Unbelizable

If you ever want to spend all day every day frolicking with large sea animals, sucking down Planter's Punch, strolling under palm trees, and/or browning your hide, then go to San Pedro Caye of Belize. These pictures don't need explanations.  Just know that I did nothing all week and it was glorious. 

Planter's Punch Recipe

2 oz. Dark Rum 

2 oz. Orange Juice 

2 oz. Pineapple Juice 

1/2 oz. Lime Juice 

Dash Grenadine 

Orange Slice & Cherry for garnish

Combine 3 juices and Rum in a shaker with ice. Shake well, and strain into an ice filled Collins glass. Top with grenadine. Garnish with an Orange slice and a Maraschino Cherry. Personally, I prefer to simply drop the cherry in the punch, thus allowing it to soak up all that great flavor!

For a thirsty crowd, multiply the recipe by number of servings and serve in a pitcher with ice.

Tikal: Temple of the Jaguar

And the travels through Central America begin.  First stop: Tikal.  

From the shores of Belize, we flew to Tikal for a day tour.  Hot, humid, and full of tourists, Tikal was not the secluded natural wonder that I had imagined, but it was as picturesque as the post cards and worthy of its reputation. 

The park is in the jungle—hanging vines, wild noises, shifting leaves—the real, freaking jungle. The dirt paths are well-trodden, but the park is flush with foliage in hundreds of shades of green. With all of the tourists, it was hard to glimpse a monkey or an elusive quetzal, but we could hear the birds conversing all day, with flashes of bright feathers every once in a while. 

The University of Pennsylvania has been excavating Tikal for decades and the work they have accomplished is unbelievable.  With architecture dating back to 4th century BC, covers over 570 square kilometers with over 3000 palaces, temples, and burial grounds. 

In the "Great Plaza" lie burial sites, the residence of the Mayan royal families, and the most famous structure of Tikal:  Temple #1, the Temple of the Great Jaguar.   Over 200 feet tall, this is the structure most often seen on post cards and web sites.

Walking among ruins always gets me thinking about the lives of peoples past.  How different it must have been, and how similar.  Were people happier then? Were they obsessed with progress too?  What were the popular foods?  What did they dress like?  Did little kids aspire to be Mayan gods instead of astronauts and lawyers?  Did they have our equivalent of "sports stars"? What did they value most?  How was the wine?  Has there always been an excuse for miserable people to be miserable, whether it be a 9-5 or weed whacking in the jungle?  And why are the stairs spaced sooooo far apart?  Were the Mayans giants? 

All I know is that if "church" was at the top of all of those stairs, 400 BC Tikal is no doubt where religious divergence began.  

Last day in San Mateo

I have avoided writing this blog because I knew it would be hard--to relive the day, to see pictures of the kids, to once again feel all of the love in that little house.  It would mean that I am accepting closure, that I am acknowledging the end of my travels.  That now, I am sitting around filling out temp agency applications instead of making sand castles in the Caribbean.  But having been home for a week, it's time to embrace the time honored cliché:  All good things, especially the best things, come to an end.

Chicken Bus decorations

My last chicken bus ride was a poor sampling.  Hoping to show my parents what I have been talking about, you know--deafening reggaeton, wheels falling off, engine stalling, packed house, pick pocketers--I was disappointed when the bus was half full and fully functioning.  Now that both Chris and my parents have enjoyed calm, safe, comfortable chicken bus rides, my credibility is starting to feel questionable.

The only thing wrong with the bus ride was me.  I rode the entire way in a daze, going over in my head what I wanted to say (in spanish) and prepping myself for good byes.

Leaving the kids, Juan and Judith, and my life in San Mateo was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. Luckily, Juan and Judith made my last day as upbeat and positive as possible with games, smores, and lots of dancing.

As when Nick left,  Juan and Judith shared kind, eloquent words and then the kids got in a long line and each handed me a note coupled with a big hug.  Then of course, it was my turn to speak.  It is hard to be articulate in spanish when you're choking back tears, but I did my best to express to Juan, Judith, the kids, and the other volunteers that they have changed my life, that in three short months I have learned so much—

—to approach every opportunity with an open heart and an open mind—

—to live simply, and to appreciate the beauty in simplicity—

—to always be prepared for tomorrow—

—to live not solely for yourself, but also for those you love—

I know my future is capricious, but one thing is certain: I will be back to San Mateo.  I will once again laugh and cry under that worn tin roof.  And I will be at home. 

Del cielo cayó una rosa

Mi madre la recogió

Se la pusó en el cabello

Y que linda se miró

Semana Santa!

Every Sunday during Lent, the processions in Antigua grew larger and larger.  By Semana Santa, the processions lasted over 12 hours and employed thousands of purple-robed Guatemalans.   

Before the procession passed through the streets, residents would create intricate alfombras, rugs made of died wood chippings, sand, grass, or fruits/vegetables.  The rugs, beautiful and time-intensive, are destroyed in seconds as one hundred robed feet pass over. 

The processions carried on late into the night, often ending around dawn.  One of the most famous processions, La Merced, is depicted  below.

The Guatemalan women also play a big part in Semana Santa.  Every procession has a women's anda, stand, that is carried by 80 women on each side.  The anda is made of long, thick wood and is very heavy.  Por eso, the walk is slow and grueling, in tune with the music. 

And the music, slow and somber, is one of the most memorable aspects of Semana Santa.  Hundred of brass players and percussionists march with the procession, repeating the same somber songs that strike a deep chord with the spectators.

The church, musicians, and spectators aren't the only ones benefitting from Semana Santa.  Hundred of local vendors gathered to prey on the big crowds.  I may or may not have been subject to sales pressure and caved, of course, buying some sweet shades and a balloon.