Cuarenta Días

Today is a very important and special day for my teacher, Loyola, and her family.  And not an altogether pleasant one.  I am honored to be able to participate, but I certainly wish it could be a different occasion.

Today marks forty days since Loyola´s youngest son was shot and killed in the capital, Guatemala City.  Xela, four hours or more away from Guatemala (as it is known to the locals), and is very safe, but the capital is not so.  In fact, I recently read that a report from the U.N. some years back ranked Guatemala as the most dangerous city in the Americas (due to a host of problems, including the three-and-a-half decade civil war that finally ended in 1996, as well as the immigration problem that affects the U.S., believe it or not).  Anyway, there is a lot of random violence in Guatemala, and it is not a safe place for tourists, nor, as it turns out, for locals.

Juan Rodrigo Sac de la Paz was 26 years old when he was killed on June 27th of this year.  He was eating dinner in a cafe, and some random thugs came in and shot and killed him.  There was apparently no motive; this was simply a random act of violence.  Understandably, it has been an extraordinarily difficult time for Loyola and her family, as they try to cope with this devastating tragedy.

Juan Rodrigo was an up-and-coming talent in the national government of Guatemala.  He was a software engineer, and he turned down numerous offers of more lucrative jobs to work in the equivalent of the Department of Education, where he was hard at work trying to revamp and modernize school curricula.  He told his mother that he felt called to try to improve the lot of Guatemalans, and thus he felt he needed to work in the public sector, for the government.  He was quite well respected by everyone he worked with; Loyola told me that the cathedral was full for his funeral, with many government officials making the full trek from Guatemala.  It sounds like his death is not only a tragedy for his family, but for Guatemala itself.

Juan Rodrigo is survived by two brothers and a sister, as well as his parents.  Alan Omar was born three days before I was, and is an electrical engineer in Guatemala.  Claudia is the second oldest child, and is a lawyer with a family of her own (her daughter Dayla is scheduled to make her First Communion next week!).  Gerson is 29 and is an architect.  With a mother who has a master´s degree in psychology and pedagogy, and a father who is a department head at the university, we are talking about a highly educated family.  I can try, but I think that I am very under-qualified to understand how difficult it has been for everyone in the family.

It is customary here to remember the deceased forty days after their passing.  Loyola invited me to join her family at the cemetery to pray and remember Juan Rodrigo.  The cemetery is actually pretty close to my host family´s home (I know that I haven´t really discussed them yet... coming, I promise!), but the cemetery is supposedly the only place in Xela that is not really too safe to go, especially for foreigners.  However, during the day, with locals, there is absolutely no problem.  So I got to visit the cemetery and share the experience with the family of Juan Rodrigo.

Here is a picture showing the family mausoleum.  Juan Rodrigo is interred in the upper-right spot.  Note the fresh flowers that the family laid at the tomb today.

The cemetery is very interesting.  It is the custom here that families all have mausoleums.  Only the poorer families bury their deceased relatives in the ground.  Here are a few more shots of various mausoleums.

Here is a beautifully ornate one.  Looks more like a chapel, to me.

It´s a community cemetery, even though it is somewhat attached to the Catholic Church El Calvario.  Therefore, there are people buried there from all different places, who practices many different religions.  As this next shot shows...

And of course, the cemetery is a place to be respectful.  But I can´t help but be awed by the vista.  There is always an amazing view in Xela, even when raining (even if I have singularly failed to capture the majesty of the mountains and the volcano with the camera).  But this morning there were just some exquisite scenes that just take your breath away.  Such as the following view of an aisle of mausoleums and the Santa Maria volcano.

Tonight, Loyola has invited me to attend the special "Forty Days" Mass in remembrance of Juan Rodrigo, and then to her house to share in some food afterward.  I have not yet seen this particular parish, so I am looking forward to it.  But I know that it is going to be a very difficult time for Loyola and her family as they continue to grieve.

Please keep Juan Rodrigo, Loyola, and the entire family in your prayers.  Thank you.

Two Tales of San Simon

Okay, this is going to be another post long on words and short on pictures.  But it will be much more interesting than my random pensamientos of yesterday, I promise.

Maybe the highlight of the trip to Zunil last week, certainly the most unusual, was the stop at the home of San Simon.  I didn´t take any pictures, you will soon understand why, but it was definitely noteworthy.  It was our last stop before the harrowing journey home by chicken bus, and it left an impression.

Before we had gone, we were told one thing: you will be stopping at the home of the local deity, San Simon (also called Mashimon or Maximon). "And trust us, you just have to see this one."  Maybe, I should have done a little research beforehand, but I didn´t.

What greeted us as we entered the dark building was an empty front room, where the "plebians" could remain.  Then, if we wanted to pay 5Q (about 65 cents), we could enter the inner room, (which was completely visible anyway).  But in this inner room was San Simon: a life-sized wooden mannequin, seated in a chair, dressed in sombrero, suit, and Mexican-style poncho, with a Spanish complexion and full-grown mustache, smoking a cigarette.  I´m not sure, but there may have been a cup of alcohol in his hand.  And my reaction was "okayyyy..."

On the floor in front of San Simon were many lit votive candles.  There was also a crucifix on the wall, but it was clear that most of the attention was toward San Simon.  There was a man there collecting donations from people who wanted to enter the room with San Simon, to offer him offerings of alcohol or tobacco (his preferred forms of donation), or to take a picture of him (which would cost another 5Q).  Fearing for the health and safety of my immortal soul, I declined to partake of the generous offers.  Instead, I took some pictures of the river road.

The whole thing was very ethereal.  After the visit, I decided to do a little more research on San Simon, wanting to understand exactly what the whole thing was about.  Various people and various websites had different interpretations: San Simon was originally a Jesuit priest revered by the locals; San Simon was a Mayan god worshipped in secret after the conversion of the Maya to Christianity; San Simon was a Mayan priest or priestess whom the Church tried to link with Judas; San Simon was an idol to which local Mayans made offerings to increase their virility and find a mate.  And of course the obvious one: San Simon was a scam to score free booze and smokes.

What everyone seemed to agree on was that there were three or four San Simon/Maximon objects in the highlands of Guatemala, and Zunil was the home of one (or maybe two) of them.

A few days later, one of the other guys on the trip (the guy who had dislocated his shoulder on the volcano hike) asked me if I was as creeped out by San Simon as he had been.  We both thought we recalled something in the Bible somewhere that might have mentioned idols in some way...

The following is a (terrible, I know) picture of a votive candle (I think) that I took at El Mercado La Democracia the other day.  Unfortunately, the glare obscures mostly what I wanted to capture, which was San Simon's likeness.  But hopefully, if my above description was not evocative enough, what you *can* see in the picture fills in the gaps (although to be honest, I´m pretty sure that this is an image of one of the other Maximons).

So I decided to ask my teacher, Loyola, about the phenomenon.  Loyola is highly educated and very knowledgeable about Mayan culture and history, among other things, and as her husband is the department chair for Mayan Studies at the local university, I figured that I would get the real scoop from her.  Her version of the story, based on the latest archaeology and sociological research, is fascinating.

First of all, the word Max (pronounced Mash in the Mayan language K'iche) means "priest". Some versions of the statue, such as the one in Zunil, are referred to as San Simon in an attempt to incorporate the likeness into the Church´s canon of saints, and Maximon is a hybrid name.  One mystery solved.

Second, when the Mayans were being Christianized, there were obviously segments of the population that were not interested in this new religion.  Much Mayan religious practice went underground, but the new Spanish government and the Church were intent on saving the souls of the indiginous populations.  They worked hard to root out any pagan worship that was still occurring, and they would deal with it harshly.
So the original San Simon is believed to have been a Mayan priest who was caught by authorities, and unrepentant, was hanged on a tree.  As his neck snapped, his blood ran down the side of the tree on which he was hanged.

Here is where the story gets really interesting.  Like most peoples, the Mayans recognized the intrinsic life-giving nature of blood.  According to their beliefs at the time, the blood running down the tree transferred the life essence of the Max into the tree.  Effectively, this tree "became" the martyred Mayan priest.  After the Spaniards removed the body from the tree, the devout Mayans cut down the tree, and carved the wood into the various Maximon statues that are located in the highlands of Guatemala.  Thus, the questions of what the statue is, and why there are several of them, are answered.

What about the get-up, the sombrero and the poncho?  The obvious Spanish features?  The mustache that could be pulled off the set of any 1950´s cowboy movie?  The lit cigarette hanging out of his mouth?  Loyola explained that for centuries, the natives had to hide their continued veneration of Maximon from the government and Church authorities.  Thus, the disguise of San Simon: who would object to an image reminiscent of the leadership of the nation?

Okay, but what about the "offerings" of tobacco and alcohol?  Another ancient tradition.  Apparently, alcohol was used in a lot of ceremonies and services as a purifier.  Oh yeah, that´s right, Mayan traditional medicines were always more advanced than their European counterparts of the time.  I´m not sure what they do with all the proferred alcohol nowadays, but Loyola was pretty sure that some of it was poured into a cup out of which a straw was rigged to transfer alcohol up to the statue´s mouth, again perhaps to disguise the Mayan religious roots. And the tobacco.. in Mayan ceremonies, participants used to rub tobacco on their faces and arms as a protection against evil spirits.  I´m guessing that the Mayans also recognized the noxious aspects of tobacco, and decided that there was little else as nasty in the world with which to frighten off demons! 

All right, everything sounds good so far, but how does the worship of San Simon exist side-by-side in a culture that has been so heavily Christianized to even have a crucifix on the wall at casa de San Simon?  The answer is simple.. it doesn't!  The vast majority of Mayans who continue to make offerings and light votive candles are not worshipping San Simon, but are venerating and honoring him, the same way that we Catholics venerate and honor the saints.  The Mayans recognize that the original Maximon was a martyr for the Mayan people, if not quite in the Christian sense.  They believe that he was a holy man of God, and they pray to ask for his intercession in their lives.  The honor and respect the original Maximon, but they absolutely do not worship the statue.  Calling him a "local deity" is an incredibly inappropriate description of the local customs and practices.  He is not that at all; the Mayans treat him as an intercessor for themselves.  A very important distinction, and one that makes a lot more sense when you consider that the Mayan people are more heavily Christian than many nations in the West.

Okay, almost all my questions had been answered at this point.  But what about the rip-off to charge you to enter the room with San Simon and to take his picture.  The simplest answer of all, but one that we would "never" have experienced in the U.S.: greed. To the tune of $1.25 in total.  The outrage!  ;)

So anyway, there you have it, the more hysterical and wacky version of San Simon, and the more reverant and historically-based tale of Maximon.  You can decide which is more likely; obviously, I´ve already made my judgment!

Como 'O'

I´ve been overdoing the pictures a bit recently, so here´s a nice wordy post without a lot of visual stimulation.  It´s a subject I´ve wanted to tackle for a bit, and now I´ll take some time to it.

My motto for the time that I´ve been here has been "Como 'O'".  'O' as in Owen.

First of all, do I have the cutest sobrinos in the world, or what?  (Caroline, Beck, Ted, give your Godchildren a kiss from me!)

The point is not to enchant you with the brilliance of my niece and nephew, well, maybe a bit, but to talk about learning language.  Pretty much I have admired the way that kids learn languages for a while now.  I am constantly saying that kids are smarter than their parents, since they amazingly learn an entire language from scratch, simply through listening and trial-and-error.  And they do such an amazing job.

I have watched Owen as he really started to learn how to speak and how to communicate his thoughts.  I´ve seen how frustrated he would get at times when he couldn´t get his meaning across.  But more than that, I´ve seen the enthusiasm with which he incorporates new vocabulary into his speech.  He loves to do it.  I think he is proud when he can participate in sharing more complex thoughts and words.  I´ve seen my other "nephew" Desmond do the same thing, as he regularly surprises me with his knowledge.  I´m sure Leah and Hudson are as surprising in what they pick up too (I´m not giving Jackson any love here, but he´s practically a man now, anyway, so he might be slightly past this age!)

I decided, when I got here, that I was going to try to learn as I see Owen and the others learn.  In other words, to actively attempt to incorporate my new words and expressions into my daily life.  It´s never going to be quite the same, obviously, but I´m really working hard to study as if each word is a little nugget of gold, and somehow it multiplies every time I can purposely insert it into the conversation.  At times, I think it is probably somewhat annoying to Loyola (still my teacher), as if I´m trying to show off because I´m purposely trying to use the concepts and phrases of the day before, but I figure that it works for O.  In the short term, it means over 900 flashcards and lots of studying at night; we´ll have to watch to see the long term implications.

I was reading Fides et Ratio the other day (I promise, this is not a segue into another topic, but is related.. eventually), which is Pope John Paul II´s encyclical dealing with the relationship between Faith and Reason, which is something I´m supposed to have read before I start at Mount St. Mary´s (two weeks from today, for those counting!).  In it, there´s a section where the Pope discusses a comment of St. Anselm, back in the 11th century or so.  To paraphrase, the Pope claims that the more we know something, the more we love it, and want to know it better.  Originally, St. Anselm was saying that although we were made to know God, we would never fully know God in this life, and that the more we tried to know Him, the more we wanted to know Him. 

To extend, and probably horribly pervert, the Pope´s message, I was applying the idea to the learning of language.  Clearly, Owen (and the rest of them) love to learn how to talk.  You can try to claim that it is simply for self-interest, that they learn in order to get their needs met, and not because they love it; but anyone who has spent any significant time with any of these little ones has seen the pure joy that new knowledge of words gives them.  They are so proud of their new abilities.  The more that they get to know the English language, the more they are driven to know it even more.  This is incredible to think about, that we are wired in such a way that we yearn to learn.  Obviously, this wears down over time; I know that I for one, am much more comfortable to exist in my own little sandbox rather than expand my sphere of knowledge.. even here, once I become familiar with an activity or a place, I´d rather continue working in that vein, or frequenting that place, than to learn something new.  Thank God for the way kids are, though.  I´m trying to emulate them, as much as is humanly possible!

And not to leave Eileen or Kendall or the little ones out of the picture.. while they may still be too young to really be experiencing the joys of learning how to speak, I´m conscious of their attempts at crawling, walking, eating, etc., and I´m trying to emulate them too.  For when they fall on their face, they pick themselves back up and try again.  Another trait of older humans is that we tend to back off from things once we make a mistake or fail.  As I am constantly failing here, I am very mindful of the lesson to just get up and try again.  (For instance, I was telling Carlos, the fourteen-year-old in most family that I really liked his friend, the priest at El Calvario parish.. but apparently what I said had particular connotations about the manner in which I liked him.. I was completely embarrassed when I learned this, but I thought of all times that Eileen has plopped back down to the floor, and I garnered some strength to try again.)

Anyway, not to put too fine a point on it, but I am mindful that the best students of language are the little ones, and I´m doing what I can to emulate them as best I can.

One last thing, totally unrelated, but noteworthy (to me, at least).. for the most part, I´ve been sleeping much better here than at home.  I attribute it to three possibilities, or some combination thereof: (1) a healthier diet, with everything being freshly made, with few preservatives or other chemicals; (2) the higher altitude with thinner air and a milder natural climate; and (3) the fact that I am so doggone tired at the end of a day trying to come up with *every single thought* in another language, that I just collapse under the mental strain.  Not sure if any of these is true, but they seem to be the largest contenders.

But my dreams have been much more wild than usual.  Now, I must admit, my dreams are often pretty vivid and wacky, but this takes them to a whole new scale.  I am constantly having dreams that include people with whom I rarely interact, or people whom I haven´t thought about it years.  Last week, for instance, I dreamt that Matt Bedard and Iason were down here in school with me; I don´t know if Iason speaks Spanish or not, but I know that the last time I talked to Matt Bedard, ten years ago, he didn´t.  I can honestly say that it was the first dream I´ve ever had involving either of these gentlemen.

But last night´s dream has got to take the cake.  Here are the salient points:

• First of all, I had just moved into an apartment with Dad (who knows where Mom was?), and we got a knock on the door.. it was Christa (of J.R. and Christa).
• Christa was trying to decide whether she was going to move in with me and Dad, or whether she was going to move into my old apartment; she really liked my old apartment, but she was intrigued by the science fiction show that Dad was watching.
• She then asked me to set her up with one of my friends (apparently, there was no J.R. in my dream, which is odd, considering that as long as I have known Christa, there has always been a J.R.).  I went through my list of friends on my cell phone, including Ryan Todd, Jason Crawford, and Gregg Smith, (nobody I had seen this millennium, by the way), but everyone was either involved with someone else, or I didn´t think they were good enough for her.
• She then asked me to set her up with Chris Rice, but I only knew his parents´ phone number offhand (which I *did* know in the dream.. keeping in mind that although I knew the Rice´s phone number, I didn´t remember that there was a J.R.!).
• When I was searching for Chris´ cell phone number on my iPhone, I accidentally called him.  He was pretty cross with me, because I woke him up.  
• As I hung up, I noticed that the time was 6:37 PM.  (Now, to be fair, Chris might be in Afghanistan right now, so it´s possible that 6:37 PM is horribly early there.. but in my dream, he was local, so I can´t even use that as an excuse.)

Anyway, I´m sure most anyone who reads this might not have any idea who 90% of these people are (pretty much everyone but Derrick.. maybe Mom too), let´s just say that apparently my sleep-addled brain has been constructing its dreams via a sort of "Whitman´s Sampler" of my entire life.  I´m not sure what this means, but it´s been pretty entertaining, if nothing else.

Almolonga, Zunil, and the Chicken Bus (¡por fin!)

So, last week I attended one of the trips to two nearby villages.  Xela, being the second largest city in all of Guatemala, is not exactly representative of village-life, so I thought that this would be a great excursion.  Unfortunately, I didn´t exactly count on the monsoon.  Okay, it may not have exactly been a monsoon, but to be honest, the rain was so thick and heavy, that it might as well have been.

So first, we took the chicken bus (more on that in a minute) to Almolonga, a small farming village.  I promptly bought a nice umbrella for about four bucks so that I could take pictures without ruining Elizabeth´s camera.  But to be honest, it was so wet and miserable that I really ended up taking more interesting pictures of the rain and its effects than the town.  Here are a few samples.

I know that it is rainy and foggy, but look at the beautiful mountain in the background...

And maybe a couple of the "road"...

We then hopped back on the bus to visit the other town, Zunil.  There, we made three stops: (1) to a local women´s cooperative where various handmade clothing and objects are sold; (2) the local Church, of which a few pictures will follow; and (3) the current home of San Simon, and trust me, I need a whole post just on that.. stay tuned.

First, a few general shots of Zunil.

The river looks awesome for kayaking down!

maybe not so much...

The Church in Zunil was really pretty magnificent.  I´ve forgotten the dates now, but I think it was constructed in the mid 1500´s, and is one of the oldest in Central America.  Some of the pictures are pretty dark, but look at the magnificent decorations.

And, of course, more rain in the streets...

Okay, now just a moment to talk about the chicken bus.  Sure, it´s an old school bus which stopped passing emissions twenty years ago, and probably hasn´t had its oil changed since then either.  But that´s about all you´d recognize.  Just a few quick hit observations...

• It cost us about 2 Quetzales, 50 centavos for each leg, which works out to about 30 cents. 
• You know those cartoons where a vehicle goes full speed over a bump, and all of the cartoon animals go flying up out of their seats into the air, and you see the animated WHOOSHes, yeah, that´s actually real.
• People are crammed onto the bus, and enter both from the front and the back, you know, the emergency exit.  It´s really fun when they are exiting as the bus is moving, as they don´t necessarily have time to shut the back door.  I got pretty good at closing and latching it on-the-go.
• The bus doesn´t stop.  No, it can´t.  If it does, it may not get going again.
• Other buses that have stopped pay a steep price.  Not totally sure, but it looked as if when our bus was driving by these stranded other buses, there were about three guys trying to remove parts from our bus in order to get theirs working again.
• The road winds A LOT, and especially during the monsoon, is very difficult for a normal-sized car to pass.  Somehow we made it.
• The horn is used a lot.  As in "I am a big chicken bus and I am coming, get out of my way."
• I don´t know if it was because we were extranjeros (foreigners) or what, but the bus got to the edge of Xela and told us to get out.  Apparently the bus driver decided he didn´t want to go the rest of the way into the city.  So we had to walk the last twenty minutes.  One of the guys said, "That´s what happened to us yesterday too!"  I guess the routes are more "flexible" than in the U.S.

Anyway, I know that there´s tons more I haven´t reported about the chicken bus, but if I don´t leave now, I´m going to miss my dinner.  There may have to be a "Chicken Bus II: Revenge of the Chickens" post if I remember much more.

Las compras

So I´ve wanted to post about shopping for a while now.  And as I spent a few hours at the market this morning, I think today is the time to do it.

First of all, there are four different markets in Xela, and apparently they get more expensive the closer they get to El Parque Central.  Three of them are within easy walking distance to mi casa, and by far the most fun is El Mercado La Democracia.  I posted a few shots of this market a few days back, as part of the general feel of Xela.

But let´s talk about the shopping.  La Democracia comprises a three-block by three-block area where you can buy.. well, everything.  Fruits and vegetables are the most obvious items for sale, and it really does look like a lot of other pictures of third-world general markets you have seen around the world.  All sorts of fruits and vegetables, including many types I do not recognize.  In addition to produce, there are lots of beans, pasta, meat, and pre-packaged goods.  It is a full-stop place to get all the food you need to cook.  And although the vegetables look so fresh and delicious at times, Guatemalans never eat raw vegetables.. such a shame!

Vendors sell both on the side of the street, as well as in covered stalls in the interior of the block.  "Stalls" is slightly misleading; in reality, a whole block is one huge covered factory-like warehouse, and vendors have carved out sections of the floor in which to sell their items.  A lot of meat and other goods that might not be as delicious when covered with bus exhaust are sold inside.

But lest you think that the market is only for food, let me correct your misunderstanding.  You can also buy clothing...

and shoes (notice the Crocs in front!)...

furniture...

appliances (notice the bikes hanging from the ceiling)...

other bikes...

books...

pets...

and... well... Tom´s not for petting... the family laughed when I took a picture!

I´m upset that apparently I didn´t take any photographs of all the handmade Mayan clothing stalls.  I´ll have to get those next time!

Now, if a crowded downtown market isn´t your cup of tea, do not fret!  There are still a few supermercados in town.  And once you´ve seen one supermarket, you´ve seen them all...

too few cashiers...

Sue, you could work down here!  (I know, no cereal...)

But the supermarket is less fascinating than las tiendas.  It seems like on practically every block, there is a local convenience store which sells pre-packaged snacks and toiletries.. and that´s about it.  I do not understand how so many of them stay in business!  They´re absolutely everywhere.  It seems that often they are attached to a family´s house, such as the one next door to my house.  I really do not understand the business model here; it seems like the market would be way too saturated.

And they all follow the same basic pattern.. most of the merchandise sits behind a permanent gate.  You browse with your eyes, not with your hands.  The shopkeep gets you whatever you need.

Although these convenience stores have really caught my attention, I´d be remiss if I didn´t mention the other businesses throughout town that pop up everywhere.. bakeries, librarías (which mostly sell paper supplies... sometimes a few books), barber shops, and internet cafes.  Without a doubt, I have seen more internet cafes in Xela than in the rest of my travels.

Anyway, I cannot believe it, but today is actually my halfway point in my time in Xela.  I am actually pretty upset, because I´m having the time of my life.  I´ve been really blessed with a lot of great adventures in my life, but this one may actually be the best.  I´m not totally sure... that trip with Jason and Kate a few years back was pretty sweet too... but let´s just say that Xela is giving everything else a run for its money!

Why Xela?

It probably is worth a moment to describe exactly why Xela is such a great opportunity for studying the Spanish language.  Basically I have three premiere reasons:

(1) The price

(2) The accent

(3) The schools

Let´s be honest.. the reason I came here is because of the price.  I still find it incredible that it only costs $165 per week for home-stay AND instruction.  You cannot beat this price.  Why even try?  And this isn´t a backwater village; this is the second largest city in Guatemala.  If price is a factor, and for whom is it not a factor?, then you´ve got to consider Xela.

Secondly, before I came here, I had heard that the Guatemalan accent was a great one to learn from, but it was much under-emphasised.  I may not be an expert, but trust me when I say that you could not hope for a clearer, slower dialect than the one in Xela.  The people of Xela, not just the teachers, speak in a very clear and precise manner.  I have no idea if language programs inherit their recorded speakers from Guatemala or not, but they should!  Whether in a store, at Mass, or with my family, I am constantly bombarded with a picture-perfect accent that requires no "oh, right, they pronounce it like *this* here".  I would consider it pretty much the Spanish version of the Connecticut accent (which all newscasters are supposedly trained to use).  And the fact that they speak at a regular pace is pretty amazing too; I do not imagine it would be possible to learn Spanish in, say, Puerto Rico, simply from the supersonic speed with which people seem to chat.  I cannot recommend this Guatemalan (or at least Xelan) accent highly enough for someone who really wants to learn the language.

Thirdly, and something of which I was totally unaware, is that Xela is built for Spanish schools.  Okay, maybe that´s not quite what they had in mind when Spaniards started coming here in the sixteenth century, but it might as well have been.  Being (an interesting) four hours from Guatemala City, and more-or-less the same from Antigua, I would imagine Xela is really not on the tourist track.  It seems as though Xela has decided to attract tourists by specializing in these Spanish schools.  Everything important is within walking distance.  The schools are very professional (well, at least CELAS Maya is), and can provide you with every bit of information you need ahead of time, as well as providing you with help while you are in town.  It is really amazing how many foreigners you see here, and how much English you hear.  In fact, the ready availability is sometimes a problem, because you are not forced to use Spanish.  Fortunately, the locals are good about giving you an extra English boost only when you need it, or maybe when they think you will buy their wares!

But in all seriousness, Xela couldn´t be a better locale to learn Spanish.  It *is* immersion, and although you are definitely out of your element, it is not so foreign as to make you feel like an alien.  It is amazing to get to learn about the culture here in Guatemala, as well as really start to make the Spanish your own.  I thoroughly recommend it to anyone.  Which reminds me, the students are aged 18 to 80.  Okay, 80 might be pushing it, but there are definitely plenty of people here either with their grown children, or simply here by themselves for a while.  In fact, there are probably more people in their 50´s and 60´s than in their 30´s and 40´s.  So in other words, there is nobody who is reading this blog who can use age as an excuse to not try an experience like this... maybe I´ll give you a pass, Uncle Al!  But as for everyone else, no excuses.  Especially if you have considered it in the past.. hint, hint, Aunt Kathy.

Anyway, don´t really have any good pictures to go with this post, so just for fun, I´ll include a picture of a planter that I took this morning.  It doesn´t have a plant in it right now, but it could.  Come to think of it, I assume it´s a planter, but I suppose I don´t really know...