Here we are, barely a day away from leaving Xela. I am so not ready! Not only do I feel that I have not quite so much exactly had a vacation these past five weeks, I am going to start La Escuela Medicina on Monday.
MONDAY! Less than a week! Have I paid my termbill? Have I read that biochem book? Sent them my transcripts? Filled out that mini-survey??? No, no, no, no, no.
But, indeed all that is far off on distant shores and I refuse to feel stressed about it until at least Sunday.
Meanwhile, Guatemala. It has been mad fun. My Spanish is way better (for about the 10th time in my life) and I swearrrr that I'm going to keep practicing at home. I will not lose the subjunctive again! Well, I might. But I really am going to get me a volunteer gig that involves hablando. This country! This town! I want to stay. And I want to go home, too. Turtle says that a big reason to travel is to experience home differently when you get back. And I suppose it is true. The difference between here and the HV or Boston, which I suppose is home now, are striking and yet not so striking at times.
This is a shockingly beautiful country. Especially the mountains, from which we have not strayed far for fear of malaria. Though the bus rides have been insane and nausea-inducing at times, the vistas were almost always worth it. Lion and I spent the last week doing a little circle through the middle of the country. We lounged on the shores of Lake Atitlan, spent a quasi-terrifying night in Guatemala city (scary movie, only people in the theater, late show, appallingly bad sound quality, ominous guidbook warnings, bedbugs) then cruised through the friendly town of Jalapa, where Lion's mom lived when she was in the Peace Corps 40 years ago. After that we went up to see Semuc Champey. Champey is frequently described as "the most beautiful place in Guatemala." But people are almost always at a loss to explain it. Don't worry. We took video. Soon enough YouToo will experiene its badly-filmed greatnes. It was a magical day, to be sure. Followed by zip-lining through a coffee plantation.
What could be more quintessentially eco-touristy than zip-lining through a cooperative, shade-grown, organic coffe plantation? I dare you to come up with something.
We spent an eye-blink in Nebaj, notable for its annual festival gearing up last weekend and insanely over-priced laundry service. We actually almost cried when she told us how much she wanted for cleaning our clothes. Actually, Lion probably did cry, as is her way.
Now back in Xela, we're chilling out at CBA and getting somethings done on the "Proyecto" we're helping them with. This has included sign-painting and shakey video taking, among other things. This has been a good month, especially for reflection. On human rights, on what one needs, on what constitutes being poor, being happy, being friendly, being thoughtful. Hugo and ElBia graciously tell us that we're not like other USAers. From the gringo conversations we overhear somedays in cafes, I dearly hope we're not. But then there are also many more dedicated and interested and thoughtful as well. Ah, well. More serious stuff later.
8.13.2008
7.21.2008
Guatemala Loves Lesbians!
Ok, that is probably just blatantly untrue. But, so far, Guatemala seems fond of this odd specimin of sapphic gringa. In some ways this is the first time that I have really come out to people in the direct "I have a novia" kind of way. My maestro, Roberto, as well as a few other folks it´s come up with have been somewhat curiously delighted. None of them seem to have ever been aware of a lesbian in their midst before. I´m enjoying it. Roberto seems intent on being overtly accepting. Last week he told me that he was also a lesbian because of his significant affection for women. Though his jokes are frequently problematic and he´s not quite able to understand why they´re sexist when they´re "only a joke," I appreciate that he´s trying. He delights in using Lion in sentance examples and asking questions about when she´s getting here. Marcos was his personal brand of energetic and relaxed about the whole thing. He reported later to DHM that I was his first, and like a pro she corrected him, "first you who knew about." She also took him to task later for his off-hand comment that he didn´t like it when women spoke. Boy did I enjoy watching himself try to dig himself out of the "but women are delicate" hole. Tee-hee! And Julio! Well done, despite his quite Catholic ways! He even copped to know some gay dudes at his Universidad.
Lion and Turtle should be here in less than an hour. I can´t wait. I have received some news related to the impending doom that is medical school (buy this book and re-learn biochem, or else!!) which has set me on edge differently than I have been since we got here. Bueno. Necesito hacer mi tarea.
Lion and Turtle should be here in less than an hour. I can´t wait. I have received some news related to the impending doom that is medical school (buy this book and re-learn biochem, or else!!) which has set me on edge differently than I have been since we got here. Bueno. Necesito hacer mi tarea.
7.20.2008
In this other place
Hello, World from Xela, Guatemala.
I hardly know where to start. Is it people or places? In my recent musings on the HV, I've stuck to places. Though in my own journal last night, it was all people. How about some background and then we'll have some of both.
I'm here with DHM (my formerly downstairs housemate). and her sister. Lion and Turtle come tomorrow! Hurrah! I am pathetic mess trying to get along sans Lion. Xela, if you're not familiar, is in the Western highlands of Guatemala (which, if you're really unfamiliar is just South of Mexico). It's a big, but not huge, dirty, beautiful, chaotic. Brightly colored then drab. There are many more gringos than I remember from a visit three years back, but not the city doesn't cater to them in the same overwhelming way it does in some places. We passed the last week quietly. I've been pouring a healthy amount of WD-40 across my quite rusty Spanish skills at CBA. My maestro, Roberto, could have come directly from the stock on my high school math team. So very familiar is his personality, complete with engineering school, awkward jokes, a passion for Beavis and Butthead, and a slightly hesitant and very genuine friendliness. I feel a heck of a lot more confident speaking than I did six days ago, though a big stack of vocab flashcards would be useful. At CBA, we're tended to by the director Hugo and his wife, Elbia. They are just the sort of kind, thoughtful and open people you'd want to find yourself tended by in an unfamiliar place. Or in any place, really. I am nurturing a hope that friends here can stay friends for a long time. After several visits over the last few years, DHM has compiled a healthy bunch of friends here. DHM has a healthy disdain for the rest of the gringo population, and it leads us well into hole-in-the wall restaurants. There is a funniness in watching the bevy of Guatemalan male devotees that she and her sister have acquired. Nery, Julio, Marcos, Oswaldo, Javier. Marcos is my favorite, a student, musician and laundromat attendant, he is gregarious, thoughtful and really dang fun. Plus he managed to cut off at the pass a couple of viejos trying to hit on us the other night. This culture is, I am constantly reminded, quite different than the one I'm used to. The sexism on the streets is more overt and among even DHM's enlightened friends, an active mental struggle. There seems to be a way in which we, as women less culturally trained to be reserved, are easier to befriend for them. And for us it has been more difficult to make friends of women at least partially because they are less willing to join in on late night (Claudia, who runs our hostal refers to DHM, her sister and I as "las vampiras") outings to cantinas and dance joints. And then there is the flirting. I have not felt like I was flirting with men in a very long time. With all men, here, I seem to be flirting though I have made it a point to connect myself to the word "lesbiana." This gender interplay is something I'm just starting to process, really.
Still on NY time, I started out waking up a few hours before the others. I passed my mornings wandering the streets and trying (often failing) to get my bearings with the tiny map torn from Lonely Planet (Roberto calls it the Gringo bible). We have a great restaurante down the block which serves up a typical breakfast of eggs, beans, tortillas, platanos with crema, coffee and chips for 15Q or about $2. Though we have a kitchen here, I've found myself drawn down the the restaurante to watch the owner's children play in and out of the kitchen. The coffee is terrible, though so I prowled around various coffee shops until discovering Dante, which really does cater to gringos, but its proprietor, Maria makes a mean latte. Plus she's incredibly chatty and doesn't seem to mind the syntax-confusing pauses that riddle my spanish. And she has a cute baby. Cute babies everywhere, money nowhere. Lack of family planning and sexism going hand in hand, what a surprise.
I hardly know where to start. Is it people or places? In my recent musings on the HV, I've stuck to places. Though in my own journal last night, it was all people. How about some background and then we'll have some of both.
I'm here with DHM (my formerly downstairs housemate). and her sister. Lion and Turtle come tomorrow! Hurrah! I am pathetic mess trying to get along sans Lion. Xela, if you're not familiar, is in the Western highlands of Guatemala (which, if you're really unfamiliar is just South of Mexico). It's a big, but not huge, dirty, beautiful, chaotic. Brightly colored then drab. There are many more gringos than I remember from a visit three years back, but not the city doesn't cater to them in the same overwhelming way it does in some places. We passed the last week quietly. I've been pouring a healthy amount of WD-40 across my quite rusty Spanish skills at CBA. My maestro, Roberto, could have come directly from the stock on my high school math team. So very familiar is his personality, complete with engineering school, awkward jokes, a passion for Beavis and Butthead, and a slightly hesitant and very genuine friendliness. I feel a heck of a lot more confident speaking than I did six days ago, though a big stack of vocab flashcards would be useful. At CBA, we're tended to by the director Hugo and his wife, Elbia. They are just the sort of kind, thoughtful and open people you'd want to find yourself tended by in an unfamiliar place. Or in any place, really. I am nurturing a hope that friends here can stay friends for a long time. After several visits over the last few years, DHM has compiled a healthy bunch of friends here. DHM has a healthy disdain for the rest of the gringo population, and it leads us well into hole-in-the wall restaurants. There is a funniness in watching the bevy of Guatemalan male devotees that she and her sister have acquired. Nery, Julio, Marcos, Oswaldo, Javier. Marcos is my favorite, a student, musician and laundromat attendant, he is gregarious, thoughtful and really dang fun. Plus he managed to cut off at the pass a couple of viejos trying to hit on us the other night. This culture is, I am constantly reminded, quite different than the one I'm used to. The sexism on the streets is more overt and among even DHM's enlightened friends, an active mental struggle. There seems to be a way in which we, as women less culturally trained to be reserved, are easier to befriend for them. And for us it has been more difficult to make friends of women at least partially because they are less willing to join in on late night (Claudia, who runs our hostal refers to DHM, her sister and I as "las vampiras") outings to cantinas and dance joints. And then there is the flirting. I have not felt like I was flirting with men in a very long time. With all men, here, I seem to be flirting though I have made it a point to connect myself to the word "lesbiana." This gender interplay is something I'm just starting to process, really.
Still on NY time, I started out waking up a few hours before the others. I passed my mornings wandering the streets and trying (often failing) to get my bearings with the tiny map torn from Lonely Planet (Roberto calls it the Gringo bible). We have a great restaurante down the block which serves up a typical breakfast of eggs, beans, tortillas, platanos with crema, coffee and chips for 15Q or about $2. Though we have a kitchen here, I've found myself drawn down the the restaurante to watch the owner's children play in and out of the kitchen. The coffee is terrible, though so I prowled around various coffee shops until discovering Dante, which really does cater to gringos, but its proprietor, Maria makes a mean latte. Plus she's incredibly chatty and doesn't seem to mind the syntax-confusing pauses that riddle my spanish. And she has a cute baby. Cute babies everywhere, money nowhere. Lack of family planning and sexism going hand in hand, what a surprise.
7.10.2008
I'm going to take this as a sign
That med school is the right choice
Your results:
You are Beverly Crusher
Click here to take the Star Trek Personality Quiz
Also, my next best ones bag a lot of ladies... so...
Your results:
You are Beverly Crusher
| A good physician and a caring parent. You are devoted to your children and to your occupation.  |
Click here to take the Star Trek Personality Quiz
Also, my next best ones bag a lot of ladies... so...
7.08.2008
Moooving
Life is a-changing in such huge ways. Just the sheer conceptual overwhelmingness of recent months has made me gun shy when it comes to this blog.
Here. I'll bullet it.
-We're moving to the Great State of Massachusetts, that fresh-faced home to gay marriage, the Red Sox, Sam Adams and my extended family.
-Lion and I are gettin' Hitched. To which I say, Hoorah! This is old news, but due to scheduling and geographic constraints the actually doing of the deed is just shy of one year off.
-We're headed to Guatemala for a month.
-Two days after we return from Guatemala, I'm starting Medical School.
-I'm starting Medical School, let's just repeat.
-Lion is starting grad school. We only have one desk. But plenty of bookshelves.
-We're leaving the place we've been for the last five years.
The Hudson Valley. Sigh. This is the first place I have made my home as an adult. It's the first place that was unconnected to my family that I really have called home and felt was home. The fact that we're leaving it has left me feeling this really profound kind of sad that is a totally new feeling for me. I've gone away from places before, several times, and it has just never felt like this. Even with all we have to look forward to, I'm struggling to get excited about our next steps. Our lives in Poughkeepsie and friends scattered up the Valley have been so many kinds of wonderful. I think part of my difficulty is that it isn't just the people I'm sad to leave. We have the best kinds of friends here and I am confident we'll keep in touch and visit back and forth. I know from my past that it is plenty possible to stay close with those who leave your day-to-day or week-to-week. As sad as it will be to leave the likes of UP and DHM, Turtle and the crew on the other side of the river, our Roller Derby teammates (ok, that's a whole other post), and Pok neighbors, it is the leaving of this place that really gets to me. How do you stay close to a place when you are not there? How do you keep it as a part of you. Our sometimes housemate, the prodigal Farmboy/Devout environmentalist of our lives, gifted us a set of white oval bumperstickers with the initials "PKNY" to commemorate our love of this funny town forever on our cars. I feel like part of some club available only to a select few. The people I know I will not lose. And the ways in which I depend on them in the here-and-now will be filled by the old friends we'll be closer to and new friends we'll be making. But the Hudson River cannot come with us, nor can Waryas Park, Main Street Poughkeepsie, the crazy lady at the top of our hill, favorite little restaurants and bakeries, chance encounters with Pete Seeger, or the shared experience of this place. The Hudson ties people together geographically, across town boundaries. It defines this region apart from others and gave birth a grand history of art, folk music and environmentalism.
Part of what's hard for me personally is that we're moving to a place that many people find easy to love. Lord knows there's nothing unique about going to school in Boston. It seems to be in many ways the country's biggest college town. And while I'm grateful to be going to a great school and to be closer to family and old friends, Boston is not much of a challenge. Poughkeepsie has laughed, "you just go on and try to like me if you can" to me since I wandered here as a college freshcat and got hopelessly lost downtown in search of the Unitarian Church. It's a place much easier to write off than Boston or Providence and the growing ranks of those of us who have grown to love it share some pride in our different ways of seeing it.
Here. I'll bullet it.
-We're moving to the Great State of Massachusetts, that fresh-faced home to gay marriage, the Red Sox, Sam Adams and my extended family.
-Lion and I are gettin' Hitched. To which I say, Hoorah! This is old news, but due to scheduling and geographic constraints the actually doing of the deed is just shy of one year off.
-We're headed to Guatemala for a month.
-Two days after we return from Guatemala, I'm starting Medical School.
-I'm starting Medical School, let's just repeat.
-Lion is starting grad school. We only have one desk. But plenty of bookshelves.
-We're leaving the place we've been for the last five years.
The Hudson Valley. Sigh. This is the first place I have made my home as an adult. It's the first place that was unconnected to my family that I really have called home and felt was home. The fact that we're leaving it has left me feeling this really profound kind of sad that is a totally new feeling for me. I've gone away from places before, several times, and it has just never felt like this. Even with all we have to look forward to, I'm struggling to get excited about our next steps. Our lives in Poughkeepsie and friends scattered up the Valley have been so many kinds of wonderful. I think part of my difficulty is that it isn't just the people I'm sad to leave. We have the best kinds of friends here and I am confident we'll keep in touch and visit back and forth. I know from my past that it is plenty possible to stay close with those who leave your day-to-day or week-to-week. As sad as it will be to leave the likes of UP and DHM, Turtle and the crew on the other side of the river, our Roller Derby teammates (ok, that's a whole other post), and Pok neighbors, it is the leaving of this place that really gets to me. How do you stay close to a place when you are not there? How do you keep it as a part of you. Our sometimes housemate, the prodigal Farmboy/Devout environmentalist of our lives, gifted us a set of white oval bumperstickers with the initials "PKNY" to commemorate our love of this funny town forever on our cars. I feel like part of some club available only to a select few. The people I know I will not lose. And the ways in which I depend on them in the here-and-now will be filled by the old friends we'll be closer to and new friends we'll be making. But the Hudson River cannot come with us, nor can Waryas Park, Main Street Poughkeepsie, the crazy lady at the top of our hill, favorite little restaurants and bakeries, chance encounters with Pete Seeger, or the shared experience of this place. The Hudson ties people together geographically, across town boundaries. It defines this region apart from others and gave birth a grand history of art, folk music and environmentalism.
Part of what's hard for me personally is that we're moving to a place that many people find easy to love. Lord knows there's nothing unique about going to school in Boston. It seems to be in many ways the country's biggest college town. And while I'm grateful to be going to a great school and to be closer to family and old friends, Boston is not much of a challenge. Poughkeepsie has laughed, "you just go on and try to like me if you can" to me since I wandered here as a college freshcat and got hopelessly lost downtown in search of the Unitarian Church. It's a place much easier to write off than Boston or Providence and the growing ranks of those of us who have grown to love it share some pride in our different ways of seeing it.
5.16.2008
I'm Baaaaack
No, no, not in creepy horror movie way.Seriously. GW is having some growing pains as a blog. Clearly we over extended ourselves with the "I'm going to post every day" thing. Now we can't even decide if I'm "I" or "we." See how things are?
I have recovered from the trying to post all the time and failing induced whiplash and guilt and have decided once again to make something of this her blog. I've also gotten my own blog reading a bit more under control. No gone are the days of hours-long archive binges! Gone are the days of trying to read everything on half a dozen political blogs.
Substantive post coming soon, stay tuned.
3.13.2008
One Thing at a Time
I multi-task. I multi-task, A LOT. I'm a multi-tasker. I used to think, "Hey, I'm such a good multi-tasker!" But recently I've realized that I actually must multi-task. I'm now a multi-taking addict.
Exhibit A: The browser tab. I never ever ever have only one browser tab open. Minimum is probably four. One for email, one for pandora, one for calendar, one for blackboard, one for Google reader, one for the local paper or the NY Times or a google search for "public sewer department, NY," one for the episode of House that I'm listening to illicitly in the background while I work. You get the idea.
Exhibit B: The Lab. I used to think I was extremely efficient in lab work. Back in college I was almost always one of the first people done precisely because I multi-tasked. I seem to have taken this too far. Sometimes I am: doing a titration with one hand and eyeball, reading feministing.com with the other eyeball, making calibration solutions in between and also listing to streamed mpr.org I think my lab technique is suffering.
Exhibit C: The home. Laptop on lap, seven browser tabs open. Excel spreadsheet behind. Father on Phone. Attempting to communicate with Lion via facial expression. The latter usually backfires resulting in me getting in trouble for not paying attention to her. She is always right about this.
When I wait for a website to load, I get jittery. I think it feels like what it used to feel like to drink too much coffee, back when drinking too much coffee felt like anything. I can't seem to focus on just one thing. I suspect this might cause me trouble in med school. So, starting now, I'm instituting a one-thing-at-a-time policy. At least for a few weeks until I get a knack for it and can trust myself to find a better balance. Maybe this means that sometimes that one thing will be this blog. It's much easier to focus on when it's the only thing open in my web browser.
Exhibit A: The browser tab. I never ever ever have only one browser tab open. Minimum is probably four. One for email, one for pandora, one for calendar, one for blackboard, one for Google reader, one for the local paper or the NY Times or a google search for "public sewer department, NY," one for the episode of House that I'm listening to illicitly in the background while I work. You get the idea.
Exhibit B: The Lab. I used to think I was extremely efficient in lab work. Back in college I was almost always one of the first people done precisely because I multi-tasked. I seem to have taken this too far. Sometimes I am: doing a titration with one hand and eyeball, reading feministing.com with the other eyeball, making calibration solutions in between and also listing to streamed mpr.org I think my lab technique is suffering.
Exhibit C: The home. Laptop on lap, seven browser tabs open. Excel spreadsheet behind. Father on Phone. Attempting to communicate with Lion via facial expression. The latter usually backfires resulting in me getting in trouble for not paying attention to her. She is always right about this.
When I wait for a website to load, I get jittery. I think it feels like what it used to feel like to drink too much coffee, back when drinking too much coffee felt like anything. I can't seem to focus on just one thing. I suspect this might cause me trouble in med school. So, starting now, I'm instituting a one-thing-at-a-time policy. At least for a few weeks until I get a knack for it and can trust myself to find a better balance. Maybe this means that sometimes that one thing will be this blog. It's much easier to focus on when it's the only thing open in my web browser.
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