Pre-Christmas adrenaline rush

Warning: mom, you may not want to read this one.

Jungle instinct dictates that when traveling by foot one must consistently scan the ground 5-10 feet in front of you, rather than looking absent-mindedly ahead, to the sides, or up. This ground-scanning behavior stems from the constant threat of snakes. According to my Rough Guide to Belize, there are 60 kinds of snakes here, only (only?) 9 of which are venomous, though, the book continues, you are unlikely to see any snakes at all. I’m not sure where the writer to this guide was hanging out, but it was certainly not in the southern-most part of the country where I pass my days.  Two days in a row now I have come within 2 feet of stepping on a deadly snake. Before you have a heart attack, I’ll admit that both times the snake was less than 2 feet long, baby snakes. The first one I came across was a coral snake, recognized by its broad black and red stripes, with thinner yellow strips and a yellow mark on it’s head. Ipod on, mentally preparing for a run, I was a little surprised when I noticed the small, colorful serpent making its way across the road, not far from my house. I trying to kill it, but then I thought, who am I to put an end to the life of another creature. So I kept my distance and continued on with my run.

At this point I should emphasize that in Maya culture it is considered bad luck to see a snake and then not kill it. The people in my village would tell me that now the snake would come looking for me, and I should have just killed it. Despite being averse to silly superstitions, I generally take village lore semi-seriously, and continued to think about that coral snake, hoping that it would recognize that I spared its life and in turn spare me mine. The next day I again set out for an evening jog. Just as I arrived at the exact spot where I had met the coral snake I again saw a small slithering form crossing the road. This time it was not the non-aggressive coral snake, but was instead a very deadly Fer-de-Lance. I will now defer to World Book Encyclopedia for a description:

Fer-de-lance, pronounced fair duh LAHNS, is one of the largest and deadliest of the poisonous snakes. It lives in tropical America, and on some islands in the Caribbean. It has velvety scales, marks of rich brown and gray, and a yellowish throat. The fer-de-lance lives in both wet and dry places, in forests as well as open country. Young snakes eat lizards and frogs, and adults feed on birds and small mammals. There may be more than 70 young in one brood. The baby snakes have fully formed fangs and can give a poisonous bite. A fer-de-lance strikes swiftly. The snake may grow to 8 feet (2.4 meters) in length. Its name is French and means lance blade.

No doubt by now some of my snake-phobic readers are getting a little woosy, but the story didn’t end there. At this point I figured that seeing two deadly snakes in the same spot, at the same time of day was not a good sign.  I decided to ere on the side of the Maya and kill the snake. Unfortunately I don’t generally take my machete with me on my runs, so I chose as my weapon a fist-sized rock.  Standing above the Fer-de-Lance, but not close enough for it to reach me, I hurled the rock down with some force. I hit the snake in the middle of its back, injuring but not killing it. I am not a cruel person, so I couldn’t allow it to lay there dying.  I chose another rock with the aim of crushing its head. Still not wanting to get close, it took a couple of tries before a rock hit the target and the coiled snake ceased moving. I felt a little bad, but as I made my way down the road I comforted myself with the thought that if someone in the village had fallen victim to a snakebite, I would have felt worse.

Christmas Shopping

Going to the mall would have been so much easier. But since Belize does not have a mall, I did my holiday shopping in the next best thing...Guatemala.

As the crow flies, I live about 35 miles from the Guatemalan border, but of course I am not a crow and sadly cannot fly. Instead, we (being Jeff and I) woke up at 5am and biked 4 miles to a junction in the road where we were able to meet a bus headed to the border town of Jalacte. 30 miles and 2 hours later (yes, it is a slow ride), we arrived at the border. The walk into the Guatemalan border town of Santa Cruz is about 1 mile of slogging through knee deep mud, crossing a river, and through a cow pasture.  Defying all sense of fashion in my cargo pants tucked into my massive rubber boots, I made it across the border with limited mud splatters.

From Santa Cruz we crammed into a min-van with 25 other adults and children and started towards the slightly more commercial town of Chacte, located on the Pan-American Highway. The goal for our visit and the reason that Guatemala is such an enticing holiday shopping destination is the abundance of cheap textiles and other easy to carry gifts and souvenirs. The food is also good. Our trip towards Chacte was delayed due to a cattle truck stuck in a mud hole, but after some walking, we got picked up by another truck and rode the rest of the way standing up in the back with a couple of other families. Chacte was bustling and seemed crowded compared with the calmness that one gets used to in sparsely populated Belize. For lunch we both enjoyed strawberry milkshakes, and then continued our shopping. We both picked up some great Christmas gifts and then headed back.

Hitching a ride in the back of a truck once again, we arrived at the still stuck cattle truck, walking around and climbing into a mini-van headed towards the border. The driver wasn't in any hurry, though we were anxious to get on our way since we had a bus to meet in Jalacte in order to make it back to Blue Creek. The clock ticked on as our driver watched the attempts to dislodge the truck using another truck, palm fronds, and lots of shovels and dirt. An hour and 20 additional passengers later, we finally started. I was skeptical about us reaching the border in time for us to make our bus, which if we missed would mean sleeping on the floor of another volunteer's house and catching the morning bus at 3:30am. Twenty minutes before our bus out of Jalacte was scheduled to leave, we arrived in Santa Cruz. Jeff, being the fitter of the two of us, sprinted his way through the mud and water to meet the bus and convince it to not leave us behind. I jogged/walked as fast as I could with a backpack and oversized boots on, trying to avoid falling into the quicksand-like mud. Sixteen minutes later I came stumbling up the hill on the Belize side of the border. The bus was just coming up the road. I had barely caught my breath before I climbed on.

On the return trip to where our bikes were parked, we were delayed by a police search looking for "contraband." Thankfully I hadn't bought any alcohol, drugs, or fireworks, but that didn't stop the police office from looking skeptically at my stash of fabric and a lone apple. As the sun set, we arrived at our bikes and peddled the final 4 miles to Blue Creek. Mud up to my thighs and exhausted, I immediately subjected myself to an ice-cold shower before curling up to a hot bowl of rice and a pirated copy of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban on DVD.

Tommy the Turkey's Big Day

Meet Tommy, our honored guest at Thanksgiving this year. Tommy was born and corn-raised in Dump, Belize and had the privilege of being Thanksgiving dinner. In the spirit of do-it-yourselfness that pervades the Peace Corps psyche, we decided to begin the day by getting in touch with our inner hunters, and started dinner from scratch. Tommy joined us early in the A.M., and several men much tougher than myself armed with Guatemalan machettes, rope, and a strong stomach put an end to Tommy's short, though I am sure very meaningful life. The process was a slow one, as the group of 10 highly educated volunteers had to debate the proper way to drain the blood, pluck the feathers, burn the feathers off, gut, clean, prep and roast a turkey.

Two hours after Tommy was relieved of his head, he was in the oven. I have to admit that I was skeptical of the results, predicting a very tough, gamey meat, but as I usually am, I was proven wrong. Tommy joined the green bean casserole, potatoes, salads, stuffing, and cranberries and stole the show. Sure, he was a little small compared to the hormone fattened beasts you meet in the states, but he did his best to fill our waiting stomachs. By 7pm the bones were picked clean and the last bowls were getting washed out. The 4 pies (pumpkin, key lime, and cherry cheesecake) also came and went quickly. Warmed by rum and feelings of accomplishment, we shared what were Thankful for and basked in the glow of friendship and good food.

While being so far from home for the holidays is not always easy, this was honestly one of my best Thanksgivings and I am so Thankful for this experience, my friends here and back home, and for my family that has supported me every step of the way.

Garifuna Dancing video

Artist for Peace

This week has been a very cultural one. On Wednesday Tumul K'in School hosted a Maya Ceremony (H'uk) similar to the one I attended in Guatemala. That meant another late night of offerings, Marimba music, and corn products and a 4:30am wake-up call to travel to a local ruin to perform the offerings. Once again, it was a great honor to be able to observe this event.

Friday I traveled to the Garifuna village of Barranco for a special event featuring Belize's most famous son. The Garifuna are an ethnic group in Belize that originate from the island of St. Vincent where a recked slave ship and the local indigenous population combined to form a unique Caribbean-African language and culture. They came to Belize when forced from St. Vincent by the British, and this Monday is the National Holiday of Settlement day that celebrates this journey and arrival in Belize. The language, music, and dance of the Garifuna are unique and amazing, but like many small cultures, in danger of disappearing. One exceptionally talented musician, Andy Palacio, has made it his mission to preserve his culture through Garifuna Language music that is now known the world over. He recently received the UNESCO Artist for Peace Award, and I was there in Barranco, his home village, to see the event.

We arrived in the back of a truck on a perfectly sunny day with a cool breeze rolling off the Carib Sea. The beat of the drums greeted us as we headed towards the park where the event would take place. Shortly, a parade of dancing school children and singing women made their way to the village wharf as a boat full of international press and Andy Palacio himself arrived by water. He was given praise by his family and community, and presented his award for his exceptional efforts at peace and cultural preservation through his music. Andy Palacio would say to me later that this ceremony usually takes place at the UNESCO headquarters in Paris, but this one was special because he was in his home village. He would join ranks of Celine Dion, who also holds the honor of international artist for Peace. The short ceremony ended with dancing, drumming and singing.

Everyone moved on to lunch, which was a traditional feast of mashed green plantain (hudut) and coconut soup (serre) with fresh fish. I got my plate, sat at a table, and who should inquire about an empty seat but the man of the hour himself, Andy Palacio. I should emphasize that this is by far the most famous Belizean in the world, and regularly sells out concerts world-wide, so I was pretty honored. I also want to emphasize that his music is amazing and you can probably find his CD "Watina" at your local Borders, and I encourage everyone to go and get it and listen to it. Anyways, back to lunch. I tried to scoot over to make room, but the awkward slope of the group where we were sitting and the tight space proved too much for my clumsy self, and in the process of making room for Andy, I managed to spill some of his serre on him and the table. He was very gracious, came back with a cloth to clean up, and sat and made conversation anyways. He signed my CD and went on to do interviews with the press and we left Barranco amid the beat of more drums, but I had the distinction of not only eating lunch with a world famous musician, but embarrassing myself as only I can do. Way to go grace indeed.

Links and music for Andy Palacio (really, check them out!)
Music Downloads for Andy Palacio
PBS Frontline Interview with Andy
YouTube Behind the Music Video for Watina CD
National Geographic World Music on Andy Palacio with audio from Watina

Temperature Check

For the first time in at least 8 months the temperature dipped below 70
degrees. Sometime during night as I lay shivering under my sheet and thin
blanket the thermometer recorded 69 degrees with 48% humidity as the new
recorded low. And it's not even December yet! By the time we get to
Christmas it is quite possible that we might see as cold as 63 or even 60
degrees. Time to dig out the extra sheet and long pajama pants, it could be
a brief, slightly chilly winter.

the work I do

Lately I have been stretching for new and interesting things to write about because, frankly, not all that much is new or interesting to me anymore. You live in a place for 17 months (?!?) and no matter how strange the conditions were when you arrived, out of necessity you adapt. You wake with the roosters, you shower outdoors and you wear a sweater when it dips below 80 degrees. And that is just life and that is just normal.

So instead of the out of ordinary that I seek to inspire me, I thought that perhaps I should give the ordinary a shot. My work. That's right, I do actually do more than bake, read, and swing in my hammock all day. Maybe not a whole lot more on some days, but lately I have been relatively busy.

A couple of months ago I wrote about some meetings I had up in the capital with the Institute of Archeology and the Forest Department. Basically, these government agencies would like to establish the cave in Blue Creek as a community co-managed protected area. Since then some big things have happened. I have been having lots and lots of meetings with several groups in the village about establishing tourism-based businesses and I have begun some budget/hospitality training with these groups. The village council formed a task force to oversee the co-management agreement and now the Blue Creek Tourism Committee (BCTC) is an official entity. A couple of weeks ago we hosted a meeting in the village that was attended by representatives from 3 different gov't agencies that had made the 4 hour trip from the capital. It was a great meeting (see pics) and we laid out the foundations for making Blue Creek a major tourism destination while acknowledging the importance of protecting the environment. A UN funded agency (Global Environmental Fund) wants to provide us with a planning grant that could result in a building grant of $80,000BZ that would fund a visitors center, trails, and training for guides. I will be assisting the BCTC on the applications for this grant, the planning, and the implementation of the project.

The process of forming this co-management agreement while working on the overall economic development of the village of Blue Creek will also be the basis of the Masters Degree project that I will be finishing at UW next fall. It's all coming together. I am very excited and inspired by the work I am doing right now and feel fortunate that I am able to contribute to a project that will have a major impact on this village that has been my home for over a year now.

Homemade

Cooking was always something I enjoyed back in the USA, even when I had at my disposal every variety of tasty take-out and a multitude of delectable dining options. Now my eating-out options are limited to greasy tacos or BBQ chicken while in town and to the occasional kid with a bucket of tamales in the village. The necessity of food variety has spurred me to get crafty in the kitchen.

My homemade crazy began with simple soups, curries, and sweet breads. Bananas and plantains are cheap, so they provide the basis for the majority of my dessert cooking, benefiting friends and neighbors as a I try to get rid of the sugary treats. Then, in attempt to avoid all the high-carb foods that make up a typical Caribbean diet, I set out to master the art of making whole-wheat bread. I started with whole wheat tortillas, and just last week produced a batch of rolls that weren't rock hard or doughy in the middle. The gas oven without a proper temperature dial is a bit tricky, but a think I have it down now.

My confidence in my bread-making ability led me to the ultimate in homemade staples: yogurt. For a long time I couldn't find plain yogurt in town, which is necessary to start, but last month someone in Punta Gorda as crafty as myself began selling fresh yogurt. I had my starter, now I just had to figure out how to make the stuff. Thank you internet. Using my slow-cooker set to warm as an incubator, I produced my first batch of homemade yogurt. It was a little runny, so I for the 2nd batch I let in sit longer and took extra care to sterilize all the materials. It worked, and this morning I had a bowl of fresh yogurt with cereal, perfectly tart and thick.

I have surprised myself at my ability to adapt and to learn, but I don't expect to be making bread and yogurt once I get back to the USA. Let's face it, the one thing I have plenty of now is time, and I don't think that will be the case after August 2008. But until that time, I will try to improve my bread and yogurt skills, perhaps moving on gardening.

Checkmate

Garisson Keillor once blamed long Minnesota winters for inspiring people to read War and Peace in self-imposed isolation. I can't blame Minnesota or the winter that you folks up North are approaching for my recent quest, so I'll blame the nine months of hard work that separates me from the end of my Peace Corps service.

Reading War and Peace is something that has always been on my life list of things to do, and what better time than now? The copy that currently sits on bedside cardboard box is a 1940's translation by Maude, three volumes in one printed on tissue-thin India paper. I’ve carried this little book with me for a long time, knowing that at some point I would get inspired to turn those pages.  As of today I am 330 pages into the 1580 page epic and actually enjoying the experience. Keeping my World Book Encyclopedia open to the Napoleonic Wars of the early 19th century has aided me as I absorb the story of the many sides of war and life in Russia during that period.

This literary quest plays right into my second obsession of the moment, which is increasing my skills as a chess player.  While trying to remember the names of the many characters in the book, I can challenge my Mac to a friendly game of chess. The battles waged against Napoleon provide me with the insight needed to strategically out maneuver my electronic foe.  And likewise, the moves on a chessboard make sense out of the seeming confusion of the battlefields that Tolstoy depicts. Now, I know what you're thinking, could I have possible have chosen two more solitary and depressing activities with which to pass my free time? Probably, but I figure that having read War and Peace and being able to play a decent game of chess are things that can only make a person stronger. And while I love what I am doing, I am going to need that kind of strength to get to the other side of these next nine months.

VICTORY: Toledo Communal Land Case Results

CJ to GOB: hands off Maya lands

Friday, 19 October 2007

By Angel Novelo - Staff Reporter

Mayan leaders Greg Choc and Cristina Coc share the good news with their supporters.

The Mayan communities in southern Belize are celebrating great victory today, having successfully convinced the Supreme Court that they are indeed constitutionally entitled to land rights they currently occupy.

Chief Justice Abdulai Conteh, in a bench mark ruling Thursday, agreed with the Maya leaders and villagers of both Santa Cruz and Conejo, stating that the Government of Belize was wrong in failing to recognise, protect and respect their land rights, which is rooted in traditional custom.

The Chief Justice, in his 67 page judgement, which took almost three hours to read, stated that “there is no evidence in any event, to warrant me to find that the Maya of southern Belize as the indigenous inhabitants, ceded their lands or suffered them to be taken as a spoil of conquest when the borders of British Honduras were extended south of the Sibun River in 1859, to include what is today the Toledo District.”

The Chief Justice’s ruling, which was witnessed by court room filled with Mayan people, who travelled from Toledo to hear the ruling, clapped in joy when Conteh finished reading his judgement.

The Maya community took the Government of Belize to court and asked it to declare that they do hold collective and individual rights to the land and resources that they have used and occupied in the past and that these rights constitute property as stipulated in section 3 and 17 of the Belize Constitution.

Chief Justice Conteh agreed with the Maya and stated that the evidence presented by their people was overwhelming.

The Government of Belize, he noted, failed to prove that the Maya rights to the land was forfeited when the government acquired territorial sovereignty over the area.

Nichola Cho, a government attorney attached to the Ministry of Natural Resources, argued the case for the Government of Belize.

Cho in her arguments before the court earlier this year, claimed that several factors had evolved during the pre-independence era of Belize which extinguished the Maya pre-existing rights and interest in the land after the assumption of the territorial sovereignty of Belize by the British.

But the Chief Justice explained that he was of the view that “regardless of when territorial sovereignty was established over Belize... historical fact did not by itself, ordinary, without more, extinguish pre-existing rights or to interest in land that the indigenous people enjoyed.”

Apart from agreeing with the Maya people, the Chief Justice also ordered the government to cease and abstain from any acts that may lead its agents or third parties to affect the Maya existence, values, use of enjoyment, unless such acts are done with their consent and in compliance of the Belize Constitution.

The Chief Justice ordered the government to determine, demarcate and provide official documentation of both Santa Cruz and Conejo’s title and rights in accordance with Maya customary law and practices.

The court has also ordered the government to abstain from issuing any lease or grants to lands or resources, registering any such interest in lands, issuing any regulations concerning land or resources and refrain from issuing any concessions for resources or exploitation of Maya land.
Last Updated ( Friday, 19 October 2007 )

Pre-Tikal Ceremony Video

I am trying out this video thing. YouTube wasn't cooperating with me, but hopefully this works.

Video from Offering

Pictures from Maya celebration

Crossing the border to Guatemala

Jeff and I in traditional dress

A journey of tradition

Back in my bank teller days, Columbus day was one of those holidays I always took as a bonus, a day off when almost everyone else had to work, never really putting much thought into the break. Of course I knew that the Columbus story has many versions, but growing up the midst of the most popular version I never had a reason to think deeply about the significance of the "discovery" of the "new" world. This week I stood among temples thousands of years older than the arrival of the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria while hundreds of proud Maya from across Central America prayed and left offerings. This put things into perspective. But before reaching that grassy plaza at Tikal, there was a journey, and the theme of that journey was traditional.

My village is only about 20 miles from the Guatemala border, but traveling there usually means driving 150 miles north to the nearest road crossing or taking a 2 hour boat ride across the Bay of Honduras. But out group chose to take the most direct route, beginning our travels in the traditional way, on foot. Two hours by bus from Blue Creek brought us to Jalacte where we raced the approaching rain. Making our way down a muddy slope, wading through a river, and across a cow pasture, we found ourselves in Guatemala after a 20 minute walk.*  Suddenly we were surrounded by Spanish language, electricity, and population, all lacking just 25 minutes before. A chartered van arrived shortly, getting us all packed in just as the torrential rain, which would fall almost continually throughout our entire trip, began to fall.  Arriving in Poptun as darkness approached we made our way to Casa de la Esperanza, the school that would be hosting our group and several hundred other Maya travelers. We hardly had time to put our bags down on our bunk beds before the ceremonies began.  After everyone had filled up on a traditional meal of beans and poch** the ceremonies began.

The school boarded about 400 students and focused it’s education on traditional Maya values and worldview, much like Tumul K’in, the school in Blue Creek that I was traveling with. Parents of many of these students had come to the festivities, most bringing offerings of food, fire wood, and copal*** that is an important part of the offering ceremony. As each person made their gift offering, they danced around the circle where the offerings were placed according to the 4 elements (represented by black, yellow, white, and red). Spiritual leaders, distinguished by bright head-wraps, organized the offerings and blessed them for the larger ceremony that would take place the next day at Tikal. The Miramba music kept the crowd going for the entire night, with people occasionally resting briefly before resuming the dance. At 2am Caldo (soup) and tortillas were served, at at 3am the coffee started going.

3:40am: After a few brief hours of rest, punctuated by the dancing and speeches that kept going all night, I woke and walked across the road to take an ice-cold bucket bath (no showers).  I filled my water-bottle with sugary coffee drink and hopped in the van. We were on on the road by 4am. Three hours later the caravan of mini-buses approached the gates of Tikal, stopping only to use the bathroom, buy rain poncho’s, and get some breakfast. An hour of speeches at the visitors center allowed for stragglers to reach before the procession made the 20 minute walk to the Central Plaza. Here the large stone slabs stood ready for the hundreds of pounds of offerings that the procession brought, just as they had been at the height of the Maya Empire a thousand years ago. Candles, copal, alcohol, and any other gifts burned for hours as people came and left the never-ending circle of energy that surrounded the leaping flames. A conch shell blew and the whole crowd lowered to their knees and prayed to each of the 4 elements, facing East, North, West, and South for each element.  I was told that the conch shell is used to invite the spirits of the ancestors that may be present to come forward during the prays. Standing to one side, I knew I was a mere observer to this event, but I could feel the love and spiritual connection that the people felt for this place and their heritage. It’s hard to describe what it’s like to see a piece of history tied so closely with the present.

We spent that night, exhausted, at the school. The return journey was much the same as when we came, though 3 days of heavy rains had made the already muddy path into Belize a ridiculous affair. The stream we waded across was now a flooded torrent and we had to chose between getting shuttled on a mule or pulled in a small boat. I chose the mule, holding my breath as the water came up to my knees while I held tightly to the animal as it struggled to get it’s footing in the flooded river. By 8pm I was home. I basked in the clean water that pounded on me from my shower, my first real bath in 3 days, and ate a late dinner of cereal and soy milk. I sank into bed, still in awe of my good fortune at being included in such an amazing piece of tradition.

PS – I forgot to mention the hospitality. Even though I am clearly not Maya and do not speak K’etchi at all or Spanish very well, I was made to feel very welcome at these emotional events by the people at the school and at Tikal. Sure, I got a few odd stares, but I got a lot more smiles, plenty of laughs, and handshakes that communicated the welcome atmosphere.


*This is perfectly legal as long as you report to the Police in Belize when you leave, and then to the Police in the nearest town upon arriving in Guatemala.
**Poch is a big hunk of ground corn cooked in a banana leaf.
*** Copal is tree sap that is burned as incense in offering ceremonies.

26 and counting

I'm a little older now, after spending my entire 25th year in another country (well except for brief escapes to Guatemala and the states). Honestly, I was expecting the day to pass much like any other, maybe a plate of rice and beans instead of beans and rice, but not so.

One of the members of the 2007 group of volunteers took it upon herself to
make my birthday into a real event, complete with Strawberry Shortcake party hats, chocolate covered bananas with sprinkles at midnight, and cake for breakfast. I felt pretty special, which is a good thing to feel when you reach the 30 side of your twenties.

Tomorrow, in celebration of Pan-America days I am going with a group of Maya
leaders to Tikal in Guatemala (see cover of August National Geographic for a
picture of Tikal: Below). It should be a great experience as Maya communities from
throughout Belize, Guatemala, and Mexico converge on this major ancient city
to tell their version of the Columbus story. I am excited to be included in
the event and should have some good stories to tell after we cross into
Guatemala on foot, catch a few local buses, sleep over at a high school and
parade into Tikal with thousands of others. It's as close to going native as
I'll probably get.

Welcome Back Mac

Two months ago, my little iBook G4 went away. I never (publicly) went into the details of what led to it's "malfunction," because up until now it had been too painful, but now that I have it safely back in Belize I can make my confession.

I am an irresponsible computer owner.

It's true, I was responsible for the "hardware problem" that crippled my computer, taking with it my ability to regularly write.  In making this confession and clearing my conscience, I can only hope that Apple employees responsible for honoring the AppleCare Extended Warranty are not reading this, and if they are, will respect my honesty.  Anyways, I often travel(ed) around Belize with my computer in search of free wireless internet. This was the case when, shortly after returning to Belize from my vacation in the states, I met a good friend and RPCV from Nicaragua in Placencia for a couple of days.  Placencia has free internet, great beaches, decent food, and at least one place to indulge in fruity over-rum'ed drinks.  And that is exactly how the day went, in that order.  After the fruity rum drinks, myself, my visiting friend, and another Belize PCV returned to our hostel to continue the rum-drink trend. My Mac and portable speakers provided us with the tunes, and after a little bit we started socializing with a group of traveling Austrians in the common room. We forgot all about the still music-playing computer that was sitting on the dresser, next to the window in our room.  

Then, as in all great tragedies, a storm blew in, soaking everything in our room: beds, pillows, bags, towels, and of course, my ibook.  I didn't realize this at the time, because I was enjoying my conversations with friends and fellow vagabonds in the still-dry kitchen of the hostel. When we saw how soaked our room had got, I put my computer to sleep, found a drier room, and slept off the head-splitting after-effects of Belize and Nicaragua's finest rums.  

The next day, sometime in the mid-morning, I returned to our original room to pack up and change.  I went to start up my computer in order to write some emails and the unthinkable happen.  The spinning color wheel of purgatory (this is something akin to the blue screen of death for PC users). That wheel just kept on spinning, leaving me hanging in the no-mans-land between an off-computer and an on-computer.  I tried to reboot in safe mode, but this pushed the ibook into the great white light, from whence it did not return. I packed up the computer, sure that once it dried out it would again greet me with the happy "Ahhh'nnn" sound that ibooks make when they wake up. It didn't.

The story ends well, as you may deduce from the fact that I write this from the same computer that experienced an untimely death at the hands of its rum-soaked owner. I had purchased the extended 3-year warranty before leaving the USA, and had backed up all music, pics, and docs on the external hard-drive I got for Christmas from my Dad. My Country Director, Eileen, helped me out with getting the computer to the states, my Mom did the leg work getting it to Apple, and the US Embassy did it's part by unknowingly sending and receiving the computer through APO (shhh..this is a secret).  Long story short: a happy mac is made sad by water, so keep your mac a happy mac and keep it a dry mac.

Temptation

Standing in front of the sparkling clean freezer-case, I was faced with a
dilemma. Is $19 BZ too much to pay for a pint of Ben and Jerry's? Before I
tell you how I answered that very important question, let me explain how
amazing it is to be in the big city.

Belize City, a bustling metropolis of 35,000 people, has so much to offer.
Besides the only two fully functioning traffic lights in the country, Belize
City is also home to the only movie theatre, casino, put-put course (which
is now a bar), Indian restaurant, and grocery store that accepts debit
cards. I have wireless internet in my hotel room and I can buy soy milk and
shredded mini-wheats at the grocery store. All amazing things, but it is
all a matter of what a person is willing to pay for such luxuries.

So, back to the freezer case at the 2nd fanciest grocery store in the
country. $19BZ can buy a lot of things in this little country: 4 plates of
BBQ chicken, a bus ticket to Punta Gorda, a water-taxi to Caye Caulker, 57
tacos, 4 hours on the internet, and apparently one pint of Vermont's finest
ice cream. But I just couldn't do it, even though Chunky Monkey and Phish
Food did everything in their power to convince me that $8.50 US was a good
deal. So I said no and moved on. A mistake, perhaps, but some principles
just can't be compromised, no matter how tasty the temptation.

My shower and Me

A rain poncho for a curtain and plenty of room to dance.

A group of 2nd Year Volunteers

Our numbers diminished, the hardy (at least those who showed up for the
picture) are left standing.

A lesson from the classics

  Here's a quote that I picked up from Jane Eyre (Charlotte Bronte, writing):

"What good it would have done me at that time to have been tossed into the storms of an uncertain struggling life, and to have been taught by rough and bitter experience to long for the calm amidst which I now repind."

Thanks Jane, you have thus summed up pretty well why, those many years ago when I signed up for all of this.  I have to remind myself of that urge, which Jane so Britishly portrayed, to leave the comfortable and seek the difficult.  Even on good or great or even outstanding days, which seem to be the norm nowadays, I find myself at some point or another gazing wistfully into space, conjuring up some image of easy, American life.  Maybe I'm checking the internet and notice that the temperature is 65° and sunny in Spokane, WA.  This seems unfathomable.  I can honestly no longer recall what it feels like to stand in full sunshine without breaking into a sweat and retreating as quickly as possible into shade.  Side-note: I do not, nor will I ever develop a tan while I am in Belize. The thought of baking myself under a tortuous sun seems damned absurd.  So what I am trying to say is that 65° and sunny sounds really good right about now and can't wait to be away from this heat.

Another instigator of Washington State whimsy is doing dishes.  I will never, once I'm done, complain about dishes again.  As it stands, after each meal I stack my dishes into a plastic strainer and carry them through my muddy yard to my water pipe, which releases its flow at about 24 inches above the dirt.  I utilize pot or large container for the soapy water and balance a strainer on some rocks while I assume a squatting position to avoid bending in half while I soap, scrub, and rinse each dish, getting splashed by dish water and muddy back splash in the meanwhile.  I carefully stack the clean dishes back into the strainer and balance it on my hip as I make my way back into the house.  I can not accurately convey how much this sucks.  I repeat this routine on average twice a day, have been for a year now, because even the slightest delay in attending to my dishes would attract the attention of the thousands of blood-thirsty ants that stand waiting, in case the smallest morsel of food should drop to the floor.

And those are just two examples of the daily reminders of how much easier my life once was, and will surely be again someday.  But Jane Eyre was right, what it has done me indeed to be tossed right here where I am.  My experience, often rough and occasionally bitter has taught me a thing or two.  So, back to those storms of a perfectly uncertain life I go.

Shower at Last

Big news, after a year of oh so humbly taking my baths in the lovely Mojo River that runs through my village, I now have a shower!  I guess I should have asked sooner, because not one week after I took my request to the village waterboard, I had myself an enclosed structure complete with walls and roof over an existing cement slab that allows me to shower in total privacy.  The water pressure is amazing and no one can see through, so that means no more bathing in shorts and a tank-top.  This has changed my world, since I am now able to shower after dark (that is if I hang my headlamp on nail so I can see what I am doing).  Next step is to run an extension cord from my house out to the shower so that I can install a light bulb.  A picture will soon follow.

Other than that, life post-hurricane has been pretty tame.  I have been keeping busy with the many projects that are up and running in the village.  Between doing budgeting workshops with the waterboard, setting up meetings with other villages on a potential National Park project, cleaning up that library and assisting the PTA with their events, I have watched the days and weeks fly by.  Another school year has begun and the downward slope of my service stands before me.  My new cat, named Felix after the last hurricane that spared us, is growing and my old cat continues to be a pain.  The new PC volunteers are doing well as they adjust to life while reminding us old hats just how far we have come in one year.  With 20 of us in the district, we constitute a third of the volunteers in country and therefore the social life force.  Things to look forward to (besides a much wittier journal entry) are: new pictures of new volunteers, a discussion on the life and times of village animals, and an ode to my Masters Project (yes, I still have to do one of those).

lucky this time

missed us again

I am seriously feeling for Nicaragua and Honduras right now, but I have never been so pleased with the weather as I am right now.  I am safe again in Belmopan, waiting for the rain to pass over the southern part of Belize.  I am hoping for no flooding, but we are still going to get wet down there.  I will keep up with how my village fairs, but I am optimistic, as always.

deja vu

All you Weather Channel junkies out there may have noticed that another fat storm is on its way to Belize.  This one looks a little meaner and a little more direct than Dean, woo hoo.  I am not at all happy about having to pack up my house, leave my cat and 3 week old kitten, and make my way up to the capital after being back in my village all of 3 days.  The last hurricane evacuation coincided with a training event, so I was out of Blue Creek for 2 weeks.  I will be in Belmopan by Tuesday AM, once again eating tuna with soda crackers for breakfast lunch and dinner as 60 Peace Corps volunteers explore the many forms of boredom while locked into a creep Chinese hotel together.  Good stories, unfortunately none of them suitable for web publishing. 

I will update if I can, but keep me and all of my Belizean friends in your thoughts during this next week.

Hurricane Dean Photos

Sunday I went up to Corozal Town, in the north of Belize, to help distribute meals to families affected by Hurricane Dean.  I went with a group of lively ladies from the YWCA in Belize City along with my friend Maggie.  The damage was not terrible, but families who already had very little to begin with were especially affected.

Winds of Change

As hurricane Dean passed over this place, a new purpose and sense of being was dropped in my lap. The year of struggle, adjustment and waiting was swept up and carried away, leaving in its place another 11 months of hope, promise, and action. Tears of excitement approach each time I think about what I have to look forward to. Here is why.

Blue Creek, my home, has a cave (just in case you’re just tuning in to this adventure). That cave is spectacular, people love to visit, swim, and bask in its mysterious wonder. Unfortunately, one person wanted to guard that cave as his own, charging visitors to walk across “his” land to reach the cave, refusing to share with his own community. The community knew that this was wrong, riverbanks are public access and caves are national monuments, but where to begin? Without money to pay for the trip to the capital and the knowledge to protect their rights, Blue Creek allowed this person to continue his selfish practices. Until now.

The village council approached me and sought my advice on this issue. Of course, living there for a year I had tons of opinions and advice, but had not offered it up yet, waiting instead for them to come to me. They had some information, but needed more. I promised to do what I could while I was in the capital before I was collected and planted there for the hurricane evacuation. Two days of free time, waiting for a storm, was spent emailing, calling, walking, meeting, and sweating – here is what I now know:

* Blue Creek Cave (Hokeb Ha in Maya) is an archaeological site has already been identified as a potential Community Co-managed Protected Area. Basically, the Institute of Archaeology was waiting for someone to come to them and offer to assist the village creating a protected area to be managed by the community (that would be me).
* The village will be able to collect fees and will receive training with all the money going back to the village.
* They will be able to get up to $60,000US in grant funds to build a visitors center, buy safety equipment, and support the women’s craft center.
* The private land owner will no longer be able to collect fees.

THIS IS BIG. Not only is this the kind of project that I am passionate about, this is something that will have a major impact on the community. Eleven months is such a short time, where have the past 14 gone?? One year ago I could have never imagined this, and here I am, scared of running out of time, scared of leaving this place too soon

all clear

Hello All,

 

Some of you may have noticed that there was a hurricane that came pretty close to Belize, and thanks to those who sent me notes letting me know that they were thinking about me.  All is safe and well now, my first hurricane experience was frankly a little anti-climatic.  I was evacuated from my site, in the south of Belize on Sunday and have been in Belmopan, the capital with all the other volunteers in the country.  We were locked down in the hotel, watching CNN and snacking on rations (peanut butter and crackers), preparing for the worst.  Lucky for us, the worse never came.  Dean landed just north of Belize, bringing lots of rain and wind here, but no damage in Belmopan.  The northern areas are still getting surveyed and may have sustained some damage and where I live may have some flooding, but we are all safe and the weather is pleasant today.  I will be up here for the next couple of days until they can get reports of damage, so I will try to write again with a more detailed update.  Thanks again for your thoughts.

Editor's Note

My mother is NOT the one I was referring to in the semi-fictional account below.  She does a wonderful job of selecting books/food/other random things and mailing them to me.  My intention was to speculate on the poor selection of books available in the communal Peace Corps library at our main office, which consists of volumes sent over many many years by many many parents, all of whom love their volunteers dearly and would never intentionally provide their sons and daughters with less than quality reading material.  Now that that is all cleared up, I calmly await the arrival of the final Harry Potter and some cookbooks (thanks mom!)

Memoir-ies

And now...a rant. 

I can not possibly read one more memoir.  At first I was all into it, delving into the crappy lives of bitter, yet amusing authors, glad that my own life has escaped extreme freakishness (for the most part).  I guess i needed to feel normal, but now I'm done.  All the whiny, self-pitying, rising above dysfunctional childhood rhetoric is making me sick.  I'm to the point where a stack of 2-year-old Newsweek's are more appealing than another David Sedaris wanna-be (to say nothing of the man himself) pouring his/her soul onto the pages of a book.  I think the problem originates in the fact that that memoirs are best savored as isolated reading experiences, rather than the 15-book memoir marathon I am coming off of.  One life story to grant a busy professional a little perspective may have its time and place, but the long evenings of Peace Corps village life are best spent memoir free. 

It's not like I meant to read so many memoirs, it just so happens that about 75% of the books that I have at my disposal are autobiographical teat-jerkers.  My theory on this concentration of memoirs in the hands of PCV's is as follows:
A caring mother back in the USA just finished reading a touching true story passed on to her by a coworker.  The book is an account of a thirty-something's arrival at success, despite countless obstacles, barriers and breakdowns.  This mother thinks of her dear child who is slaving away as a Peace Corps volunteer in the wilds of Central America and can't help but draw some comparisons. My lovely and spirited offspring will enjoy this book, she thinks as she packages up said memoir and ships it off to her pride and joy. Her beloved PCV will read it once before passing it off to the PC library while searching for yet another Tom Robbins or Kurt Vonnegut adventure. 

I show up to the PC library once every 3-4 months after a 6-hour bus ride and conduct a similar search for one or two Robbins/Vonnegut's that have slipped past me, only to find stacks of gut-wrenching personal sagas of strife and survival.  I take these books, well, because they are better than no books.  I should have learned after the first ten depressingly uninteresting experiences, but I didn't and will problem continue to read them due purely to the ideas of classic economics.  The whole process has turned me off from writing my own memoir (because I was actually thinking about this).  Maybe I do have a funny/sad/unique story to tell, but then again, maybe not.  Who am I assume that someone else is so interested in what I have to say that they would be willing to put down $24.95 on a hardcover edition of my unlikely rise to success (that is when I get there, or course)?  But then again, you are reading this, so maybe there is room for one more story of a lonely youth who rises above it all, joins the Peace Corps, and single-handedly saves the world through ice-breakers and flip-charts.

Heat Index

The second day I was in Spokane during my recent retreat in the USA, the temperature hit 104 degrees Fahrenheit.  It also hit a blistering 98 in temperate Seattle.  Both of those marks are hot by anybody's standards, but, and I am not trying to make all you Pac Northwester's sound like a bunch of sissies, it just didn't strike me as particularly oppressive.  Surprisingly, as far as I know it rarely gets above 90 in tropical Belize.  I say as far as I know because I don't actually have a thermometer.  I know that 104 in the desert heat of Eastern Washington is not quite the same as a comparable temperature in the dripping wet rain forest of Central America, but without an accurate gauge and some meteorological research I just couldn't be sure.

In the spirit of good empiricism I stopped by the nearest mega-multi-purpose-store that makes America so American (don't you dare judge me) and purchased a pocket sized digital thermometer/humidity gauge combo for only $8.99.  I carried that thing (and at least 100 additional pounds of crap that I probably wont need here in Belize but looked so pretty and useful up there in the USA) all the way back to my village.  And it works too.  But back to the problem of the heat/humidity interaction, known as the Heat Index to ever-zealous weather reporters.  This was a job for the internet.  It was here that I found a great Heat Index table that I immediately copied onto the yellow ledger that was on Jeff's desk and later taped to my bedroom wall.  No longer would I be curious about the temperature outside (which is always the same as the temperature inside) as well as how hot it felt to us of the human species.  Which brings up the question, does the heat index apply to cats and lizards as well?  Anyways, here is what I learned during my first day as amateur jungle weather recorder.  

• 7am: temp = 80 F, humidity = 74%, feels like = 83 F (chilly)
• 2pm: temp = 91 F, humidity = 79%, feels like = 112 F (I’m melting)
• 7pm: temp = 84 F, humidity = 78%, feels like = 93 F (I’m not even sweating)
  

I will resist the urge to bore you with the weather every time I write, but do expect updates on the most extreme situations.  For instance, if the Heat Index tops 125 F, you will be hearing about it because that is just ridiculous.  With that, I leave you to enjoy your climate controlled 68.  

Coast to coast

You know it's going to be a long day when your watch reads 8:15am and you
have already been up for 5 hours. That was today, my last full day in the
USA for another year. I could try to sum up my last 12 days of vacation in
the states, but it would make for a long read. The most notable aspect of
my trip was the lack of shock and the ease of adjustment. I really was
expecting a difficult, or at least weird experience as I entered my old life
after a year gone, but it was easy. It was almost too easy. Sure, the
grocery store was a fun experience, but I knew exactly what I wanted and
where to find it, even Target was a pleasant outing. So maybe I am not as
hard-core as I like to think I am, or maybe Belize isn't far removed enough
from life in the states. In any case, I am ready to get back to Belize, but
spending a few weeks in my old shoes reminded me how great it will be to
return as well.

So now I sit in a shady Miami Airport hotel watching cable and eating Trader
Joes Wasabi Peas for dinner. Hey, for $59 a night it's not like I am
getting room service, but I do have a bed and a shower all to myself.
Tomorrow I begin Shella in Belize, the Second Season. Stayed tuned for more
rants about rice and tales of tarantulas.

Normalcy exhaustion

I just realized how out of place I am going to feel during my retreat in the states as I was chasing a large tarantula away from my door with a machete on my way to the latrine, lighting this expedition with my headlamp.  And this is a normal event and did not even cause my pulse to raise or anything.  

Other events from this week, a normal week.

• A 10 year old boy nearly chopped his foot off with a machete, and no one took him to the hospital because both his parents were gone from the village and he was being watched by his fathers first wife.  No, not first as in before a divorce, as in polygamy.  The boy is now fine thanks to someone finally coming to me and getting some antiseptic and bandages, but I was floored when I found out that multiple wives is not only accepted in my village, but it was our newly elected chairman who has the two wives.  He is such a smart, hard working guy.  Even weirder, I understand.  The second wife is the sister of the first, and her husband died and she was left with 6 kids to feed and send to school.  Without a husband, children starve, and few single men here would marry a woman with children.  It made me wonder what I would do.
  

• I went to another wedding on Sunday.  Same family that I lived with, another daughter.  Flora is the third born and the third to get married.  It was a beautiful wedding, at least it was lovely until I almost ran smack into two severed pigs heads hanging from the ceiling as I walked through the kitchen area on my way to greet the bride.  Don’t worry, I have pictures, which can in no way capture the smell of animal carcass after 6 hours in a tropical climate with refrigeration.  Did I mention that Flora just turned sixteen?  Another surprise.  I guess she has been engaged for a year and a half now, so its about time.
  

• My lovely neighbors across the road got a new stereo system from one of their sons who work up in the city.  I cannot even describe how unbelievably loud it is, especially at 4am when their house is up getting ready to catch the bus.  Earplugs and a pillow over my head couldn’t even touch the thumping bass of punta rock that shook me awake at that ungodly hour.  
  

• The water pump was fixed, so I don’t have to haul buckets of water around anymore, woo hoo!
  

All this normalcy is wearing me out; I need a vacation.  One that doesn’t involved hauling my sheets down to the river and sweating over a rock in the sun for an hour just to have clean linens, a break from the 5am wake-up calls from people who want to borrow onions/envelopes/band-aids/pens/etc., and a respite from hot, crowded school buses that stop every 5 miles to let the drunks stumble off, piss on the side of the bus, and run into the shop to get more beer.  If I sound bitter and jaded, don’t be fooled.  I still love my life, I am just going to love it a lot more after a 3 week break.

Mennonite Nights

One of the more fascinating dynamics to where I live in Belize is having
Mennonite neighbors. Many years ago, a few families left the United States
for Belize in order to have a quiet place to raise a farm and a family and
to be free to practice their religion. I respect that, and since then these
families have made quite a home for themselves. They also own and operate
most of the large parcels of farmland around Blue Creek, including hundreds
of acres of rice.

Recently I have gotten to know a few of the girls who were born and raised
here in Belize, but look and speak and much like myself. They come to the
library to check out books and we chat about life and boys. Last night I
went over to their house for dinner and got a taste of mid-western
hospitality in the middle of the jungle. Chicken meatloaf, mashed potatoes,
and rolls for dinner and a fresh mango pie for dessert, served with hot
coffee of course. We talked about our favorite recipes and the flowers in
their garden and their life in Belize. It was amazingly interesting and I
am glad I have had the opportunity to get to know this family. After dinner
one of the girls drove me back to my place, stopping on the way to pick up a
quart of fresh cows milk. I was excited about the fresh milk, the first I
have had since I have been here, but my excitement was curtailed when I was
attacked by their uncle's dogs as I stepped from the truck. I wasn't
injured too badly, but it did shake me up pretty bad, and I have a pretty
good scratch and a ruined skirt to show for it. No harm done, the dogs were
just doing their job.

I got back to my house and patched up my wound and reflected on how strange
my life can be. One night I am eating tortillas and beans by Kerosene lamp
while sitting on a bucket and the next I am sitting in a clean, Western
kitchen eating mashed potatoes and pie with a white table cloth and flowers
on the table.

Homecoming

Did I fail to mention that I after I dropped my friend off at the airport
and returned to my village, looking forward to getting back into the swing
of things, I turned on my water pipe to wash off my dusty feet only to find
absolutely nothing. Seems that sometime over the past two days the newly
elected water board had turned off the pump that feeds to village. They did
this in order to clean the tank and upon cranking it back up discovered that
it was dead. No pump, no water in the tank, no water in the village. Now -
I have maintained during my time in Belize that I would rather be without
electricity than without running water, and now having lived without both at
one time or another, I stand by that assertion. Hauling 10-gallon buckets
full of river water or water from the school rain vat is a chore, and doing
dishes is much more inconvenient when they have to be carried to the river
in order to avoid using precious drinking water. I have been told that the
new pump should come soon, which is anywhere between 2 days and 2 months.
Seems like a perfect time for a vacation.

As I write this, sweating from laundry, dishes, and hauling water, I glance
over at my cat just in time to see her running across the floor with a
5-inch lizard in her mouth. Yuck. Being the well-fed feline that she is,
she insists on throwing the dead reptile around my room before nibbling at
some of the tastier parts. It looks like the tail has already detached, and
I can only hope that I don't find it under my pillow tonight. Ahh, it's
nice to be home again.

Great Weather for River Otters

So TL is gone. Now who am I going to speak Norwegian with? Guess I'll have to focus on my Mopan and K'etchi . Her journey to Belize was awesome, and I think I gave her a pretty good idea of what my life is like. So if you need to know what it's like to be me, you can just ask her (of course you can still always just ask me, but if I'm not around, she'll work too).

We rode on a lot of buses, ate lots of rice, and sweated even more. She went to meetings with me, smiled at the little kids in my village as they followed us around, and drank Belikin Stout at a less than reputable establishment (what were those women selling out of those fanny packs anyways?) She even got to see the power of the rainy season in the rain forest as my ever beautiful river became a raging beast that swallowed the bridge and our plans to go to a soccer game in one bite. Oh well, we both maintained a relaxed Central American attitude and rolled with it. We did make it the Belize Zoo, which may be the coolest little zoo in the world. With no worries about lawsuits (I think that requires a country with lawyers), they let you get up and personal with some really friendly Jaguars, Monkeys, Toucans, and Otters. Just don't put your fingers through the fence, or do, no one is going to stop you at the Belize Zoo.

Having a guest was great, but it made me realize a couple of things. 1) I really do miss home and all the nice things: good smelling fabric softener, coffee, and not sweating; and 2) I really do love Belize and it is very much home to me now, crowded buses, starchy food, and never-ending rain and all. So I will see many of you back state-side soon enough and by the way, whoever is picking me up at the airport (yes Mom, that's you) better be prepared to make a swing through the Wendy's drive-through for a Frosty. That's a command, not a request.

How to travel like a PCV and other lessons from Belize

When I first received my invitation to serve as a Peace Corps Volunteer in
Belize, I can't even tell you how many people told me that they were going
to come and visit me (well, I could tell you, but then I'd have to...).
Fast forward one year and the only people who had so far visited me were my
parents, twice, because they love me. And now as of last Tuesday I can add
to that list of truly dedicated my roommate and best friend. She made
sacrifices and suffered so that she could spend two weeks sweating in the
jungle, being bitten by mosquitoes and fighting off snakes. Okay, I lie.
Actually she cashed in some airline miles and showed up Belize for a 2-week
long tropical vacation, but I have to make it sound tough so that everyone
else reading this doesn't get too jealous.

We started our vacation in Belize City with a not-so-crazy night of playing
Hearts with other PCV's. Then it was off to the Caribbean paradise of Caye
Caulker for some R&R. On a whim and despite terribly rough seas, we joined
up with a snorkeling tour at the Hol Chan Marine Reserve. Good choice. A
full day in the water paid off with close-enough-to-touch encounters with 6'
sting rays, nurse sharks, spotted eagle rays, manatees, and loggerhead
turtles as big as me. We also saw our share of colorful little fish, eels,
and coral. By far the best $40 I have spent in this country. After Caye
Caulker we headed straight south so that I could do some work and TL could
sit back and watch how PCV work is done. I facilitated a meeting of
Belizeans dedicated to protecting the environment in the warehouse that
supplies cacao to Green & Blacks, an organic chocolate now available at
Target. Then a last minute trip to Placencia to say goodbye to some great
friends who have decided to cut their PC experience short and return to the
states gave us some additional beach time. Placencia is also home to
fantastic Gelato and cheap rum drinks, a recipe for a great day.

Now we relax in Blue Creek, after arriving here in true Toledo style. A 6am
bus ride to the Dump junction, a 5 mile ride in the back of a Ministry of
Health Truck, 1.5 miles of walking with too much stuff, .5 miles in an old
school bus to the quarry, then another 1.5 miles in the back of another
truck and we landed at my doorstep. I demonstrated how to do laundry in the
river, we took a swim, ate lunch, then a nap. A great day.

PS: My cat decided that she needed a vacation and abandoned Jeff who was
watching her while she was gone. I was a little sad and worried about her
chances versus a Jaguar, but shortly after we arrived, she showed up at my
house, still happy and healthy.

Hurikayne Seezon

It's that time of year, ladies and gentleman, that exciting season that we
have all been anticipating. It's HURRICANE SEASON! Finally, after months
of hum-drum weather and pathetic little rain showers, we are cranking up the
power. Bring on the inch a minute precipitation and the palm rattling
winds.

I have my pig-tail bucket* all packed up with soda crackers and peanut
butter and I have my radio tuned to Belize Love FM** for all those
informative updates. All I need now is a storm. So weather Gods, don't
disappoint me this year, I need a little action. Not too much, no category
3 and above please, but something to keep life interesting. A good
evacuation and rations by candle-light while the thunder and lightening
lights up the sky, doesn't that sound romantic? Keep it tuned here for
updates.

Just one month until my big trip to the states! Looking forward to fresh
raspberries, real ice cream, air conditioning, movie theatres, coffee shops,
summer ale, pine trees, and all of you.

- Love

------------
* A pig-tail bucket is a 5-gallon bucket (known as a car-wash bucket back in
the states) that once contained pickled pig-tails, a Belizean delicacy.
These buckets seal tightly, are water-proof, and also make great extra
seating for guests.
** The only station where you can get news, Celine Dion, weather, Big
N'Rich, and Bob Marley in the same hour.

Parched...quenched

Clouds rolled overhead, not merely promising to the dusty roads and
depressed greenery; delivering excessive moisture to my true Seattle soul.
These rains would make even a January day in the evergreen state blush at
its amateur attempt at soaking. Toledo rains mean business. Twenty seconds
in a meaningful shower mimics a full plunge in the expanding river.

Welcome back rainy season, you have been missed. Dry season, that short,
hot respite from rain forest feeding precipitation, on its way out. Crisp,
clear air rises above the steaming jungle. Back home the rains are ending
while I prepare myself. Clear the cobwebs from the boots, waterproof the
jacket and get some fenders for the bike. I'm reading, bring it on.

Employment

A short essay

---

Employment

Everyone gets to that point in their life when they start worrying about finding a real job, a career.  Halfway through my Masters degree and one year into a two-year commitment to the Peace Corps in Belize, I started thinking about what it might be like to have a real job.  My first job was working at a candy and caramel corn shop at the largest mall between Seattle and Minneapolis.  Standing behind a glass counter lined with by-the-pound sweets, I sweated over a copper kettle, perfected my own caramel corn technique, and weighed candy into decorative bags for the guilt-ridden with a sweet tooth. I learned about the mania caused by Vermont Maple Sugar delicacies in the fall and a perfectly fluffy spool of cotton candy in the summer.  I was also fired from this job, another first, but I’ll get to that later.  
         I was told that I was hired for my wholesome good looks. The two women that owned the mall candy store together were honest in their hiring practices; only girls, preferably under 18, that possessed an innocent charm.  This helped attract the cigarette and Coca-Cola craving male mall employees on their way outside for a 15-minute break. As it was my first job, and my parents knew nothing of me scouring the mall for paid employment, that sort of ethic worked just fine.  At $4.90 an hour I would have that mint-green 4-door 1980 Volkswagon Rabbit in just 150 hours (taking taxes into account).  Working 12-hour weeks, I could buy that car in about 3 months, just in time for my sixteenth birthday.  So I started my journey into the world of adulthood, as I would begin most things in my life, with a calculated analysis of the costs and benefits and a wildly optimistic attitude.
         I kept that job for about 6-months before I learned the hard lesson of having to choose between going to work and going on a weekend ski getaway with friends.  I chose the ski weekend, but my bosses found it hard to believe that I had a sudden flu that resulted in a goggle tan.  Getting fired hit me hard, I had never failed at anything, and now I was an unemployed candy girl.  I eventually moved past the rejection and realized it was for the best. Sampling with a 16-year-old’s metabolism was no problem, but I fear had I kept the job throughout high school, my average yet acceptable figure would have suffered from years of cheese corn and chocolate covered gummy bears.  
         My next job as a bank teller would last me 5 years, an impressive feat for a failed mall employee.  Once again I found myself standing behind a counter, using my girlish charms to convince customers to purchase products they knew they didn’t need, and would in fact regret buying.  Licorice bridge mix and credit cards have the same power of immediate gratification with a stomach souring digestive process.  The same idealism and optimism that won me first job caused me to quit the second.  Convincing people to put their hard-earned home equity on the line so that they could buy a new mini-van was not as rewarding as tempting people to indulge in some sour apple drops (just a taste, you don’t have to tell your wife, smile, wink).  
         Going into detail about my various employments between the ages of 21 and 25 would be tedious and pointless.  I made money (sometimes enough), learned a thing or two, and did not get fired.  Eventually my focus, or was it my lack of, led me to join the Peace Corps - the ultimate job for those who have become disenchanted with working.  You mean to say that someone will hand me a plane ticket to some exotic local, take care of my loans while I am gone for two years, give me enough to money to buy all the rice and beans I could possibly desire and two thirds of my job description could be roughly translated as “hanging out?”  And I thought pilfering chocolate turtles behind the bosses back and eating soft serve direct from the machine was fun.   
         The 1/3 of my non-hanging out work hasn’t been all lollipop and lemon drop happiness.  My girlish charms don’t work in quite the same way when trying to convince the village council to stop arguing about who’s pig ate who’s garden, and I am a long ways from instant gratification, or instant anything.  My enthusiasm for the simple serves me well (a light bulb for the library!) and my cost-benefit calculations have never led me astray (one more tortilla: does cost of stomach pain outweigh benefit of happy host-mom). Occasionally, between integrating, eating and meetings, I imagine employment after the Peace Corps.  With a couple of degrees, a couple of years abroad, and some fine candy making skills, what sort of work awaits me?  Will it involve standing behind a counter somewhere, smiling?  Or will my cost-benefit analyses put me into a position where I can upgrade from store-brand to name-brand cereal?  Wildly idealistic and all, I am not worried about it, so I put this thought off for another day as I swing in my hammock, imagining the feasibility of opening a caramel corn stand in my village.   

Cacau Fest 2007

Now this is my kind of celebration. Two days of fun, music, and even
fireworks all designed to pay respect to chocolate. This past weekend was
the first annual Cacau Fest in Punta Gorda Town, providing a perfect excuse
to spend a few days in PG. Saturday was the "Taste of Toledo" where you
could buy rice, beans, cahoon cabbage, tortillas, and fish (which are all
the things that you can always buy, but this time they were in one place).
The local vegan rasta was also serving up some tasty soy chocolate-avocado
ice cream, a surprisingly delicious combination.

That evening there was jazz and chocolate tasting at the Coral House, a
small hotel owned by two Idahoans, followed by Blues and Reggae at Earth
Runnings. I can't remember when there has been so much to do in PG in one
single night. We cruised the scene on our beach cruiser bikes, enjoying the
live music and festive atmosphere. Sunday was a little bit more typical of
PG, which means there was absolutely nothing to do or eat until about 5pm.
Our small Toledo family gathered potluck style to wish one of the second
years good luck and farewell as he prepares to leave us for grad school in
Monterrey. The hot and spicy corn dip that I brought (thanks Mom) was a hit
and fresh shrimp with cocktail sauce added to the posh atmosphere.

Sunday evening was a special treat. Two of Belize's most well known
musicians, Paul Nabor and Lilla Vernon, performed traditional Creole and
Garifuna music by the sea. Fireworks capped the night, leaving me with a
conflicting sense nostalgia for the state and comfort in this not-so-new
setting. If I had a better connection, I would post a video. Maybe
someday, but for now you are lucky to get a post from me.

Lucking Out In Lucky Strike

Lazy day in Toledo

Last weekend I actually left Toledo and ventured into the great beyond known as the Belize City District. A distant land where grocery stores have air conditioning, streets have pavement, and buses don't transport livestock. As is usually the case when I leave Toledo, I attended/supported the Peace Corps men's futbol team in their efforts to boost the moral of the Lucky Strike Village team. Yes, the village is actually called Lucky Strike and no, it doesn't seem odd to Belizeans to name a village after a defunct brand of cigarettes. Lucky Strike, in addition to having a great name, is also home to PCV Jerry (who happens to have to have the same birth date as myself, so obviously a cool guy).

Me and Micah in front of the official Maya Ruin of Belize

Most of the team and the fans stayed the night in Lucky Strike, getting to experience the culture of a Creole village. Belize has all kinds of villages: K’etchi, Maya, Garifuna, Spanish, and Creole. Each has it’s own niche in Belizean society, and from my very limited experience I am going to say that the Creole village fulfills the Karaoke consumption niche. At least it was the first time I had seen Garth Brooks performed with stray chickens and dogs loose underfoot. Earlier in the evening we sampled some local history, visiting Altun Ha, the most visited Maya ruin in Belize as well as the model for the Belikin bottle (the best..I mean only beer in Belize).

The next morning, waking in our gender separated accommodations (Jerry works and lives at a Christian High School) I began the day by killing a Scorpion for a couple of “city girls”, I guess Belize district villages are not so different from my own. The game started after a turkey dinner feast, proceeds going to fight world hunger. Only 9 players managed to make it, but the local team was generous by only playing 9 on their side. We lost, of course, but it was still a great game. Clouds and a light breeze made the 95+ temps a little bearable, but then again I was sitting under my umbrella on the sides instead of running around in the sun. Did I mention that they were going to have me play goalie? Hahahahaha. Luckily for them I brought only flip-flops and a strapless dress and despite our captain’s optimism, I insisted that this was not appropriate futbol attire.

Sunday night a few of us Toledo folks stayed in the big city, which seems bigger and bigger every time I visit. Bright lights, fancy cars, and bars open past 8pm on a Sunday; amazing! Returning to the south on Monday, we stopped in Belmopan for free internet and AC at the Peace Corps HQ’s as well Thai Noodles for $1.25 US at the market. Then it was back to our reality.

PS – After four weeks of bone dry conditions, the rains came back. It was a short dry season, but for all my complaints about mud the Seattleite in my rejoiced in that moist smell and misty comfort that a good rain brings.

Rewards

Working in the Blue Creek Library

Sometimes I forget just how rewarding even the simplest things can be. This week was an especially rewarding one, if somewhat average. The last two weekends Blue Creek has hosted other Peace Corps Volunteers, giving us a chance to show off our wonderful village and some of the great things we do here. Walking with strangers through my village is such an affirming experience, knowing all the names, inside jokes, and people treating me like their neighbor. Seeing it through the eyes of my guests was very renewing.








Last Sunday a local tour guide invited me along with Jeff and Mike (another Toledo PCV) on a 6am jungle hike to one of the peaks surrounding Blue Creek as a thanks for me helping him study for an upcoming tour guide certification test. Nothing says reward like the top of hill, well except for maybe a cold beer after a ten mile bike ride (that was on Saturday). I’ve been up a couple of hills around the village, but this one was a 45 minute non-switchback incline that ended at an amazing limestone drop-off of about 1,000 feet. And way down below I could see my tiny little house and the tiny little village. While no mountain by Cascade or Rocky standards, this was an impressive vantage point that allows for view all the way to the Caribbean Sea on a clear day. Unfortunately, slash and burn farming is in full force right now and visibility is at about 4 miles instead of the usual 20, but the effect of the smoke on the fresh daylight was undeniably enchanting.

Then there is my work, the actual stuff I do which I realize that I hardly document but is none-the-less the reason I get to live off of the government for two years while living in the tropics. My favorite and most rewarding is my work at the library, because deep down I secretly envy the life of librarians. Surrounded by books and inspiring children to push themselves to read more challenging books than they imagined possible. My sister used to mock me for choosing a book over the mall or going downtown, which I can’t really blame her, I was a nerd. But now I get to channel that inner bookworm and help kids discover the books I loved as a young adult, we even have some Baby Sitter’s Club and Harry Potter at the Blue Creek Library! Along with my usual work at the school and library this week, I also met with the new village council, which is eager to work with me, and the PTA, who are struggling to agree on how to help the school but at least recognize the necessity of their work. And Thursday was the district final of the national Spelling Bee which I attended as a chaperone. One of Blue Creek’s own was one the winner of the regional, so we cheered her on as she came in 5th. The kids in my village don’t learn English until Kindergarten, so I love seeing them compete against the “city kids” who have grown up with English as a first language.

A full and rewarding week, just the kind that they put in the brochures about Peace Corps. Bike riding, village council meeting, conflict resolution, hiking, checking out books to a crowd of eager kids, and ending it all by pulling up in a hammock with a cool drink, an ipod full of music, and my trusty lap-top computer.

Blue Creek Village: A Tiny Piece of Heaven

Could Somebody, PLEASE, turn the heat down

Now I remember. Almost one year ago I stepped off a plane into the
sweltering tropics. I complained, I sweated, and then I adjusted. Or so I
thought.

In reality, it had just gotten cooler. The last 6 months I have been living
under the delusion that I had become one with the heat, reaping the benefits
of years of sitting in saunas. Nope, I am hot. Really, uncomfortably, hot.
In any case, I didn't want all of you up in the great North to start envying
me as summer approaches and you yearn for heat. Soak up the rain and 60
degrees, please, for my sake.

Maya Wedding

Sheldon & Darlena Wuck

The great thing about weddings down here in Toledo is the inclusiveness. No invitations are sent out, no save the date cards, and best of all no RSVP’s indicating whether you will be in attendance with a guest/date. A bus goes around to the villages of the bride and groom, picks up everyone who wants to come, and takes everyone back home after the ceremony and lunch. An all-inclusive celebration.

Yesterday, I finally got the chance to attend a wedding after witnessing several of these packed wedding buses roll through my village. Darlena, the oldest of my host-sisters that still lived at home was married in the village of San Jose. At age 19, she is a little older than average, but that is because she had a hard time choosing a husband. “Hard to choose, easy to refuse,” is what she used to tell me. As a close family friend and the owner of a brand new camera, I was also designated official wedding photographer, so expect tons of pictures.

The ceremony portion was about 2.5 hours long, almost entirely in Maya Mopan, and was a multi-purpose church service complete with a Baptism at the beginning and the wedding at the end. The church was packed with family and friends of the bride and groom, and once the service ended, a parade followed the couple through the village, not neglecting to grab the church pews on the way out for seating at the reception. Lunch was a massive feast of pork caldo (soup), poch (tamale like corn dumplings), and tortillas. A generator provided the music in this electricity free village and a crowd of about 200 enjoyed the sunny afternoon. The little kids showed off their best dance moves while the adults discretely passed around bottles of home-made alcohol. Around 2pm everyone was tired, full, and ready to return. The bus was packed up, everyone piled in, and the wedding was complete.

Jeff and his Mac next to my Mac, chilling at the PG library

Technology Pros and Woes

Oh poor me, my jungle internet connection is down. Something about the school's modem being only temporary and the internet provider promising a new one. He is putting it on a plane "right now," he swears. I'm guessing in another month or two they might have a connection again, but in the mean time I have to tough it out with my once a week connection. But the bright side is that I just found out that the District Library in Punta Gorda has free wireless. My two most favorite words in the world. So if I seem a little out of touch, it’s because I am.

I also discovered that I can climb up one of the hills surrounding Blue Creek and get two bars of cell phone reception. The trail is a little tricky. Seems the blazers didn’t know about switchbacks and forged straight up the hill at a about a 50 degree grade, leaving the summit only accessible in the dry season. The view from the top, however, is great.

And now April has come and gone. With my most wonderful trip to Guatemala with my parents, I started on a major up. By the time I got back though, the dry season arrived. I had heard rumors about this, but so far daily rain showers had kept the nights cool. Now rain comes only once every week or two and everything is dusty dusty. I know, I complain about the mud, and now I complain about the dust. Do we see a trend here? Dirt, in all forms, is a pain and something I am eager to escape. With that, I need to go buy and mop and continue my epic battle against filth.

View of Blue Creek from Cell Phone Spot