Griffins in Guate!

Two weeks ago my wonderful parents and their own personal Spanish translator, otherwise known as my eldest brother Ryan, made a trip down to Guatemala to visit me. It was Ryan’s second visit but my parents first time in my new home of Guatemala. It was a packed week trying to experience as much as Guatemala as possible in such a short amount of time. Since I am not very talented at narrative writing (or writing in general), here are some highlights of what we did:

We visited the great Mayan ruins of Tikal. The sheer magnitude of the pyramids can only be appreciated in person. With our less than accurate map, we wandered around the park, climbed pyramids, and stood in awe of the works of such a great civilization.

Outside of Flores we went to an ecological park to zip-line in the jungle. It was late in the afternoon on Easter Sunday and the place had already closed, but with a little convincing from our cab driver, they decided to let us go on the tour. Though she was a little leery at first, my mom joined us and ended up having a great time (I think). She would start breaking from the moment she left the platform, while, in complete contrast, my dad would wait to the very last moment to break nearly colliding with the guide…every time.

The women of Nu’Kem threw a party for my parents at the store fit with kak’ik, piñatas, and another Chubby Bunny competition (surprisingly the woman that threw up last time volunteered to participate again and came in a respectable fourth…I won). My mom was concerned that I am instilling an unhealthy competitive spirit in the women, but I think the no holds barred scrum for the piñata candy proved to her that while I may have some culpability in fueling their competitiveness, I am by no means the source.

Though they courteously tried everything that was given to them, I don’t think the tamalitos and kak’ik sat very well with my parents. But what proved most shocking to my family about the meal were the three full bags of sugar that were dumped into the caldron of coffee. Sugar could be its own food group here, and Guatemalans find it unthinkable to drink coffee without it. I still get looks of utter bewilderment when I ask for coffee without sugar.

My sitemate, Michelle, attended the party. She has visited the store a handful of times and quite a few of the women know her, so I didn’t think to introduce her to the whole group. As we were leaving, I overheard a couple of women speculating that she was my parents’ muchacha. I didn’t correct them.

Ryan went out with a group of Peace Corps volunteers and me in Antigua to celebrate Kelly’s 28th birthday and was unwittingly subjected to our unique brand of Peace Corps Spanglish and incessant use of acronyms. Well into the evening, one of my group members distressingly stated, “He has been here for less than a week and already speaks better Spanish than I do!” Her spirits were immediately revived upon learning that my brother is a college Spanish professor.

We climbed the active Volcán Pacaya just south of Guatemala City. Or more accurately, my dad, brother and I climbed Pacaya while my mom rode a horse. The entrepreneurial boys at the park entrance offer their services of a horse for those not inclined to walk. Being the savvy businessmen that they are, even after being initially declined, they follow behind groups with their enticing painless rides to the top waiting for people to succumb. My mom wisely succumbed.

Getting to stand just a few yards from flowing lava is a very fascinating experience. It flowed like water but was extremely dense. My dad found it interesting that rocks would bounce off of it like it was rubber, and my mom discovered through a little spill that after it has hardened, it is razor sharp. And I threw a boy’s stick in the lava.
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When I returned to Tactic after seeing my parents off at the airport, my host mom said to me, “There were so many things that your mom wanted to tell me, but she couldn’t…But I understood.” My parents don’t speak Spanish, but they made connections despite that. The women of my association got to know my mom’s wonderful character through her constant smiles, her tears of gratitude for the gifts they gave, her spontaneous laughter, and her unceasing willingness to help. Culture may be tied up in language, but there are some things that are unmistakably universal.