🐌 ~> 🦋

 It’s been 10 weeks since l arrived in Mexico. That's one month in Mexico and 6 weeks in 4 other countries - Guatemala, El Salvador, Nicaragua, and now, here in Costa Rica. Plus I drove through Honduras on my way from El Salvador to Nicaragua. This is fast. I don't usually travel this way. As implied by the title of my blog, I like to go slowly, like a snail. I like to really get a sense of a place when I go there. I like to feel what it would be like to live in a place, get to know some of the local people, wander the streets less traveled, have time to explore places that you only find out about once you are there, the things you can't plan ahead of time.

But since I decided to volunteer at a 7-day music festival in Costa Rica at the end of February, and because I realized when I got to Mexico, that I was really excited about going to Colombia, I have been experimenting with traveling like a butterfly, flying from one beautiful flower to another, finding the sweetest spots to visit in each country, and then on to the next one, never staying too long in one spot. Sometimes, it's hard to be a butterfly when you have a big backpack to carry around with you everywhere, but I'm getting used to packing up every few days and heading to a new place. Sometimes I have trouble remembering where I was a couple days ago, but with so little time in each place, my focus has been enjoying where I am now because very soon, I will be somewhere else. 

Looking back on the last month, it has been quite a whirlwind of beautiful earth spots and new experiences. I already shared a bit about the magical Lake Atitlan in Guatemala. Then I was onto riding the chicken buses in El Salvador. It can be a bit overwhelming to ride these buses, which are actually old school buses from the US, common in Guatemala and Nicaragua as well, as they ore often packed full of people, and it's not always clear where/how to get on and off the buses. Of course, it is just how the local people get around, but for me, it was an entertaining (and sometimes stressful) experience. In El Salvador, especially, many street vendors come onto the bus at the various stops selling not only cold beverages (often in little plastic bags with a straw rather than bottles) and snacks (fruit, yucca and plantain chips, sandwiches, etc...), but also plastic storage containers, sippy cups for kids, clothespins, and even those head massagers with all the metal prongs that feel so good. Sometimes, the vendor will actually stand in the front of the bus and give a little 2 minute commercial about their product. I almost bought the pens with erasers and the toothbrush that folds up into its own little case. And Of course everything is very cheap. It's like a dollar store is passing through the bus all the time.

Then there was the labyrinth I spent an hour being lost in, but did make it to the center and out again, and the hot springs that are so hot they are actually boiling, so you have to go to the resort where they have pools and cafes and they cool the water down of course. Then on to Nicaragua - I spent a week here on Ometepe, an island in the middle of the biggest lake in Central America, where I'm reminded for the millionth time in my life how much happier and calmer I feel when I am in nature, outside of the city, and also how much I love islands. I stayed in a beautiful bamboo cabin yards, or should I say meters, away from the lake. Most people rent motorcycles or ATVs to get around this island made by 2 volcanoes, but I chose to get around by walking and bus. One day, I accepted a ride from a local tour guide on his motorcycle. He promised me he would go really slowly, and he did. He dropped me off at a beautiful swimming hole. The next day, I joined his tour hiking halfway up the smaller volcano to an amazing viewpoint. I think this island is my favorite stop so far and would love to return one day.

Then across another border into Costa Rica, which has been full of beautiful beaches, visiting friends who have moved here from the US with their children, a beautiful town in the mountains with so many hummingbirds, and volunteering at Envision. Tomorrow, l am off to volunteer at a biological station/lodge for 2 weeks in the deep jungle of the Osa Peninsula before I head to Panama where I'll be getting on a sailboat for 5 days, stopping at islands along the way, and arriving in Colombia on April 1st.

Here are some pictures of the last 6 weeks:

~~~ learning how to flow ~~~

I was sitting on the beach watching yet another beautiful sunset, this time in EL Zonte in El Salvador, watching all the surfers out on the water, some of them quite skilled it seemed. Some people seemed to sit on their boards waiting and never catching a wave, if that’s what you call it - I’ve never surfed before. Some people keep trying, but don't ever make it to standing up. Some people get pummeled by the waves and their boards go flying. Some people, me, never even touch a surfboard. But for the last couple weeks, since I left Mexico, I've been feeling like the people who are about to get the wave but then it’s gone, over and over again.

One moment, 1 am getting on the ferry across Lake Atitlan in Guatemala, about to arrive at my next hostel after a 14-hour journey from San Cristóbal de las Casas in Chiapas, Mexico, and across the border into Guatemala, excited to have found a lesser-known village so I could just enjoy the nature of the beautiful lake. The next moment, I'm realizing that I've accidentally booked myself at a party hostel. The English guy I sat next to at dinner said it wasn't a party hostel, but 15 minutes later, they were bribing the 40 or 50 guests sitting in their restaurant to participate in their open mic by offering free tequila shots to anyone who took a turn - "you can even tell a bad joke in a language no one understands, and we'll give you a free shot!” But it wasn’t a party hostel. Right… One moment I think I'm getting my whole dorm room to myself after a long day… The next moment, the tequila kicks in for a bunch of people and they start singing bad American pop songs at the top of their lungs… until 2am.

It goes the other way too. One moment I'm realizing I made a big mistake in hostel choice. The next moment, I’m walking into my own airbnb room at a little hotel with my own bathroom, in a different village on the lake. No party people, just the usual roosters and barking dogs reminding me I’m in Central America. I didn't meet any other travelers at this airbnb, but I got to meet one of the men who worked there who is from Guatemala City. We talked for a while, all in Spanish somehow, about animals, since they have pet rabbits, parakeets, and cats there, politics, and the different kinds of hippies, since I had moved to the village that's been taken over by ex-pat hippies offering yoga, tantric workshops, ecstatic dance, family constellation sessions, etc. These are all things I'm into, but it feels off to me because you're in a place with a lot of indigenous Mayan people struggling financially and then all these ex-pats moving here, half of them not learning Spanish at all, which is actually the second language here, Tzutujil being the first, and charging hundreds of dollars for these workshops they're offering. It would be nice to think that they are somehow giving back to the community in a balanced way, but l am very skeptical.

I had a few days in El Salvador that felt like almost catching a wave but failing. H started when I suddenly realized that I hadn't done my research about covid requirements well enough. Four days before l planned to go to Nicaragua, l found out that unvaxxed travelers have to do a PCR test to enter the country. Uggh... So one moment, I'm getting ready to go to the coast, and the next moment, l have to make a detour to San Salvador, the capital, which I had been trying to avoid. Luckily, El Salvador is a very small country, so it wasn't going to take too much extra time. I still made it to the coast before sunset, PCR test completed. That night, I sat on the deck of my hostel, which is right on the beach, watching the full moon rise over the water, listening to the waves crashing, and watching a fisherman wading in the ocean with his fishing pole and head lamp. He caught one! I was reflecting on my day, which could have been very stressful, navigating the big city and a confusing public transit system with all my stuff, in the heat, and only knowing the language halfway. I found myself crying, thinking about how many kind, helpful people on the local buses I had met along the way, from the woman sitting next to me who offered to hold a young child when he and his older siblings and father had no place to sit on the bus... to the bus driver who was trying to explain to me how to get a different bus so I could get to the clinic... To the woman who overheard him and said she was going to that bus and she would show me the way... To the other woman who overhead the first woman telling me she was getting off before my stop and said she was getting off at my stop so she could show me the way. 

I don't know what your first thoughts are when you think of El Salvador - maybe gangs, violence, civil war, government corruption… To be honest, I probably would not have come here if I hadn't met an English woman 3 years ago in Guatemala who had just been here and said it was safe and she enjoyed it. She was the first person I ever met who had travelled to this country. I only needed one story like this to get me thinking about traveling here, to realize it was just like every other country I’ve visited that people told me was unsafe but then I went and I found just the opposite. Of course there is a lot more nuance to whether a country is safe or unsafe and for whom (travelers or locals), and when (now or 5 or 10 years ago), and where (on the city streets after midnight or in places that locals recommend to go). And for El Salvador, apparently things changed a lot for everyone here when they got a new president, Bukele, in 2019. Now, when I think of El Salvador, I will remember all of the kind and friendly people I met here. And the delicious pupusas!

So one moment, I'm crying because I'm so touched by the kindness of strangers, the next moment I'm back in San Salvador because I hadn't received my test results yet and I found the one clinic that was open on Sundays (my shuttle to Nicaragua was on Monday), and now I’m crying in the clinic because the woman has just told me they don't do PCR tests on Sunday, so I had just wasted a day and might have to postpone my trip to Nicaragua. At least there was an air-conditioned bus that could take me directly back to my beach hostel for $1.50 in time to see the beautiful sunset and watch the surfers, who, if they miss a wave or get thrashed around, go right back to sitting on their board, waiting for the next one.

P.S. I’m posting this from Nicaragua the next day, so I got my test results in time and it’s good I wasn’t able to get the second test, which would have cost an extra $80 - $100!

You're traveling where? By yourself??

Wow! You're so brave! I could never do that!

Don't you get lonely?

Isn't it dangerous?

You're traveling how long? What about a job?

'

Some of the questions I get when I go on these long solo journeys... Maybe you have these questions too. When I get these questions, sometimes I get sucked into this way of thinking and start to doubt myself. What are you thinking Christy?! It feels like I am the only one in the world who would even think about traveling solo to "dangerous places". The criticisms seep in. You can't just go travel for an indefinite amount of time without a job, without a source of income, without a plan. So irresponsible of you!

We could go down that rabbit hole and find all kinds of other questions… you're how old? (Almost 42) And you're still just wandering around the world? (Yes) And you don't own a house or even have an address? (That's right) What about a retirement plan? (Um...) so you're just living out of a backpack? (well, actually 2, a big one and a small one) …

But I don't want to go down that rabbit hole. Instead, I followed my intuition. I came to Mexico. With no return ticket. Instead, I chose to go somewhere that I only halfway speak the language with the goal of becoming bilingual. Instead, I sat at the bar one night overlooking the beach in Mazunte watching a guy juggle at least 5 machetes, then sat on the beach eating salchichas with the Dutch guy I just met talking about philosophy and the stars. Instead, I took a 3-hour van ride through the mountains that makes some people vomit to stay at a place that sells magic mushrooms at the reception desk. 1 didn't buy them, but I did walk through a magical forest, following a little river, unexpectedly coming across giant agave plants. 

Instead, I met a fellow traveler from California, and we went one day on a crowded public bus from Oaxaca City to Teotítlan del Valle (where I made a rug a few years ago), and talked to the local people there who are so friendly and shared about their lives and how they make the natural dyes for their beautiful woven textiles. One friendly weaver even drove us to the next town to show us the big market and helped us find the bus back to the city. Instead, 1 took salsa lessons at my hostel and another night sang karaoke with the woman from Cali and a group of 10 Dutch frat guys. You really cannot plan these things. Instead, I got on a little boat with 20 strangers to ride through the beautiful Cañon del Sumidero in Chiapas and see crocodiles and spider monkeys.

 Instead, I wake up most mornings to join the free breakfast at the hostel where I'm staying and meet ten other people from all over the world who are doing their own unique version of what I'm doing. Well, not everyone is traveling solo, but a lot are, and a lot of them are women. And not everyone is currently unemployed, but some are. One of them is an 84-year-old man who plays harmonica and is staying in hostels for 8 weeks, in the dormitories sleeping on bunk beds, journaling, drawing, and walking around the city … and he travels without a cell phone.

For some reason, I was resisting starting up this blog again, but I got inspired yesterday to share with all of you what I'm up to, so you can find out just how dangerous, lonely, irresponsible, and brave I am. Plus I love writing. (And so I don't have to send the same pictures to everyone all the time… but I do want to stay in touch with you, so please e-mail or whatsapp anytime.)

I'm dedicating this trip to my Dad. Bill. He left this world a year and a half ago. If he were still alive, he would hate everything about my choice to go on this trip. It's too dangerous. I should get a job (although if I got a job, I should get a different one that pays more and has health insurance.) And he likely wouldn't read this blog. So the ironic thing is that I couldn't go on this trip without him, and the inheritance I got from him. Well, actually, I could - I have gone on trips like this with waaaay less money. I know that underneath all his criticisms and disapproval was a deep, sincere wish for me to be successful and safe and happy. I think he struggled to find those things for himself and he wanted me to have what he thought he couldn't.

I like to think that now he's in a different place, where he's not limited by the narrow definitions of success and safety he subscribed to, where he can appreciate my choices, and see that I am successful, safe and happy, and where he can feel at peace. I had a dream last year that he was up high somewhere I couldn't see, but out of this black hole (I knew he was in there) he was sending down red and green balloons to me. So I'm receiving this playful, joyful, ephemeral offering. And any criticism or disapproval coming from inner or outer critics, I'll put into these balloons and send out into the atmosphere to be popped into pieces. I love you Dad.

Yep, that’s me, with my Mom and Dad 

I'm nearing the end of this journey, getting on my last bus tomorrow morning, to go to my last stop, Mexico City.  Although lately, I have been taking some time each day to piece together work for myself for when I return, I am still loving every minute of my time here in Mexico.

Here in Oaxaca, I have eaten delicious food (especially pastries!), found great independent bookstores, seen an amazing exhibit at the Textile Museum, and tonight I stopped to watch a clown performing in the Zócalo. Unfortunately, my Spanish is still not advanced enough to have understood his quickly spouted, rambling jokes, which is too bad because everyone was cracking up, and one of his jokes was about me 😜.

Before I came to this city, I was in a small village called Teotitlan del Valle, mostly populated by indigenous Zapotec folks.  I stayed in an Airbnb here where the mother of the family who lived there taught me how to weave on their giant floor looms. I made a rug! 

Señor Cena (Mr. Dinner) kept me company the whole time. 

I also hiked to the top of this hill one day, El Picacho. It is a very sacred site for the people here.

I travelled to this village from an even smaller village in the Sierra Sur, the Southern mountains of the state of Oaxaca, San Sebastian Rio Hondo. This is where I left off in my last post.

I truly felt at home here in these beautiful pine-forested mountains, volunteering in this sweet Montessori school, supporting them in bringing some more inspiration from the Waldorf philosophy to their preschool.  

I felt so lucky to stay with a woman (and her family) who is an amazing knitter and cook. She makes the tortillas for the whole village, and also cooks the delicious lunches for the school. Oh, I am already missing her cooking, and those tortillas!

I made so many friends here during my 3 1/2 week stay, and I was thinking if I could only return to one of the places I visited on this trip, it would be this place.  But then I remember how beautiful Lake Atitlan is and want to return there, and how much I loved my Spanish school (I could really stand to study more!). And those cenotes in Tulúm! I wish I could jump in one right now.  And then I think of all the places I haven't been yet - Peru, Ireland, Puerto Rico, Nepal... (stay tuned! 😉)

I am 5 days away from the end of this trip, and I am excited to go back to Portland. I don't know how to describe the feeling that comes from travelling for so long, from being away from home for so long. I feel energized and inspired. It brings a new perspective, changing how I look at everyday life at home...or at least it feels that way now... we'll see how it feels when I get there.  But I think there is this travelling mindset that sinks in ~ this openness to meeting new people wherever you go ~ this sense of wonder and awe in exploring new places and ideas ~ this flexibility that allows you to be ok with new experiences, like wearing the same 5 outfits for 3 months, like taking bucket showers, waiting an hour for the water to heat up on the fire, like falling asleep and waking up to the sounds of dogs barking, roosters crowing, donkeys braying, and turkeys gobbling, like not always being able to communicate everything you're thinking but still finding ways to connect with folks, like not having constant access to the internet...

Of course I will appreciate coming back to the comforts of home ~ cooking whatever I want to eat in my own kitchen ~ riding my bike ~ having access to my books, craft supplies, and clothes ~ and of course re-connecting with friends, family, my cats, and the land, plants, and animals of the Pacific Northwest.  But I hope to stay connected to this way of interacting with the world once I'm back home, at least for a while, and then I could go on another adventure! 

But for now, I'm really looking forward to being in Portland, just in time for Spring! 

It's hard to remember that it's winter these days ;)

From the terrace of my cabaña at a hostel in Mazunte, on a hill above the beach, I was trying to imagine cold and rainy Portland, my land-mate back home, fighting off raccoons in the middle of the night to save our chickens and ducks.  I was trying to imagine driving my car, listening to the news on public radio, or the sounds of geese and the great horned owls. Or the first buds starting to open in the forest after a long winter.  It felt so far away.

Then I started imagining where I was going next, a small ecovillage, in a small village in the mountains of Southern Oaxaca, with a little preschool and primary school for the local indigenous children as well as the children of the foreigners who live there. I could feel myself already there, and so excited to get inspired and help as a volunteer in any way I could.

And now, after a 2-hour collectivo ride through the extremely windy mountain roads, with the driver going so fast around the curves, wondering if I should have brought a plastic bag with me (just in case - or is my stomach strong enough?), I have arrived here at Ecovillananda.  Again, I find myself up around 8000ft, but here, the air is so clean. Again, cold nights and sunny days, the familiar sounds of turkeys gobbling, roosters crowing, and the occasional eruption of dogs barking. I can't wait to get to know this place, already feeling that 3 1/2 weeks will be too short.

I am back in Xela after 2 weeks at La Escuela de la Montaña, which is in a small village in the mountains, with many trees and plants everywhere. It was a welcome change from Xela, where I found that I was out of breath a lot. Not only was I breathing in so much exhaust from the cars and buses as I walked through the streets, on the tiny sidewalks, but the city is at about 8000ft, which I am not accustomed to.  Although it is called the Mountain School, I believe we were at a lower altitude, and I found it much easier to breathe.

At both schools, we had host families. In Xela, I stayed at their house, with my own room. I lived with 4 wonderful women (3 sisters and their mother). They also had 2 dogs and 1 chicken, who slept in a cardboard box in the house at night, roaming the yard during the day.  She laid her first egg while I was there!

I loved my host family. One sister worked part-time in a lawyer's office. Another sister worked remotely for a television station in Antigua, and the other sister attended University. They all also helped their mother tend the store that was connected to their house. The bell was always ringing when there was a customer, and they took turns going to help them.  I got into the rhythm of joining them, with my knitting, every evening to watch their telenovela (soap opera) before dinner.  It is a good way to learn a language -- watching soap operas.

The mother, and sometimes the sisters, made the best meals. The most typical food was eggs, refried black beans, plantains, and of course, tortillas -- always tortillas -- but it seemed that every meal was different, and delicious.  When I was sick with the flu for a couple of days, she made me chicken noodle soup.  One morning, she made pancakes. And one of the best treats was arroz con leche - rice with milk and sugar, for drinking.

At the Mountain School, we didn't sleep at our host family's house, just ate our meals there. The people in this village were extremely poor. They cooked our meals over fire on stoves made of cement blocks and metal. Many of the men would wake up at 4am to sometimes travel very far to go to the coffee farms to work, and it wasn't always sure that they would have work.  Some families had much nicer houses because one of the family members was in the United States sending back money.

To get to the United States legally from Guatemala, you need to have $125 US dollars just to make an appointment at the embassy to ask for a visa, and they will most likely say no, unless you know someone with influence, or have even more money.  So it is basically impossible for almost all of the families in this village because $125 is a TON of money for them.

Of course, most of my time this past month has been spent studying Spanish - in class 5 hours/day, 5 days/week, one-on-one with a different teacher each week. Then I had a lot of homework as well. Before I arrived at PLQ, I was a bit overwhelmed by the idea of so much time in class, but I was happy to find that the time really flew by.  All of my teachers were great at balancing teaching new grammar, practicing with exercises and worksheets, and conversation.  I spent a lot of time in classes talking  with my teachers about visions of the future, possibilities, politics, education, plant medicine, and so much more.

The last day of my second week in the city, my teacher and I really bonded when in the middle of a grammar lesson, the table started to shake. We were actually up on the second floor of a wooden building, a bit outside of where everyone was studying. The whole room began to shake quite a bit. Un temblor! They didn't call it an earthquake, more of a tremor, but it lasted at least 30 seconds, maybe longer.  Everyone was safe, but it was definitely a little scary, even for my teacher, who is used to them, with so many volcanoes and a fault line in this part of Guatemala. This was my first earthquake experience ever.  Apparently, it was a 6.5 at the epicenter, just over the border in Chiapas, Mexico. We were far away from there, so it wasn't as strong for us.

In Xela, I went on many field trips my first week. One of them was a hike to the viewpoint of a volcano, where the last picture of me was taken in my last post.  Our guide led us up this steep dusty trail so fast at 7am on Saturday. I love hiking, but I like to go slow, stopping every few minutes to look at plants or birds, so this hike was very hard for me, especially at 8000ft.  But we had to get to the viewpoint quickly to see the smoking crater before the clouds rolled in, which they did only 15 minutes after we arrived.  While our guide was telling us stories of his time fighting in the war, in those very mountains where we sat, we heard a rumbling sound, which, if you weren't paying attention, might have sounded like an airplane. But there were never airplanes flying overhead, and it was the volcano.  Then we saw thick smoke rising from the crater above the clouds. This place is very alive.

My second week in the city, I skipped a lot of the field trips so I could learn how to weave with a backstrap loom at a place called Trama Textiles.  This is a women's weaving cooperative where women from all over the surrounding villages, which are quite poor and still living with the effects of 30 years of civil war and a corrupt government, can bring their creations and get paid a price that they think is fair.  The women who run the organization, who are also Mayan women, have a store where they sell these beautiful clothes, bags, and other fabrics.  They also offer classes about weaving and embroidery.  So I spent 11 hours, over the course of a few days, on one project.  I have been trying to support these women's cooperatives when I can. There are so many little stores where you can buy these beautiful items, but I am often skeptical about who is profiting off of these sales.  So with the cooperatives, I have more confidence that I am paying a fair price, and that it actually goes to the people who did the work.

There are so many more stories to tell, but there is only so much I can write on my phone.  I am sad to be done studying Spanish.  I learned so much! But I've been feeling like there is a wall in my brain between everything I know and my ability to speak the language. I am hoping that my next 6 weeks in Mexico will give me the opportunity to practice more and break down this wall. I leave for Chiapas tomorrow morning. I am excited for the next leg of my journey, but sad to be leaving this beautiful country where the people are so nice.

If you have any interest in learning Spanish, I highly highly recommend PLQ and La Escuela de la Montaña. Not only do you get so much out of it, but your tuition truly goes toward supporting the local communities here and their projects.

Yet another amazing 2 weeks of this trip! With a recommendation from a dear friend, I have been attending an awesome Spanish language school here in Xela (Quetzaltenango), Guatemala. It's called PLQ, and I came here because the school has a strong social justice focus. It supports many local community programs, and is committed to teaching all students about the history, politics, and local community issues of the country, with presentations, documentaries, and field trips with local guides. My time here has been so educational, with a lot of intense and depressing information, and inspirational teachers.

As I learned about how recently war was the way of life here, I was reminded of how we do not get taught this kind of history/world politics in schools in the US (at least I didn't).  There are a lot of important things children don't learn in school, but I suppose that is a whole other blog.

The history of colonization in Guatemala, and of how the indigenous people here are and have been treated, is not unfamiliar if you have have studied the history of colonization and oppression of indigenous people in the US. Guatemala has a large population of indigenous Mayan people, with 21 of the 24 languages spoken here being different Mayan languages, such as K'iche, Mam, and Tzutujil.  In the 1800s, the government stole land from the indigenous people and gave it to German coffee farmers, and then made new laws allowing the rounding up of landless folks and forcing them into slave labor for the coffee harvest every year.  Also, these coffee farm owners were granted immunity for certain crimes, such as murder.

It wasn't until 1944, when a revolution sparked a 10-year Democratic Spring in Guatemala, that the lower and middle-class began to get more of a voice, with the new presidents during this time working toward social and economic change, including better health care and education, voting rights for women, and restricting the privileges of the elite class. First Juan Jose Arevalo, and then Jacobo Arbenz Guzman, were the presidents during this time. When Arbenz decided to enact a land reform law, which would take away unused agricultural land from large property owners to give to landless rural folks (remember how it was their land to begin with?), guess who didn't like this ~ The United Fruit Company. And guess who were major stockholders of the UFC at the time ~ the US Secretary of State and the director of the CIA.  So, of course, the US/CIA organized a coup to stop this from happening, and put in power someone they liked better. All of this took place over a few years, and eventually led to a major civil war in Guatemala, lasting from 1960 to 1996. So many people died and were disappeared, 83% of them, indigenous Mayans, and the majority of humans rights violations were found to be committed by the state.

So much violence, tragedy, corruption, and trauma, and not that long ago.  The war is now in the past, but the reality today is that there are still very few work opportunities, especially for the rural indigenous folks. There are many transnational companies here, and mega-projects happening, including mining, hydroelectric, African palm oil, sugarcane, and bananas. These companies are all either using up valuable resources, such as land and water, or polluting them, or both, and this has sparked a lot of community resistance, which in turn triggers more violence from the state, and at least 196 activists have been assassinated since 2000. So there is still a lot of work to be done fighting corruption here in Guatemala.

Back in 2006, an agreement between the United Nations and Guatemala set up an independent body called the CICIG, the International Commission Against Impunity in Guatemala, which has been successfully working against corruption in the government, and other organized crime. Unfortunately, the current president, Jimmy Morales, another celebrity-turned-president, who is being investigated for illegal campaign funding and sexual harrassment by the CICIG, declared last year that he would not be renewing the agreement allowing the CICIG to continue its work in Guatemala. At least 71% of Guatemalans are against this decision, and it is dangerous for many reasons.

I have left out so many details, and key figures, but I really wanted to share with you a bit of what I have been learning here (without writing a book about it). In fact, there already is a book about some of this that was recommended to me, called Bitter Fruit: The Story of the American Coup in Guatemala by Stephen Kinzer.  Learning about the history, the politics, and the realities of life for people here was one of the goals I had for this trip. With all of the talk and news and rhetoric about immigration and caravans of refugees coming to the US, I feel it is important to hear the stories of real people with first-hand experience, in order to understand the complexity of the situation. This is what PLQ is making possible for me, and I am so grateful.  Next time I share, less history, more first-hand accounts, plus other lighter stories of my time here, including stories about animals, food, weaving, weather, volcanoes, earthquakes, and more, oh, and more pictures.

This morning, I head to PLQ's sister school, La Escuela de la Montaña, for 2 more weeks of studying Spanish. I have heard it's very similar to PLQ, but a bit warmer, and not in the city, so, more nature, which I am really excited about!