Last Post

So I was pretty good until those last two weeks. I doubt anyone is even still reading this since I have been back in the states for over two weeks. (honestly, it feels like a thousand years) But I have felt kind of proud that I actually kept this up the way I have. And I need to finish it. I had a lot of post ideas in those last few weeks. But since they all involved the immediate vacating of Guatemala I prefered to not write anything at all and pretend like I was never going to leave. I didn't want to leave. And that's why I didn't write.

I feel like I have changed a lot. I didn't realize it until coming back and feeling so out of it. So as cliched as it sounds, it's time to do some self exploring.

But that's a different blog (i guess, although I doubt i'll blog about that) for a different time. I had a lot to write about- how Antigua was beautiful but touristy, just as everyone had said. How Tikal reminded me of Indiana Jones rides in Disney land. About the quetzal I had tattooed into my leg.

But the image that struck me most was on the drive up to Tikal, with Zak and K-Ro and Julio. Driving through darkness in Peten and looking out the window and seeing more stars than I had ever seen in my life. It was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.

el dia de los muertes

Today is the day when everyone goes to the cemetary and puts flowers on the graves of their loved ones. Not only is it really pretty, I think it's really nice to have this day to get together to contemplate death and remember the people who have passed on.

I thought of my teacher from 4th and 5th grade, Yolanda Gonzalez. In a way, if it wasn't for her, I probably wouldn't be here. She was the first person to really emphasize how beautiful and amazing and important languages are. And she taught me to believe in myself, as corny as that sounds. If I didn't believe in myself or think that learning Spanish was beautiful and amazing and important, I'd probably be someplace very different.

For that, I am eternally grateful. And I'm grateful for today, el dia de los muertes, for helping remember all this.

either my new host mom is a murderer or...

so when I first met my host mom, she definately had a little boy with her. his name was David or something. and he was really cute. And i THOUGHT that she said he was her son. But it has definately been three days I have not seen him since.

Conclusion number one: he was an extended family member and not a son.

Conclusion number two: my family are baby eaters.

Delicious Food

Thank god that even though I am far away from the AMAZING cook Rosalia, I can still AMAZING food. My host mom is a pretty good cook. AND right now there are tons of festivals and stuff, which means STREET FOOD (minus the chorizos aka sausages. ug.) Sunday night was the Festival of the Virgen of Roses (does anyone know if this is the SAME virgen that gave birth to like, Jesus?) and I ate SO many good things-

pupusas! (cheese and tortillas together again)

sugar donut things! (imagine donuts- covered in about 2centimeters of pure crystalized sugar)

ponche! (delicious creamy milk and sugar and cinnamon and spices and rum)

and then there was a fireworkd sculpture and the HALO OF THE VIRGEN FLEW IN THE SKY AND EXPLODED! It was the coolest thing I have every seen.

And tonight there is a the night before Day of the Dead/ All Saints Day and there is HELLA food stands outside the cementary, too.

awesome.

warning-this post is kind of gross and embarrassing

Soooooo... toilets here are really weird. You´re not supposed to put paper in them (which I honestly didn´t figure out for about three weeks. I thought the paper baskets in our school where for the German students), and SOMETIMES they are really hard to flush.

For example, one could be, oh, taking a giant poo. And then flush the toilet. And see that the poo is not going down as it should. And then you go ask your host mom for help, and she explains how it works to you. But you could go upstairs and STILL not be able to figure it out. And then, MAYBE, you would have to go back downstairs AGAIN and ask the host mom for help and tell her that maybe you broke the toilet and then she would go upstairs and show you how you have to pour a bunch of water in at the same time you are flushing, and she is showing you this....... she also sees your poo.

And it´s really really embarrassing.

Mi Maestra/ My Teacher

called me lazy

called me naughty

implied that I [get around[ with boys

implied that I was going to get fat

told me that I only like boys with big bodies

talked with me about Bush{s international politics

listened while I complained about Bush{s domestic policies

discussed with me her dreams of working in the United States

asked about the fate of illegal workers in the United States, and listened to my thoughts

been a very good teacher, and I will miss her very much

is named Clara

Stories, part two

This story was told to me by a man who came this week for a conference at my school. Originally the conference was supposed to be about the Popol Vuj, the Mayan Bible, but it ended up being his story instead.

San Pedro was not always a hippie gringos paradise. During the civil war, there was a lot of violence in San Pedro and the surrounded villages perpetuated by the military trying to [get rid of guerrillas[ or so they said. Santiago Atitlan was hit particularly hard. At this time, if you heard a knock on your door late at night, someone in your household was probably about to disappear.

The speaker was at home with his parents late, everyone was sleeping, when they heard activity outside. They all ran out the backdoor, but there was very very little light. The speaker -TS- told us how he was sneaking around back, when a soldier came by, unable to see him. For whatever reason TS reached out and tried to grab the gun in front of him, and ended up with bullet wounds in his arm and leg instead.

He was taken by the military and held for 7 days. He was tortured and questioned about what he knew aboaut guerilla activity. He told us about many different ways they tortured him- putting cigarettes out on his chest, taking all the prisoners out in a boat and dunking them for extended periods of time. He saw someone die this way. They put guns in his mouth. They electricuted his genitals. He saw one man told he could go free, and as soon as he walked out, he was shot. At one point, he himself was told he was free to go, but refused to leave, afraid of getting the same fate.

After 7 days, they were all released, and he went back to his family. As he was telling the story, he said how important it was to him to be able to tell it, how it helped him deal with the memories. To this day, he doesn{t really know why the military came to his house- perhaps because he had studied in university.

He was remarkably calm throughout the telling. It was only when mentioning his reaction to fireworks years afterwards that he got choked up. For three or four years, any sort of fireworks - New Years is a big time for them, as are futbol games- would trigger flashbacks of his torture.

Stories, part one

This story was told to me by my teacher about how Lago de Atitlan was made.

A long time ago before there was a lake in the center of this cluster of volcanoes, there was a girl named Maria who had a novio she was engaged to. They loved each other very much, and were usually very very happy together. Then one day, they got into a big fight, and Maria left the house, even though her love begged her not to leave while they were both angry.

The next day, Maria{s friend came to her house and told her that she needed to come to the church and quick. Her novio was marrying another woman! Maria did not believe it, until she went to the church and saw it with her own eyes.

How could this be? She did not believe, and, distraught, left her village at the base of one of the many volcanoes in the valley. She walked and walked and walked around the valley, and as she walked, she kept crying and crying and crying, until a lake formed from her tears. And then she drowned in them. And she YOU CAN STILL HEAR HER CRY!!! BECAUSE SHE{S IN THE BOTTOM OF THE LAKE RIGHT NOW!!! AS A GHOST! WHOOOOO!!!!!

I guess the moral of the story is never leave the house angry. I think the better moral is don{t date jerks who marry other girls just because you can{t put up their stupid faces when you are mad. Those guys are putas.

Problemas con Somos Hijos Del Lago

1) The center does not have enough money or trained staff. I have talked about this issue before. There is one teaher, a secretary, and a linguistic or physical therapist of some kind. And then volunteers. All of whom could or could not be registered sex offenders because they don´t do any sort of background check. Oh, and the volunteers have no traning, either.

Regardless, there are other problems with this center that have nothing to do with lack of money. Here are some more observations-

2) Poor management of time almost ALWAYS. The teacher and secretary spend the first 30-45 minutes cleaning the floors. Hey, I understand, the floors are dirty. But these guys could a) do this the night before, or b) get the kids to help and learn some life skills in the process.

3) No Life Skills taught! When will these kids need to know to color inside the lines? Ok, I guess motor skills or something? But there is no motivation for anything else. Some of the people are writing but if they are writing something incorrectly, they are just left to keep making the same mistakes over and over. If you are going to teach people to write, really TEACH them. Also teach them some basic hygeine, how to prepare food, stuff like that. Playing games all day long is fun, but ultimately more debilitating.

4) I do not want to spend an extra hour taking kids home while you sit in the office and talk. I know there are days when I´m the only volunteer. But I was mad as hell the other day when this happened. This is not how you treat the volunteers that you depend on. You are perfectly capable of taking kids home as well, and I have no idea why you did not, maestra.

5) Teasing kids never has a theraputic value. Not does letting them hit other kids, or try to pull down the pants of volunteers. There are times when all of these things have happened. There is never any sort of consequence for negative behavior. And that makes me upset, too.

Anyway, esa es la vida, si? In social services, you love the clients, hate the bosses. Wait, I´m not even getting paid for this. What´s my problem?

yo quebro cosas

so last sunday was spent hanging out in San Pedro, eating at some of the many fine restaurantes here (we are not fed on Sundays by our host families), saying goodbye to friends, and breaking sinks. Es verdad.

I was using the bathroom in one of my favorite places to get mint tea, Munchies. (they use real whole mint leaves! mmmmm...) I stood up, pulled back the curtain (yes, this particular place only had a curtain protecting me from the outside world), and stepped out, intending to step into the small room next door in order to wash my hands. I forgot about a tiny step, tripped, tried to break my fall by putting my hands in the sink, and instead knocked the sink off the wall and onto the ground where it broke into a billion pieces.

But why, Caitlin? Was your fall really hard? No, no. The sink was only attached to the wall and the water pipe with duct tape. Yep. Duct tape.

Sigh. so I´m hoping my insurance will cover the $40 a new sink will cost them. I would also like to point out that it took them about 3 whole days to get me a receipt and letter explaining the accident. It´s like these people don´t WANT my money! sheesh.

I AM OUTTA HERE

Once again, I{m packing up and moving on. Probably. Maybe. I think I am going to Todos Santos next week for a big drunken horse race and then to study some more before the honorable Zak Rouse comes down for the week.

More information as it comes.

Mis Zapatos

My Shoes.

By Caitlin Steitzer. Age 23.

I really like my brown and orange Sauconeys. I have had them for over a year. I think orange and brown look pretty colorful together. I have worn my shoes in Seattle, I think San Franciso, and Guatemala. I walked from Xela to San Pedro in them, and they climbed up and down two mountains on the way. Yesterday, it rained really really hard in San Pedro, and I wore my shoes and they got wet. It was like walking in a river. This morning, they were still wet. They are still a little wet now. But I love them a lot, even if they smell.

The end.