife’s family’s coffee finca the next time we meet up. It was such a sweet deal. I had the entire back seat of an SUV to myself. My legs stretched out, the temperature was controlled, the car was clean. I already had my hair braided with a thick head band on–my travel hair-do to try and prevent catching head lice–and here I didn’t need that at all. We arrived in Soloma in under two hours, completely clean, pain free, and I spent the rest of the day absolutely STOKED about how easy a ride that was. We already sent the guy a thank-you email and told him when we’d be heading to Xela next, (on our way south to visit our host families for Christmas). Who knows if we’ll meet again or not, but I was so thankful for the way our Thanksgiving weekend worked out.

We had transport luck all the way home, waiting only 5 minutes to leave in the next two buses we had to take. It was so sweet. On the way home we stopped and hooked Fletch up with the traditional men’s garmet, a capishay, which is a felted wool sweater, with half sleeves that aren’t sewn all the way shut so they drape over the sleeves of his jacket, and fancy stitching along the edges. It was his Christmas present to himself. He’s been jonesing for one for quite a while. When we made it back to Santa Eulalia, we had to run around buying groceries since it was our market day, before hopping into the next packed van back to our village. As I was getting in this little girl tapped my shoulder and waved excitedly. I waved back, kind of distracted with the task of loading myself and our bags of groceries and our huge back packs into the little remaining space in the van. Once I was in and squashed by our stuff she tapped me on the shoulder and asked, “um, what do you have in those big bags?” in clear English. I smiled at her and asked if she was from the US. She said, “I was born in the United States of um America in Skyler, Nebraska.” I told her our bags were full of stuff we couldn’t buy in our village, like a big box of Honey Nut Cheerios and some cheese. She was pretty excited about that. She’s apparently visiting her Grandma in the neighboring village and this was her first trip to Guatemala. She asked what we do here, so we explained our work. Then she asked, “So, are you brother and sister or cousins?” I said, “No, we’re husband and wife; we’re married.” Her response, “Oh, cute,” as she shook her head taking it all in. Haha, I thought, yeah we only got married to be “cute”. She was probably 6 or 7, and absolutely adorable. I asked her what she liked about Guatemala, and she said she likes the plants. Fletch asked if she spoke Q’anjob’al, and she said no, so he began teaching her animal names, which made everyone in the van laugh every time he mentioned one of them. Us speaking in their language is a constant joke. It never gets old; it is never not funny. We made it home that day from what is usually a long, exhausting trip with tons of energy and super happy about the luck that had befallen us all morning long. Amazingly it wasn’t even noon when we walked in our door.

Perhaps this is obvious, but I feel like this Thanksgiving, this year of my life, perhaps forever after this, I realize just a little more profoundly how much I really have to be thankful for. In spite of the frustration, the random illnesses and all, I’m really glad we’re here. I can’t imagine what else we’d be doing right now if not sitting in our little wooden club house shivering a bit. I’m thankful, just about every day I’m here, for the pretty privileged education I’ve received in my life. I’m thankful our families; our grandparents and parents and siblings and nieces and nephews have never had to live in these conditions and that many will never know first hand what places like Quixabaj look like. At the same time, I’m really thankful for all the support we’ve received from our family and friends always, but especially now. And in the way of family, I’m thankful that I’ve met so many good ones who’ve taken me in and made me part of their lives: my in-laws, my spanish family, and the 3 families we’ve managed to accumulate here in Guatemala. I’m thankful that every where w go in this world, no matter the level of riches or poverty, we’ve never found a shortage of good people.

THE END, for now.