Friday

When I stepped out of my door this morning at 6 am, I looked to my left to see the clouds slowly cresting the ridge and slinking down the mountain in the morning sun. I boiled water and made a cup of coffee. I used the rest of the water to wash my face. By 9 I had arrived in Nahuala. 

I entered through the sheet metal fence into the dwelling of my K'iche teacher, Don Diego. Don Diego is in his 70's, and can speak 5 Mayan languages and a bit of English. He literally wrote the K'iche dictionary and has traveled to handfuls of countries teaching K'iche. He is also a Mayan priest. His beautiful wife, Pascua, told me that he was out buying medicine, that his stomach was hurting him. She pulled a chair out for me in the common room, near the alter; a mix of Catholicism and Mayan.  She told me how she was born in Nahuala and how her son is in the states. She asked me about my state and like most Guatemalans, asked me if I was sad to be here. 

Once Don Diego and Tim, the volunteer in Nahuala arrived we began classes. Diego gives us lessons on a small chalkboard hanging crookedly on a nail with chalk that sometimes doesn't write. This lesson slowly evolved into story time, Don Diego telling us a myriad of Mayan myths. 

By 11 I had caught a bus to Xela. I had luck today because the first bus to come along was a greyhound type bus, with comfy seats that recline (although mine seemed to be jammed). When the ayudante came to collect my fair, I asked him if they were going to the terminal. He said yes. I love it when the buses go straight to the terminal, it is also where the market is. About a half hour later, the women next to me informed me that they weren't going to the terminal, but to the bus office. This isn't the first time an ayudante has lied to me. 

Once in Xela I caught a local microbus to the market. One end of the market, where I was dropped off, there are stalls with piles and piles of clothes from the states. I always like to stop and dig through the clothes just to see what I can find. Today I found two wool plaid shirts for Nic for 20 quetzales; just under 3 bucks. I wandered through the rest of the huge market and decided to take a different way than usual to the other end. This literally got me lost in this huge market. I wandered for about ten more minutes before orienting myself. 

Just behind the terminal is Hiper Pais; Guatemalan Wal-Mart. It has wonderful things like pesto and wheat bread and imitation crab; or krab should I say. They also have a hot deli and my stomach was telling me it was time to eat. I asked for a portion of fried chicken and they handed me a plate that had the biggest piece of chicken I think I've ever seen. It was delicious, although not as delicious as the friend chicken I had at the market in Totonicapan the weekend before. That was the best in my life. 

I cleared the doors of Hiper with my backpack loaded and a costal (rice bag converted to shopping bag) over my shoulder and headed back to the terminal. Once there, I was confronted, as usual, with men with confused looks on their faces when they ask me where I'm going. "Chirijox." I say. Confused look appears. They respond, "Antigua? Panajachel? San Pedro?" Those are the tourist spots. "No. Chirijox." "Chirijox?" They ask, still with a confused look, but point me to a bus.

The ride home was much more typical than my ride in. An old school bus, hardly recognizable after the paint job as such, loaded with Guatemalans 3 or 4 to a seat and overhead racks stuffed with bundles of brightly colored fabric, banda music blaring.  An hour and a half later I stepped off the bus at the entrance to Chirijox. I walked up the hill and hooked a right after the third house onto the dirt path. Through the harvested corn field, past the pig pen, along the cypress trees and to the flower field. As I approached the flower field I saw Oso, my guard dog at the house below. He saw me and started running toward me. He has a heart of gold, this one. He accompanied me through the flower field, which is good because there is a big turkey with a big attitude that hangs out there. And I am not ashamed to say, I am scared of this turkey. They are big, ugly birds. I turned left off the path and Oso continued straight toward my family's house. Once in my door I again heated water. This time for coffee again, but also to wash my hair. I missed the Thursday night sauna because I fell asleep. Outside, at my sink with a big pot of water I wetted my head to the sound of a church service. Neighbors, about 4 houses down have a speaker on an 8 foot pole on the top of their roof. They broadcast live the worship part of the service, complete with electric guitar and a traditional flute called a chirimia. 

The clouds have rolled down the mountain again, like they do every day about 5 o'clock. I am back inside, windows and door closed in an attempt to retain what heat may exist in my adobe house with a tin roof. I'm sure that any minute Hendrick will come knocking on my door asking me where I was that I missed our 4 pm Go Fish date. 

And just on time, there he is. He entered and asked where I was. I asked him what is in his hair (he always has something in his hair). "Oh", he said. "It's only frosting."