Something different

Photos: Project in Santa Maria

donkosarev — Sun, 8 Sep 2013 22:53:00 GMT

Photos: Antigua and surrounding area.

donkosarev — Thu, 5 Sep 2013 23:33:00 GMT

Photos: Tajumulco trip

donkosarev — Thu, 5 Sep 2013 11:50:00 GMT

Photos: Pacaya Volcano

donkosarev — Thu, 5 Sep 2013 08:48:00 GMT

Photos: San Mateo Project

donkosarev — Wed, 4 Sep 2013 08:44:00 GMT

Pictures of my first construction project

Aug 5-30th General developments

donkosarev — Sun, 18 Aug 2013 05:27:00 GMT

I will cover August at once, simply because my studying for my distance course leaves me with less time to write and because the whole month has similar themes spanning it.

A lot of progress has occurred over the 2 weeks. While volunteers like, along with Freddy work half days, the team of construction workers work full days and a half day on Saturday. In this time they have dug the trenches and laid out several rows of cinder blocks. The volunteers have been helping more with all the auxiliary work, mostly involving the building of all the different beam cages that act as supports horizontally and vertically along the rows. Quite a lot of time has also been spent moving earth, either to make it more level or to flatten it out. This we did by foot, with massive circular pieces of wood and with a flattener, really just a cinder block with wodden handles nailed in. Friday the 16th, however I was helped in the preparation of our BBQ. Standing in front of the grill, being able to smell the meat cooking was driving me into a frenzy. Eating the meat proved tricky as I had no knife to use, making a bit of mess of myself, eand earning the laughter of all the Guatemalan workers.

By now the flow of volunteers is more rapid, most volunteers now stay for a week or two. The most recent batch's Spanish ability is quite low, with Fredy and Lorenzo, the boss of the group of professional builders, using me to translate instructions at times to other volunteers. A step up of sorts. This continued throughhout August as we continued to build ever higher walls. By the end the height was such that scaffolding was constructed to be able to continue laying more levels of the wall. It must be noted that working on the scaffolding is not quite safe; there are no barriers to prevent a fall, health and safety being a somewhat unknown concept in Guatemala. However seeing Lorenzo and Fredy fearlessly disregard this drove us to disregard this as well. Taking some basic precautions and always being aware of what you're doing makes all the difference in such a situation.

The first week of August also saw the arrival of a group of Spanish volunteers. They were all greeted with a general school assembly, speeches, music and dancing. Even though I felt slightly jealous of their pompous welcome, I later found that certain members of the Spanish group had been coming to this particular school over consecutive years. They also worked full days, teaching the children Spanish, playing with them during break times, organizing various events for them and helping with painting and some of the construction work after our half day.

meanwhile my level of Spanish has developed to a sufficient level to enable me to attend various cultural events at the Cooperacion Espanola, an organisation funded by Spain to foster culture in Antigua, it is housed in a gorgeous, spacious and red building just in front of a collapsed church, dating back from the 17th century. This included watching anIiranian movie with Spanish subtitles, about a kid, hired to carry a child without the use of his feet but with a rich family, to school everyday. The smaller kid begins to abuse his servant more and more and to hide the fact his servant is actually a human with feelings, converts him more and more into a horse: adding a saddle, horse shoes, making him live in the stables, feeding him hay and top it all off fits him with a horse head. The servant boy living in squalor succumbs to all the abuse but eventually quits or so the movie led me to believe. this only results in another boy being hired as a 'horse' starting the cycle all over again.

I also attended a couple of book presentations, hoping to snag some books for free. I want to keep practising my Spanish after my return to Canada through the use of Spanish literature amongst other ways, but the cost of books in Guatemala is generally exorbitant, requiring me to come up with other ideas to get my hands on some. The first, although it proceeded without the actual book being discussed, leading the organisers to admit feeling embarassment was highly interesting. The author spoke about his creation, a book analysing some of the key actors and reasons for Guatemala's 36 year internal war. The second although yielded me with a skinny novel in Spanish but I understood quite a bit less, since poetry was discuessed. I suppose something as abstract as poetry is still slightly beyond my ability and interest. It was nice to see a father-daughter partnership in the presentation.

I also watched a play in Spanish. I did not anticipate that it would be of the 'absurd' genre. There were only 2 actors who also happened to be assassins with guns. the play started and continued with one of the characters engrossed in his paper, at times bursting out in laughter at some unfortunate accident or murder. The other character, evidently bored, kept bugging his companion with random questions just to amuse himself. At the same time they would receive orders from a cafe above adding to the confusion. Although I could understand much of what was being said in individual scenes, overall it made no sense neither to me or to the rest of the public just as intended.

The final event I attended was a storytelling session. A professional storyteller telling stories of contemporary life, some of them fantastical, the others based on biographical elements. This was accompanied by varying the tone, pitch and volume of his voice, long pauses, active physical gesticulations. He also actively involved the audience showing them how to impersonate certain characters with the correct mannersisms. To top it off, at the beginning of stories he would also ask the audience questions. I was sitting at the front, making it easy to select me by pointing at me. In one case he asked the audience what they wanted to be when they grew up. I howver only heard him ask me what I wanted. I answered "An island!". The storyteller paused, smirked and said, ok an island to the awkward laughter of some of the people at the back. Needless to say I felt quite embarassed for the rest of the night.

Livingston

donkosarev — Mon, 12 Aug 2013 11:32:00 GMT

I had known since visiting Monterrico that I would need to visit the other coast of Guatemala just for comparison, also becuase it is black sand versus white at the two coasts. My Moon travel guide book, which I have become more reliant on for information and planning, also opined that Guatemala's best beaches are located nearby. The real draw was te Reggae on the River. This was a boat tour along the Rio Dulce river, with stops for cave exploring, hikes in the surrounding terrain, on a large pontoon and with reggae music playing. It was this that I was really hoping to do.

I went through the normal motions, booking my transport to Puerto Barrios. Since there is no roads connecting Livingston to the rest of Guatemala, I would have to catch a motorized boat from the port town of Puerto Barrios to Livingston. The bus was to collect me at 4.30 am so I got up pretty early, my brain unable to comprehend why I'm waking in the absence of natural light.

The bus got to a large bus terminal pretty quickly and within minutes, holding my home delivered bus tickets, I boarded a big bus, comfotable, decorated in various shades of green, a definite step up from a chicken bus, and set off. The bus ride was meant to be 8 hours, which turned into 11 once we encountered a long traffic jam consisting mostly of 18 wheelers, the accident itself nvolving an 18 wheeler. The bus would sit idle for a long time, during which several passengers would run down the street to buy snacks, then jet off for 5 minutes, speeding along, then slowing down to another unbearable halt.

Puerto Barrios was exactly like it was described to me, a place where I stood out as a sore thumb, with sweltering heat, humidity all creating a stuffy atmosphere as if I was in a closed room packed with people rather than outside. While looking for the public harbour, I was accosted by a man who proceeded to explain to me about a female relative of his, in broken English, her unfortunate stay in jail and how she was really quite beautiful. At that point, stonefaced, I did a 360 turn and walked in the opposite direction.

It was not hard finding the public dock, although the first thing that I saw was small fishing boats, before the motorized boat, with rows of seats that had back supports, already full of people, that was to take me to Livingston. The ride itself was fairly enjoyable, the boat carrying itself across the sea lane at a fast pace, allowing the waves to force it upwards, after which it would tumble back to Earth with a thud. All of this would happen with the cool sea breeze grazing my face and beautiful jungle landscapes appearing in the background.

Coming out all the way here just for the boat ride was already worth it. The town itself is pretty samll, thankfully making it easy for me to find my hotel. There two streets of note, one on which all the hotels are, spanning the length of the beach, and the main street that goes through the town, on which most of the restaurants are. Both streets start from the harbour, making it easy for me to find my hotel. Going down the street, I found the hostel that was running the Reggae on the River boat cruise. The choicxe of music is reggae since Livingston also has a Carribean culture, populated by 15000 Garifuna, descendants of Carribean islanders that were shipwrecked nearby. However despite all the positive reviews on Tripadvisor and favourable coverage elsewhere, the tour was discontinued for lack of interest. Something which for me defied disbelief. This feeling already present within me since while walking by some of the cabins I was offered some pot by a resident, only to then see a sign "No drugs allowed. Seriously." I did not let this stop me and arranged an alternative: a tour to a waterfall and to the Playa Blanca, which some claim is the best beach in all of Guatemala.

Through a series of fortunate coincidences I was able to get away with a free boat tour although that only became apparent at the end. Everybody joining me on the tour were staying at the hostel where I had booked the tour and had put into their tab so the boat captain at the dock did not ask anybody for their money. Neither did he at the end but that's a different story. The boat trip throughout the day was more thrilling, even a bit dangerous compared to the day prior. The wind was significantly stronger, creating high and agressive waves. The boat captain disregarded any risk and drove the boat onwards, faster and faster. Hitting each wave the boat would shoot upwards, hanging in the air for a gloriously chilling moment, then crashing down with a thud, knocking my torso up and down, my knees eroding against the hard back of the row in front of me. My neighbour to the left must have swallowed more water than the fish in the ocean, while just ahead of me, a woman with motion sickness, screamed vociferously every time the boat lifted its hull. All of this while sea birds flying over serenely, gliding over and then landing gently, in great contrast to us, a sorry bunch clinging in to the skin of a decrepit little boat. By the time we had got back everyone was relieved, even the boat captain who departing rapidly to drop some of the passengers to Rio Dulce, forgot to ask me for the boat fee.

As for the tour attractions themselves, the waterfalls truly were exquisite. The site is owned by a local Garifuna, who also acts as a mayor of Livingston I was told. he fit the role, a big chubby gentleman, past his middle age but having lost none of his energy or his spright. His cabin and ticket office was simple yet full of memorabila, of his own life, of his passions, namely football pictures of his idols. Aparently few Russians visit these parts since he gasped in awe when I told what my nationality is. To be fair though, his property awed me much more. A river flowing through a series of interconnected pools and waterfalls in the middle of the jungle. This came with ledges for jumping of, which all the local kids did with particular gusto.

I myself preferred the beach even though its not the best I've been to, or even the best in Guatemala. But despite the ocassional piece of log, seaweed, lying on the beach, half of me washed by the gentle warm ocean, the other half getting tanned under the bright sun, felt incredibly liberating and relaxing. Something which iften a feature on my weekeed travels, perfect after 2 semetsers of a challenging and packed first university year.

General developments July 29th-Aug 2nd

donkosarev — Thu, 8 Aug 2013 11:09:00 GMT

This week was reminiscent of my earlier weeks in Guatemala, few volunteers with a more relaxed atmosphere. It was just me, Greg and Tom most days while Friday was only me and Freddy. Due to my continuing improvement in spanish and an atmosphere of mutual joking and horseplay, Freddy has been throwing more and more local words at me. Of course, I find out what they mean, learn them and regurgitate them back at Freddy but he has an endless supply. I try to learn to more in my classes to use against him but he always comes up with an answer. Of course this all helping my Spanish, increasing my vocabulary, deepening my immersion, pushing my brain to think, remember and recall words to use against Freddy, even though most of the words do not have any positive connotations in the slightest. But of course I have been able to chat to Tom quite a lot and share opinions on a variety of topics, including Edward Snowden and his revelations of the surveillance programs, North Korean government, military and politics, the Syrian civil war and buffets in the US. It was his last week in Guatemala and I am sad to see him leave as my conversations with Freddy rarely elevate themselves to the same levels of sophistication.

Other than that, this week was a week of consolidation and preparation for when all the new materials would arrive after which extensive work would start. Nevertheless throughout the week quite a lot of time was dedicated to preparing tied rebar beam cage, to be embedded in the walls that will be constructed. This involves 4 steel rebars in a rectangular configuration, held in place by rectangular stirrups tied with wire. Something like this.

I spent quite a lot of time bending steel and making the stirrups required, with Freddy regularly popping up to inspect my work and silently approve those he liked and cast aside those he felt were deficient. The process itself is quite easy once Ive understood the actions and memorized them. Essentially Freddy keeping the size of the stirrups needed in mind, constructed a wooden platform with bolts of steel embedded in the wood. Using a crowbar to bend the samples of steel around these nails of steel, a stirrup is formed. During the week I had also cut dozens of steel rebars using boltcutters, defining a distance to be equal to the distance I need, eg between two cinder blocks with a tape measure, and then cutting away. Tuesday I also helped prepare the perimeter wall by breaking the inside in order to allow one of the beam cages to fit inside. The day was particularly hot and between all the cinder block dust and the full force of the sun on the back of my head, I felt like I was in a steam bath the rest of the day.

Friday was the day I was expecting all the new material to arrive with the all the exhausting work that follows moving and sorting it. This didn{t happen as the company Fredy employed to bring the material did that work for us. I was however able to see the receipt of Fredy{s order which amounted to almost $2000 US dollars. This week we were also joined by more professional builders, similar to Fredy in skill and professionalism. Both of them, Lorenzo and Chookie(based on Chuckie the doll), work in a separate team with the same goals in mind as us, cooperating but working on a separate part of the wall. They have a break at the same time as us and joke around with Fredy, mostly poking fun at me. Still its also possible to joke around with them about Fredy, so its not as onesided.

Casa Shekina

donkosarev — Tue, 30 Jul 2013 09:27:00 GMT

I have recently realised that my blog still lacks a post dedicated to a place which is, for all intents and purposes my home while I'm in Guatemala. This is Casa Sekina with which I cannot say I spent my best moments here but nevertheless deserves a post because it provides a great insight into the life of many of the volunteers in Antigua.

My first morning in Shekina was calm and peaceful. As I struggled to gain some info about the habits, what to dos and the what not to dos from Shirtless Rob, the guy with whom I subsequently travelled to Semuc Campey with, life continued in its normal weekend pace. Generally there's a set routine. People wake up, usually after a alcohol fuelled night, to a small nourishment, that for me usually does not merit the name breakfast, particularly for people like me, engaged in physical labour at a construction site. Typically it consists of some pancakes, fruit, slices of bread, Days with eggs for breakfast is like a godsend. Lunch usually consists of soup, salad, greens, anything but meat. Dinner might have some soup with some chicken in it with an ocassional little kebab style meal, with plenty of rice and a couple of tortillas.

All of the shortcomings are more than matched by the general positive outlook and constant laughter and smiles between me and the staff that work in Casa Shekina servicing the volunteers. Particularly with Alfredo who also greets everybody with the standard Guatemalan handshake, smiling, always smiling. By the second half of my stay he would regularly joke around with me, always laughing boisterously, even if he at times had difficulty hearing not only something said in Spanish but also names, even Hispanic names. But still everybody who leaves any sort of message in the special farewell notebook, recognises his sweetness and good naturedness. In fact people of a more empathetic disposition have proclaimed their love for Alfredo, offered him booze and implored him to go out with them. Naturally he would decline making them desire his company even more. Just to be clear, Alfredo is a 60 year old married man with children.

His attitude towards volunteers perfectly represents the attitude towards volunteers in general. Despite the presence of rules prohibiting alcohol and use of drugs, none of the volunteers have been seriously inhibited from living a less hedonistic life than back home. All is done openly in front of Alfredo, who does not opelnly shaking his head disapprovingly only if the noise gets out of hand. He bears no ill will or grudges but it is not his world and makes him uncomfortable.

July 22-26 General developments

donkosarev — Mon, 29 Jul 2013 03:06:00 GMT

First week of my second project. Early Monday morning I made my way to the Maximo Nivel office to be greeted by Victor, one of the field managers. Victor explained to us in an excited tone that we were to be working in a town called Santa Maria on the foot of Agua's volcano. We were to be working in an building being renovated to become a school with the work consisting of eventually building the foundation of two new rooms. The work would take about 3-4 months and we would have professional workers cooperating with us. This said Victor, would give as an incredible insight into how a Guatemalan construction site actually operates and what Guatemalan workers are like. I knew some of this information already, but it was helpful to have a general summary of the next project before it started and not in scattered pieces of intel I picked from various sources gradually, like in San Mateo.

Freddy accompanied us to the primary bus stop, just behind the central market in Antigua and advised that it would be better to catch buses there. He also said that bus service to Santa Maria was much more regular than to San Mateo, meaning one missed bus did not require all of us scrambling to find other means of transportation, via motorcycle or truck. The transport used was minibuses instead of giant, dirty chicken buses that I had grown accustomed to. We could also depart a little later in the morning which could prove invaluable to me. I have recommenced studying for a distance course with the University of New Brunswick as well as finally starting to read 'Atlas Shrugged' and making notes on it. Both those activities take time meaning I have to be efficient with my time.

We arrived in the center of Santa Maria at about 8am that Monday morning. Visually the twon did not look different to any other typical Guatemalan town I had encountered up to this point. There was however a spectacular view of Agua volcano, closer than I had been to it before, letting me pick out details such as the presence of radio anntenas at the summit of the volcano. Freddy told us that since the project was some distance away, that we should share tuk-tuks. Tuk-tuks are small passenger vehicles resembling three wheeled motorcycles. Only 3 passengers can fit in and preserve any degree of comfort. On cobble stone roads such as in Antigua and Santa Maria, being the sole passenger is entertaining enough. With 3 of us boarding one, the ride became hazardous. My head was swinging wildly, hitting the metal inner wall of the tuk-tuk with a thud every 15 seconds. The trip may have lasted 2 minutes but i swore I would ride one again in Santa Maria.

We proceeded to walk the rest of the distance, stopping at a tienda to buy bread which is what it specialised in it. We walked by fields covered with plants until we finally reached the school at which we would be working. The first thing that I noticed was the presence of children, laughter, noice, shouting completely unlike San Mateo where neither we ever saw the kids, and neither did they did they see who was volunteering their time for them. The school itself was pretty basic, several classrooms, a yard with a little shed with aluminium sheets serving as the walls and the roof. The shed was used primarily for cooking and storing supplies and it was to be our first task. We were to disassemble the building and reassemble on the other side of the yard. Firt we needed to wait for the principal of the school to arrive and give his formal approval for us to start wok. In order to pass the time we kicked around a football. Let's just say I was slightly out of form but we all got a good laugh out of our effots to keep the ball in the air.

From here on the week was exclusively dedicated to the task at hand. First all the supplies were moved from the shed to the toilet. Some were also moved to a classroom. Upon entering I was greeted with a team salute. Wanting to have a bit of fun, I introduced myself as the Red Russian upon entering. This nickname came from my early days in Guatemala, when I was red all over from an earlier sunburn in Cyprus and got more sun burns in my first week. Later we started dissassembling the shed itself, pulling out nails, moving the sheets of aluminium and the wooden supports. Simultaneously Freedy started to plan ahead and measure where to put the initial supports in the shed's new location. Nails were straightened, holes dug and wooden supports recycled. The holes were dug to a sufficient depth to allow the supports stability and to achieve a uniform height for all the wooden beams. The aluminium sheets were nailed in to wood and additional pieces of wood were prepared to provide more support for the wood. Supplies were then moved back into the shed and the the swinging door was reattached.

This was all completed by Thursday. Thursday was the last day for 3 volunteers while another volunteer had fallen gravely ill after Monday with a high fever meaning his last day was essentially Monday. Friday only had 2 volunteers, me and Tom. When there's a smaller number of volunteers Freddy can't help but goof around a bit more with us, so we had a bit of a slower day. I still spent the whole day working on the roof, patching holes. Despite our best precautions the day was marked by some minor incidents. Freddy somehow cut his hand while equally bizarelly slipped on the stairs and hit my knee on one of the steps. Later on walking back I discovered a caterpillar walking on my tank top, causing several rashes on the side of my stomach. Generally speaking the variety of all the different critters is much more diverse in Guatemala. During the week when moving construction supplies on Thursday, 2 blocks were discovered to have rats living in them. One was released into the wild and one ran away, despite Freddy's best efforts and wanting to deal with them in a more swift and direct manner.

In other news me and Willy have started to walk around town for our daily tandem session. This week I visited the book stands in central square several times looking for some books on Guatemala history to take back with me. The only problem is that books here cost as much as they do in Canada. Considering what that kind of money might buy in Guatemala, buses to other parts of Guatemala, eating out, chocolate, ice cream, etc, the price is a hard thing to bear. But there is a nice collection of old National Geographic issues dating back decades. For instance one of the issues I bought is from 1979! A true piece of history, something that was read years ago, allowing you a glimpse into the issues and perspectives of the past for only a $1.25 each. To cap of the week we also visited Rainbow Cafe for one drink listening to music and chatting away.

I have also acted on Willy's advice and swapped my 2 hour group class for an extra hour of private tuition. The group was progressing too slowly for me and in absence of suitable higher leveled groups I have shifted my learning strategy. From this week on 1.5 hours are dedicated solely to grammar, new and old, with the rest filled with conversation in Spanish. This is now done primarily with the Spanish teacher for my 1 hour new private class, Edwin. Edwin has had the opportunity to travel not only around the world but also the states, making him an interesting conversation partner even though we may not share the same political views. The extra hour also gives some more time to make progress on my other objectives. Entering the last month of my trip the race is on to make the most of my limited time.

PS. Tuesday was also a different than others in a somewhat sad and tragic way. Midway through the day, smoke appeared above the walls of the school. It took us sometime to notice us and to clamber on top of the wall to determine the source. Once Freddy was able to get a good view of what was going he summoned all of us and marched us down outside and down the street. A house had caught on fire, where the local priest lived, with his house doubling as the local church. We ran towards the source of the smoke but by the time we got there there was a mass of people congregating, oohing and ahing. We were eventually able to help the large group of villagers and several volunteer firefighters to put the flame by bringing out more water from them, from a neighbouring house. We brought buckets and vats of water and despite the best efforts of the other villagers, the house was mostly reduced to rubble and ash. The same day Freddy consoled the owner of the house and brought him some clothes the next day. What he will do in the future I dont know, but hopefully the community will rally around him, especially since news of the fire made to the local news.

Monterrico

donkosarev — Sun, 28 Jul 2013 02:53:00 GMT

Monterrico is a town on the coast of the Atlantic coast with black sand. That is as much as I knew before I decided to head over there for the weekend immediately following the conclusion of the San Mateo construction project. I had images of hammocks, beaches, pools and a general of aura of relaxation, calm, peace and tranquility in my mind. I booked ahead since I knew that it was a very popular destination and I attempted to pack suitably, only to find out that my swimwear had disappeared since I had used it in Semuc Champey.

Getting into the shuttle bus to take me there, within the first 5 minutes I realised I forgot my flip flops. And my camera. But I had everything else I might need. Besides that the drive was fairly standard, 3 hours in total. The closer you got to the coast, the flatter the land became and palm trees started to appear. The bus driver seemed in a bad mood and dropped everybody off at the center of town with a stern warning that he would everybody up at the same place he dropped us off today and not at our hotels. I started walking towards the corner of the street on which I was, when I was approached by a Guatemalan who after asking where I was staying, sped off on a motorcycle in the direction of the hotel. It was very hard to get lost in Monterrico so I quickly found my hotel and was showed my room. Within 2 minutes the Guatemalan approached me again, telling me about the different tours that he was able ot offer, explaining he was employed by INGUAT(Guatemalan governmental tourism organisation). I listened to him but demurred from giving him an answer. He then asked when he should return to hear my final answer. This was somewhat shocking to me but I give a time and bade him farewell.

The day was Saturday and I only had about 32 hours in Monterrico so I immediately went to the beach and dipped my feet in the sea. It was warm and despite its turbulence felt welcoming and enticing. The sand was also extremely warm and I realised that a little shopping was in order. Thankfully this was easy to arrange. Walking down the central street, several little outdoor stands catered to all things- beach. The place I chose even had a small changing room, flimsy but sufficient. Emerging out of my room with my new purchases I was already fully in tune with the beach vibe, shorts with a loosely hanging, unbuttoned shirt, flip flops also purchased at the same place, letting me feel the wind and the heat fo the sand below me.

The customary sensation was building in my stomach- tugging and pulling at me, demanding satisfaction;vhunger. I was craving some seafood which is what a beachtown would specialise in. Walking down the streets I realised how similar this part of the country was to some of the beaches I frequented in Cyprus. The same dirt roads populated by cars without any regard for pedestrian safety. The same bars, restaurants scattered alongside the beachfront, made of simple materials, wood, thatched roofs, plastic chairs, tables. The beaches have volleyball pitches as well as soccer pitches. The same sense of sweltering heat is also present, the absence of a cool wind, all conspiring to bog down your movements and to ground you in a hammock. The one interesting difference is that there are no wavebreakers present at any point along this particular part of Guatemala's coastline. Whereas in Cyprus a huge mass of rocks placed strategically far out at sea results in a peaceful and tranquil sea, in Monterrico the waves were enormous and unpredictable as is the Atlantic in general as I was to found out later.

Eventually I settled on a fish of the day meal at my hostel 'El Delfin'. It was a whole fish and I can safely safe that it was the best fish I have eaten so far in Guatemala. The hostel itself also had a pool, a bar, restaurant, limited wi-fi, ping-pong table, used books stand and free water refills for guests. I had heard interesting things about Hawaii, how it contained a bioreserve for protected turtles and how it was one of the recommended activities while in the area. The bus stop was next to the only bank in town, a strange place for people to be loitering. On the way I stopped at the local 'supermarket', a low rise building the size of a medium tienda in Antigua, poorly stocked to boot. I still bought an icecream since the heat unrelenting in its ferocity and intensity despite the makings of a tropical storm above.

I arrived at Hawaii with it already having started to rain. This did not deter me from receiving a tour of the park. Turtle eggs implanted into the sand, parrots with bitten of nails imitating human laughter, a rabbit very fond of lettuce, fish, crocodiles all called the park home. After that I ran into the warm sea seeking escape from the chilly rain. The sea was stormy and I battled with the sea in the same way that I did when I was a kid. In the sea, devoid of gravity, the human body feels graceful and mobile and flexible like nowhere else which is what I exploited. Jumping over the waves, standing strong over the waves, ducking under the waves, allowing myself to be dragged by the waves. My favourite was to run up to an incoming wave and attempt to jump over it. Inevitably the waves would strike my feet grounding me back to reality and to the water. It was after one of these attempts that I lost my glasses. There were 2 waves in quick succession one knocking me down to sea level, unhinging my glasses from my face, the second striking my face, grabbing my glasses and finally sweeping them from the desperately futile efforts of my hands to grab them. I could only blindly clutch at water having felt the glasses brush up against my hands as they slipped away.

Stumbling around I was able to eventually make my back to my hostel and a new pair of glasses. I then decided to have dinner somewhere different. Johhny's place was one of the most popular spots in town so for 10 dollars I had fish and chips, orange juice, several scoops of vanilla ice cream, several shots of alcohol, all of the finest taste and quality. It is thus overall quite possible to live, eat fine food all for the price of 20 dollars a day. I think that is a big part of why Monterrico is so popular with Guatemalans as nowhere else is the ratio of tourists to locals as equal as here. Other common destinations for tourists such as Semuc, Tikal remain off-limits to locals just because of the sheer cost. In a way asking for recommendations from various people, I perversely end up fulfilling their dreams of visiting one place or another without second thought. I closed the night with 'Red Square', a thriller set just before the August coup in the Soviet Union circa 1991, just as capitalism was starting to seize the commanding heights of the economy.

My bus the next morning was leaving at 4pm so I spent the day up to that point the way it should be on a beach. Lying in a hammock under the shade alternated with sun tanning and swimming in the pool. Total and complete relaxation was what defined this trip.

General developments July 14-19

donkosarev — Mon, 22 Jul 2013 23:28:00 GMT

This week was the last in San Mateo. A project that has lasted 6 weeks, the goal of which was the completion of a wall on the third floor of Provecenh, an place for kids to receive tutoring after regular school hours and instruction in IT and agriculture as well as a hot meal, replacing tin covers for a permanent structure is now complete. I have not worked on any other project and being able to look back to where I started and where we finished is extraordinary.

This week again picked up from we left the previous week. More cement, sand, water was mixed together with the runny paste again being used to from a layer on the inside of the wall. There were certain sections trickier than usual, where the applied mix would slide down, torturously slowly, refusing to stick to the wall. In moments like these to speed matters up, Freddy will stroll over non-chalantly, take a spade, dip it into the mix, with a casual rotation, twist of the elbow and wrist, almost a shrug, he would spray the mix repeatedly over a wide area, covering the areas that we couldn't.Every day as well since we begun to construct the wall proper we would spend the last 30minutes cleaning furiously, the tools, the floor of dust, cement remnants, preparing our work space for the coming day.

Monday night I came home to Casa Shekina to a chilly dinner, no meat, only broccoli and soup of which I'm generally not a fan of. I had not eaten any meat the whole day as it hit me that it was going to stay that way, I felt a desolate and endless sadness deep inside me. The next morning I awoke with an intense desire to dash to the toilet. I had diarrhea, all of Wednesday, and was unable to go to my placement, mainly because there are no adequate facilities to use in an emergency such as this one. The toilet needs to be filled manually with water which if not done correctly may leave a unwelcome stench for the normal users. Not wanting to create any mess anywhere, I solely went to my Spanish lessons where toilets similar to ones to which I'm accustomed were available to me. I also made sure to go to Picadilly, a restaurant where I was able to have an 8 ounce steak and cure all cravings for meat. Having consumed pepto-bismol and other tablets recommended by a nurse as well, I was able to get over my illness in one day. It was not only me who had problems, and I was not the only who missed their placement that Wednesday, not even the only one who missed my placement in particular that day.

I came back on Wednesday to start the final part of theproject-painting. After cleaning diligently all the space adjacent to the wall to be painted, two big cans of paint were opened, blue and green. Me and Tom, a new volunteer who as it turns has volunteered abroad before, in Malawi of all places, took the blue paint, alternating wall sections with Alexis, a Montrealer of Argentinian decent, and Dustin, from Saskatchewan who took the green paint. I first worked with the paint roller, covering large areas with paint, twisting and turning the brush to avoid any of it spilling or dripping from the roller on the floor, while Tom covered all the smaller and harder to reach holes and spaces with the brush. As Freddy called for break time and everybody descended to 'sopa time', the name for our break time, where most people would snack on a noodle soup high on sodium, and I on chocolate coins, I swapped my roller for a brush. Generally I found painting to be relaxing activity and as others ate, I painted, covering all the small spaces and holes that were previously missed, trying to be perfect. I kept working in this manner the rest of the day, painting, relaxing, felling calm and tranquil. The only downide was the inevitable mess, despite my best efforts to prevent them and clean them. Green and blue splotches littered our workspace.

Thursday was the last painting day. For the sake of rotation, and having everyone try out and work in different areas, I was sent to paint the playground with Carl, an event organiser at the UN, while others finished painting on the third floor. It turned to be a more challenging task as not only was there a shortage of paint but we were also painting over porous wood. This needed to be painted over several times, each layer covering the previous. Certain sections were however impervious to any amount of paint - applying more paint simply would drive away the existing layers, uncovering a bare patch of wood. Eventually after much deliberation and advice I resolved to dabbing carefully all these sections as well as the corners. By the end of the day swings, see-saws, slides were all painted meticulously and it looked great from the distance, even our limit on paint made it difficult to make it look flawless from up close. Painting on the third floor was also complete, back and front and it looked awesome from below, green and blue streaming all over the top of the building, like icing on top of a cake.

Friday was clean up day. All the heavy lifting after 2 days of relaxation, painting away, was felt intimately by us, particularly since the number of volunteers had decreased dramatically to just 3 for that Friday. Huffing and puffing, dripping with sweat, we carried all the remaining leftover materials to their storage places in the garden, 3 flights of stairs away. Bags of sand, cement, cinder blocks were all moved. The floor was then rinsed extenisvely using all the water from the titanic blue bucket we had used alla long to clean our tools day after day. The bucket itself was relieved of all its cement residue, tools, general garbage, wiped and generally restored to its clean original state.

This all took 2 hours. We then descended to the first floor to enjoy a genuine, traditional Guatemalan BBQ, unlike the silly North American BBQs with pizzas and burgers. This was delicious meat, melting in your mouth, even though due to lack of utensils, it had to be eaten in a slightly unseemly way. To keep with the tradition I even had some soup, dry soup. The crunchy noodles were not half-bad!

Everybody went back, took pictures and reminisced. Juan Jose and his wife Judith, delivered certificates and simple, plain A4 sheets with the names of all the kids who come to Provecenh, thanking us. judith in particular made a short impromptu heartfelt speech thanking us and mentioning how much the kids had been looking forward to playing on the third floor and how much they appreciate all our efforts. Juan Jose drove us to Antigua, sparing us the crowded chicken bus, the wait, the sight of the emaciated homeless dogs and precious time.

I was dropped off, carrying a grodian knot of emotions which included the readiness and desire to start something new and experience something different, but my experience and the people had been so good to me in San Mateo that I knew I would miss them. Now all that remains for me is to visit them before I leave and bring them lots of chocolate as a gift, just as I had promised.

July 9-12 General developments

donkosarev — Mon, 15 Jul 2013 04:07:00 GMT

This week has been somewhat made shorter by my absence on Monday. Arriving to Maximo Nivel on Tuesday I was greeted by Mariella who very sweetly told me that I was missed. For the first time since starting my placement, Freddy left on his own without company. Having caught up with him later I found out and could see that he had been overworked, and in order to be able to work his long hours and stay awake, he had been taking quite a lot of pills. He also told me that he had been suffering from a large number of symptoms which are associated with physical exhaustion. Throughout the week though he never lost his patience and was as funny and messed around as much as usual. I cannot imagine how tired he would have to be to behave otherwise.

I spent the rest of Tuesday working with Rachel in the garden, crating a makeshift roof, and then bringing quite a lot of the wood from last week to the garden for storage. We had to deal with the reappearance of a lot of spiders who would sneak out of the wood that was being carried and startle us both. As of this week all the wood has been separated and stored in various places. It was also Rachel's second last day so Juan Jose did a tour of the chicken coop for her which she found fascinating. I can understand why since we were actually exposed to the source of some of the food that eat quite regularly. Juan Jose lets some of his chickens and young chicks roam freely, causing some volunteers to try to catch them over several days this week.

Wednesday I spent quite a lot of time dismantling the wooden structures used to create a temporary frame into which very liquidy cement mix was poured. This hardens creating a column acting as a foundation for the wall which we constructed. Most of time I separated the temporary structures that were built, by removing all the nails keeping them together. This was not something I had done before and I would need some effort, leverage and patience to get them out. That at least is what I thought until Freddy, needing a particular piece of wood, would stroll over non-chalantly, quietly, remove 2-3 nails and seize the wood he needed, in a quarter of the time it would take me. I tried harder but Freddy repeated the trick several times before the day was up.

Thursday and Friday were spent in a similar routine; first the mix to be used was prepared. A ratio of sand and cement was added, mixed well, some water added, mixed well, rinse and repeat till the mix is as liquidy as you want it to be. The mix for this particular task needed to be very saturated in water. The mix was to be applied on the inside of the the newly constructed wall, to create a thin, smooth layer, allowing for us to paint over it. We coated the inside of the wall diligently, papered over all the cracks and finally smoothened the mix on the wall ala wax on, wax off motions, similar to the Karate Kids.

We still have some of the wall needing some of the mix but it seems like next will be the last in San Mateo. Victor has told me that the next project will be at the foot of Agua, a volcano which is a prominent sight towering over Antigua. I have wanted to climb it ever since I saw it tower over me but alas it is very dangerous, with many large groups being robbed multiple times climbing up and then returning back down. There is speculation that most of the robbers come from the settlement where we will be working but thats no reason to worry right?

Other developments includes me starting a tandem conversation scheme with Willy, my group Spanish teacher. We had conversed briefly about several topics such as Army Day, a controversial celebration with army parades conducted all over Guatemala, CAFTA, an free trade economic treaty between several Central American countries and the US, trips to different places and more. One of my goals for this trip was to really penetrate the superficial knowledge of a country that short-term tourists gain and Willy, a well read and educated Guatemalan is helping me do so. Speaking 30 minutes in Spanish and 30 minutes in English, a wide range of topics has already been covered including Guatemalan politics, Russian history post WW2, the 1954 Guatemalan coup d'état and Willy's future career advancement, aspirations and dreams. As this continues I will get to know him fairly well and expand my glance into Guatemalan society into a clearer vista.

My private class tutor, Sandra has been replaced as if by deus ex machina. The truth was that even though she has a great sense of humor, she is just not as well read or does not know as much as other teachers about the politics and history of Guatemala. The truth is that Tuesday afternoon I took my usual place opposite her ready to start the lesson. She informed that she was not my private teacher anymore. She laughed seeing my look of doubt since this would be a joke I would not put past her. Eventually I was introduced to my new teacher, Vivian. Although the humor and my comical shtick I toned down, instead I'm now able to discuss the past, present and perhaps the future with somebody who has an opinion about the goings on in Guatemala, someone who stays regularly informed. This week already, politics, tourism, religion, state of security have all been discussed. Now that I have started my tandem with Willy and spend 2 hours discussing Guatemala in Spanish, I evetually hope to get a very good feel and understanding for the country to which I will have dedicated 3 months of my life to.

Tajumulco Volcano

donkosarev — Wed, 10 Jul 2013 11:07:00 GMT

Tajumulco is an extinct volcano and the highest point in all of Central America. These two facts were enough to entice me to climb and for the desire to become overwhelming. This became especially pressing following my failure to successfully arrange the hike of two volcanoes at a price acceptable to me. Since I was not able to satisfy my urges through volcanoes quantitively, I decided to satisfy it qualitively, by reaching the summit of the highest one.

Unfortunately Tajumulco is not one of the most popular attractions in Guatemala. Even with a large notice along the whiteboard in Casa Shekina, nobody emerged to enquire about joining me on this trip. This did erode my desire in the slightest even when nobody at Maximo Nivel could give me any helpful advice. However some quick and painless research throught the Internet yielded me an organisation called Quetzaltrekkers, which specialised in all sorts of hikes, volcanoes, single or multi-day. They are also a non-profit organisation which donates all their profits towards charities, such as one that funds a school for street and at-risk children. They also offered what I considered a great deal; 50 dollars for a 2 day hike with all necessary gear and meals provided. The plan was that the first day was used to reach an altitude of 4000 metres, camp out for the night, climb the final 200 metres just before the sun rose and watch as the sun rose from the summit. The trip was well described on the site and proclaimed that you did not need to be a fitness fanatic to successfully climb up to the summit. This was all I needed and I proceeded to swiftly pay the deposit fee for the equipment and book a shuttle to Xela where Quetzaltrekkers was based.

The drive to Xela was uneventful except for the inability of the bus drivers to find Casa Shekina as the slightly grumpy lady informed when I boarded the shuttle bus. After 2 changeovers the bus dropped me off at a building wit a wall painting of random volcanoes and with 'Casa Argentina" written on top. I felt like I was at the right place but this feeling started to drain away once someone let me into the house. The first room I saw ad posters and boards advertising Quetzaltrekkers, but the room on which these notices were pinned covered in curtains and generally seemed uninhabited. Waiting for a few moments I decided to proceed towards the noise that I heard further along the corridor past a turn. I encountered a woman speaking on the phone, who after looking up at me briefly, proceeded to continue her conversation. Since I could not see another single living soul, I decided to wait, even though she seemed in no apparent hurry to finish her conversation. Finally she put the phone back in her pocket and turned in my direction. I told her I was here to speak to Quetzaltrekkers, at which point se immediately sprang into action, ran into a neighbouring room, extracted a key and proceeded to show me to a room. I had not requested a room, even though I was intending too. Having handed over the key, se departed leaving me to settle in my room. At this point I did not know if accomodation was included in the fee for the hike and even if not the price of less than 5 dollars per night for a private room gave me no reason to protest her actions.

I proceeded to explore the courtyard further. The hostel was organsied into rooms on ground floor, with a flight of stairs leading up to another row of rooms on the second floor. Tere was acourtyard below at the end of which was several offices and a fair trade shop. More posters of different hikes were there, with pictures and photos of the different hikes. Even tough there was nowhere else to go and the offices seemed like they belonged to the organisation, silence and cshut doors was all that greeted me. Just behind me, in one of the rooms a group of Guatemalans seemed to be having a good time, shouting and laughing. Having nothing else to do, I browsed the bookself for some non-fiction book that would pique my interest, and having selected one, proceeded to read it. I was a good 20 pages in when Guatemalan woman approached me and asked whether I was a guide or a client. Hearing me answer that I am client she sighed and suggested that we wait for another 20 minutes during another man also approached and asked me where everybody was. Finally around 10 am, a solitary woman walked up to me and asked what I was up to. I introduced myself and told her I was here to sign up for the Tajumulco hike. After sorting out the necessary payment, she told to be back at the hostel at 5pm. I took this as a subconscious suggestion to go out and explore Xela since I had nothing else in particular to do.

Xela seemed to be like any typical Guatemalan town, only bigger and with more rows of houses sprawling diagonally insted in rows and columns like in Antigua. The houses were also lower an more dilapidated in general with a huge number of small stores proliferating everywhere, some better stocked than others. What also was a curiosity was the existence of several larger stores solely dedicated to alcohol of many varying types. This was surprising for me since Guatemala was meant to be more religious than a typical Western country but it seems that machoism and the need to drink to prove it trumps any religious sentiment.

After walking in many different directions away from the hostel I was able to reach a square of some sort, with a large avenue and church surrounding the square on both sides. I had had breakfast in a small restaurant, which seemed much bigger on the inside than it did when viewing from the outside. This illusion was created by the fact that the entrance was narrow while the room itself was more like a cavern within the building it was located in. I wanted to try a different restaurant for lunch so I kept browsing the streets for something acceptable. I eventually settled for what seemed like a very fancy restaurant, or at least one with a certain status since only Guatemalans were present and who all proceeded to stare at me, even the waitress. Waiting for a few seconds, I approached the waitress herself and asked for the menu. Seeing no English in the menu and wanting to ask what I would be getting for what was high prices by Guatemalan standards, I peppered the waitress with questions. Her accent and diction, choice of vocabulary left me all puzzled and unable to comprehend the answers. I tried asking my questions in different ways but found no respite. Finally feeling obligated to have a meal after using so much of the waitress' time, I asked to be seated. Despite only knowing the word of salad in Spanish out of the choices presented to me for entrees, I was able to order and feast on a magnificent platter of grilled fish.

I returned in time for the pre trek meeting. We were all handed things that we would carry in our backpacks up the volcano and for which we were responsible for. I would carry up parts for an outer tent, trailmix which I had to ask what it was, plate with spoon along with things that I would need personally. This included a rain jacket, sleeping mat and bag, fleece jacket which was my own, poncho, flashlight, gloves and touque. We parted with a warning that were to head at 5am the next morning and with the request to not be late since we would be holding the rest of the group.

I had set the alarm for 4am but was only able to roll out of bed by quarter to 5 at which point I had to hurry to make it in time. My backpack was fully packed and tried wearing it for the first time. The first 5 minutes did not clarify anything for me and since I had never before worn a backpack, I had no idea whether I would be able to continue carrying it after 2 days of hiking. Still me and another 10 people headed out into the dimly lit streets, boardingthe back of a lorry. As soon as someone commented that we looked as if we were preparing to be smuggled across a border, a police car pulled up behind us and accompanied us for several minutes. Someone broke the momentary tension by waving at the police car.

We arrived promptly at the bus station pulling up behind 2 buses. We switched the lorry for the bus and were just staring to stretch our legs on the bus when the most bizare thing happened. The bus driver was approached by another man who without further adue proceeded to launch a barrage of hooks and uppercuts on the driver. The driver could only shield himself but the barrage thankfully for him lasted only a fraction of a minute. The attacker proceeded to step outside of the bus and was followed by the bus driver who apparently wanted to get some payback. After only some marginally loud yelling, the two men grappled once more with the bus driver being lifted and then dropped on the floor, only to be then separated by cooler heads. The whole incident may have lasted just under a minute but it certainly gave everyone something to talk about. The rest of the bus ride was filled with conversations of people getting to know one another, finding something to mutually admire and building rapport.

After a sumptuous breakfast and a switch to a minibus, we proceeded past San Marcos towards the foot of the volcano itself. Several times we heard a loud thud which was eventually determined to be a tire, which was removed. Such was the hole on the removed tire that I could see it from 2 metres, which knowing the strength of my vision means that either I was squinting very hard or the hole was quite large.

Eventually we were dropped off at the side of the road and told that we would walk for 10 minutes towards the start of the trail before taking some time to really prepare for the gruelling challenge ahead. We reached a grassy patch just past the sign which heralded the start of the hike. The summit could not be seen, which did feel disappointing, since the presence of a material and visible goal would help motivate me. Nonetheless I and my co-hikers gathered round a lazily sleeping dog which usually followed different treks up the mountain, hoping to snag some goodies. We all introduced ourselves, told what our superpower of choice was and listened to how the hike would proceed, some basic rules and the schedule for the day. We were to have breaks every 45 minutes, with the aim of the day being to reach base camp at 4000 metres from our current altitude of 2300 metres. We would be accompanied by 3 guides, Andrew, Miriam and a local guide called Lorenzo. They took up various positions along the group with one guide also being behind everyone else.

It immediately became apparent to me how unaccustomed I was to the altitude which I kept climbing. I have lived the vast majority of my life at sea level, literally just by the sea. It is usually advised that you spend some time in Xela before attempting the hike to allow for acclimatisation. I did not do this and could feel the impact. Every step upwards at any incline started and began with a deep gasp with panting in between. The higher I climbed the deeper I had to breathe and the more I struggled. I tried talking to Miriam, hoping it would distract for my increasing lack of oxygen but she seemed to be having a harder time than I was, being unable to respond to my questions except when she would stop for a break. As I became more and more fatigued, it was if I was just saw the path immediately around and everything else had disappeared. Speaking to others who struggled as I did, they told me that kept telling themselves to go judt that one step. For me most of the time was just blank. To motivate myself I would say that after a certain steep hill, I would have a break as a reward. Returning was never an option but at only the thought that I would succeed flickered in my mind. The certainty and the image of me recounting my adventure on Monday when I would be back in Antigua. But overall I made one more step, gasped, made another. Having done this I would likely the courteously disagree with the person who said the first step is the hardest. The next 10000 are.

Right after we had breached the clouds on our way to base camp the sky became grey. Just as we preparing to keep walking after a typical break, it began to rain a little, giving me a chance to try my poncho. The rain stopped fairly quickly and becoming hot in it I took it off. 10 minutes later I regretted this. There is a moment just before it starts to really pour when you can almost hear what is a flood of water about to descend from above. I immediately grabbed my poncho but in my rush put it on awkwardly. My head was covered, my one arm was sticking and everything below my waist was exposed to the element. usually in Antigua the rain will be strong but it will not last past an hour. Here however the rain continued for the last 2 hours that it took me to reach base camp. And not only did it rain but an intense hailstorm also commenced. Overall my last 2 hours were spent trying to shield my face from hail, feeling the hail hit my back, avoiding puddles that were becoming lakes and streams that were becoming rivers. All this while climbing narrowing trails on the side of the mountain where one tumble could send you rolling down the mountain. Such was the intensity of the rain that I met the group of hikers who were far ahead of me, hiding beneath a temporary cover made by combining several ponchos. They just simply could not proceed.

Thankfully, the camp was not that much farther from that point. Unfortunately I was completely soaked and only had clothes to change my clothes above the waist since I had completely not anticipated how soaked my jeans would become. I had brought an extra pair of socks but had lost them on the way. And as I stopped moving I became colder and colder. Breakfast seemed like a sweet and distant memory as I began to shiver and shake somewhat violently. Trying to get some warmth I brought my stuff to a tent and curled up. I knew that we would be having lunch and dinner at some point and I hoped this would allow me to warm up. I was hoping that my body would adjust naturally and start to warm up just like one time in St John's where after being splashed head to toe by a car I dried myself using only my body warmth. But today this was impossible. A chilly wind was blowing, my socks and shoes drenched and I kept shivering. Sitting still only made it worse.

The tent which I had chosen as my shelter for the night was leaking and cold drips of rain kept landing on my feet. Feeling no warmth in the tent I moved to the cooking site. Water was being boiled and I hoped I might warm up, or at least my fingers which were starting to feel numb. I did have lunch, eating some bread, cucumbers along with some hot water and chocolate and warmed my fingers on the hot cups. But in the meanwhile I overheard the guides admit they had never been this cold before and that they were genuinely suffering just like us. While it is more comraderly to share our misfortunes it did feel some worrying that the guides who were supposed to know better were faring marginally better than we were.

Dinner was marginally better, 2 servings of pasta with some sauce, and what was particularly delightful, delivered to our tents. The guides had noticed that I was shivering and told me that the warmest I would get would be in my sleeping bag without all my wet clothes. They were right and wrapping myself in the sleeping bag was blissful and not having to leave to eat dinner made it even more so. There was 7 of us to a tent, all squished together, several people resting on one person's legs or with someone else's legs protruding against someone else. It is hard not to get know people and socialise in such an environment. Generally at this point in my travels and particularly after this trip I can classify the general mass of foreigners in Guatemala into 2 big groups. Obviously these groups do not define an individual and there is much complexity in humans, particularly people who travel, but there certain things that stand out.

Whenever I travel on weekends outside of Antigua I'm particularly exposed to the group that would label simply travellers. This is a vague term and amongst them particularly prominent are nomads; people who take years out of their lives to travel the world, not staying in one place for too long, not more than 3 months. They are usually older with some work experience and have put careers and lives on hold, just to travel, because they feel burned out back home and they feel like they are running out of time to exploit their relative youth and health to travel. They also have a solid travel history but often do not know a language past basic communication. And despite the fact that they will have a substantial career gap at a time when one would think they could least afford it, they appear calm and enjoy the moment even though post-travel life is often on their mind. They feel content to be free of the rat race that they feel stifles their ambitions and dreams.

The second group I encounter most in Antigua which makes sense, since the people I socialize with predominantly in Antigua are volunteers. This group just like the previous group is mostly composed of people from the US, Canada, Western Europe or at least having spent a great amount of time there. Typically volunteers are separated by degree of commitment to their placement. Quite a lot of people misunderestimatedtheir resolve and desire to actually help and get sidetracked by other things, travel, partying etc. Some of them even say that they were shy back home and that they did not go out much but that their presence in a foreign country has inspired them to change and really live out that lifestyle abroad, because hey how often are you abroad. This somewhat disappoints me just because Antigua is so saturated with foreigners that all entertainment is catered to them. Going out can be fun of course but it is nothing that will not have seen back home so prioritise this over genuinely authentic Guatemalan experiences is mindboggling. Most volunteers of course also travel at least in the weekends but just cannot match the canniness of actual travellers. Because most of them are here for just several weeks compared to travellers, they overspend and value absolutely insured and guaranteed experiences over taking time to find the best deals and experiences. Also because they can only travel in the weekends they will arrange standard type trips that everybody does, which although allows them to see some highlights, means their trip is fairly common. On the side of the scale are volunteers who are ultra commited to their placement. They feel that 4 hours a day is inadequate and rarely if ever skip a day of placement. They typically also tend to be very conservative and religious and are driven by a sincere desire to help and learn.

Anyway back to the story at hand. Everybody went to bed quite early Saturday night, as early as 6pm. I tried to do so too because I knew the next day would start at 5am at which point we would reach the summit in time for sunrise. I say try because I did not sleep very well or better put at all well. It became progressively colder at night and the cold started to seep through my sleeping bag, making me restless. My head was not elevated and rested awkwardly on someone else's sleeping mat. On my sides, front and back people were shifting, moving and turning as was I. This was also my first camping trip and by extension my first time sleeping on the ground. I had slept in some weird places and in some awkward positions, for instance my last night in St John's in April I slept on a table in a graduate student room in the engineering building. But at least I had a pillow then. The most I could achieve was perhaps to doze momentarily in uneasy sleep. At one point in the night I could hear coyotes howling, presumably because they were having as bad a night as I was.

Eventually Lorenzo emerged into our tent whispering gently to Andrew that it was time to wake up. We roused slowly reaching for our clothes and trying to make ourselves as warm as possible for the impending hike. My problem still remained, no dry pants, socks or shoes. Andrew tried to help and brought me his pair of pants which he said would dry fast but were actually just slightly drier than mine. Anticipating and dreading the prospect of putting on wet socks that morning I had slept with my socks, in my armpit or beneath my back. They had not dried but at least now were warm. I put on my socks and just as I was about to put on the pants, Andrew stuck his head in the tent and said Femke, a Dutch woman, was going to lend some of her pants. She had loaned out her sandals out to anyone who needed to step outside the tent to go to the toilet, a luxury I had used the day prior as well, albeit having to go in boxers out in the cold and foggy environment outside my tent.

Despite everyone warning me that were pants designed for women, they were warm, dry and that is all that mattered to me. They also matched my somewhat slimmer figure and gave me a colourful outfit for the day; red jacket, blue pants, black socks and green sneakers. Since it is always darkest before dawn we had take falshlights and walk pretty much in a uniform line to avoid losing anybody. I usually see little in the dark and even though I had flashlight, the terrain was rocky and becoming increasingly inclined to the point that more climbing than hiking was being done. Not all the rocks were completely sturdy and carrying my sleeping bag in one hand in case it was very cold at the summit left with only one free hand to balance myself.

The last part of the hike at least had more of a visual target, a point that you could see above you. Although motivating, once you realise that there is actually much more to climb, terrain hidden behind what you had thought was the summit, this can be quite disheartening, knowing you are trapped in an optical illusion with no end in sight. And lest we forget I was climbing up the air was not getting any more oxygen rich. I found needing stops every 5-10 minutes and having to breath as deep as I could even while resting. Fortunately I persisted and the incline bcame gentler. The final 50 metres was almost like a gentle walk along ground littered with pebbles, rocks and massive boulders. I and a couple of other guys had created some between ourselves and the guides who were delayed by the need to help one particiapant down to base camp. There was a lot more light than at the start of the hike and not knowing how close I was I raced ahead wanting to beat the sun to the top. I trudged faster and faster as the ground became flatter and flatter.

Walking past some rocks that were positioned to make a word, I finally saw the Guatemalan flag that signified the summit. I was at the highest point of Central America and had survived everything it had thrown at me. Looking out to see the view, resplendent volcanoes that surround Tajumulco feel like they are bowing to you, a conqueror of the toughest amongst them. Looking out from where I had come I could see clouds beneath, forming a whirlpool in the sky, with the obligatory patch of sky in the middle. On the other side, is the Pacific Ocean along with land parceled into different shapes and colours. From the sides the view was filled with clouds of various sizes with peaks of other volcanoes protruding through them, standing tall and proud. Standing out there made me look back on my journey to this point. How I had intended to go to Newfoundland, living in doubt for 18 months, not knowing if everything would come together to allow me to leave a country where it is so easy to become trapped. But I had emerging out of the other side of the rabbit hole and nowhaving made a conscious decision to do something different than everybody else in my engineering year, volunteer, travel and put all my savings on the line into just 3 months instead of getting work experience, earning money and laying the foundation of my career in Canada.

But I pulled off for as a wise man once told me, you can anything in life that you want but not everything. No matter what the odds against you are, the societal and peer pressure that you face, the soulcrushingly dull and horrific environment you are, others have been in you shoes before and they made and so can anybody. You just have to keep walking, sometimes in despair, hopelessly but keeping in mind that every journey has an end and most suffering earns you your just reward.

We stayed on top of the volcano for maybe an hour or 90 minutes. The wind was so chilly and fierce that both Miriam and Andrew got in their sleeping bags and rested in a little alcove of rocks that shielded them against the ice-cold and merciless wind. I would join them on ocassion, resting against the rocks, warming my hands for which I had no warm gloves, before dashing off to take it all in again and running around the crater of the extinct volcano. The volcano had played a final trick on me; my camera which was a bit moist, died after only 4 photos at the summit. It had taken a bit of beating since I arrived in Guatemala so I could not begrudge it.

Just before we headed down and took a team photo the guides realised that Moosa, a Dutch national of Afghani descent was missing. He had been complaining since day one in a somewhat funny but despairing way, lamenting the somewhat difficult conditions of our overnight stay. Having made it to the top he was immediately suffering from the cold as he was still wearing wet clothing items. As it turned out later he had simply returned on his own but there was always a worry that he could have tripped and fallen down the side of the volcano. We elected to head down to basecamp to ascertain that he was there. The descent was no less steep, but still exciting since we had taken a different route. Ice covered the steps, requiring me to be extra careful, since several times having stepped on it, I lost grip with the ground and felt almost ready to tumble down the trail.

Eventually we stumbled back to base camp and to what was a gloriuosly sunny morning. Everybody immediately took their stuff to dry before packing up to head back down. Going down was much easier than climbing up and I was finally able to look up for extended periods of time. What I saw was amazing, green valleys dotted with villages and tree filled hill tops. Much more often we would take picture breaks just to capture the expanisve vistas opening up to us. We made to a restaurant where the cool OJ was the best OJ I have ever tasted in my entire life.

The last part of what turned to be an amazingly authentic Guatemalan experience was the first chicken bus from Tajumulco to San Marcos. Chicken buses out in the countryside can end up pretty crowded in a Guatemalan way. Chicken buses rarely admit that they are full so after all the seats, 3 people to a seat, are taken, the aisles become blocked, and then people are allowed to ride on the roof. That is illegal so at times people on the roof have to climb down to pretend they are actually in the bus for the police. In one such instance I saw a pair of feet clinging to what was the narrowest of ledges on the outside of the bus while simultaneously shifting himself across the bus towards the door. In the meantime Moosa was forced to sit next to a man who was completely out of it, probably in a very intoxicated state. This was on the seat directly to my left so I shared his concerns that something unpleasant may happen. Sure enough the man began to relieve himself directly onto the floor, with the urine spreading rapidly all of the adjacent sections of the floor. While this happening directly to my left, directly to my right a young Guatemalan was flirting gently and getting to know a young Guatemalan girl. In what other part of the world would it be possible to have such contrasting experiences happen at the exact same time while only having me as a buffer? If there is another such place I want to visit it too.

Dedicated to M.T

Weekly volunteer progress report July 1-4

donkosarev — Wed, 10 Jul 2013 05:43:00 GMT

Monday may perhaps be the last day at which the number of volunteers was restricted to a small number, 4 with the arrival of one new volunteer, Mariella. The first 2 hours were rather slow as Juan Jose took both Mariella and Rachel for what turned out to be a sit down and explanation of the project at which i have worked since my arrival. At the time, me, Dan and Freddy did not know this so we poked fun at Don Juan, a term used in Hispanic culture for womanizer.

I was also dealing with the fact that the lack of water on Friday had prevented me from cleaning the buckets that were used for cement. Therefore the first 2 hours were spent by me scrubbing and chiseling away the concrete on the walls of the bucket. Once we were rejoined by the girls from their lecture, Freddy conscious of the fact that 6 new volunteers were inbound tomorrow, directed an extensive cleaning and moving campaign, aiming to make the placement look more presentable to the new volunteers. At the end having moved piles of bricks to reduce clutter and having cleaned along the newly built walls and underneath pipes used to direct water heated by the sun to the rest of the building, Freddy was left satisfied by our efforts. During the break he even wrote my name on a pair of gloves I had been using since my first day. This small gesture may seem insignificant but to me it suggested my acceptance and the recognition of my efforts and a desire to keep me motivated in weeks to come.

Tuesday is when I was able to meet all the new volunteers. Marie, a fluent speaker in Spanish and a teacher of Spanish to those who spoke it as a first language, was joined by her son Marco, who had leaned Spanish before he had learned English. What made this so impressive was that neither of them had any Hispanic heritage or descent. Alexis was a quebecer from Montreal just like Dan, but in complete contrast spoke fluent Spanish as well as he had been born in Argentina. Greg was a 1.98m tall American who had had previous construction experience building a garage with his father. Mariella, who had joined our placement on Monday, was also fluent in Spanish having lived for long periods of time in spanish speaking countries, but who otherwise was a theology teacher for 10-12 year olds. Reece, a Londoner just turned 18, who was going to train to be an electrician completed the group of arrivals.

I was honestly apprehensive about the size of the volunteers almost doubling as even with 4 people the volunteer placement was not without conflict. It was also quite hard for me to imagine all of us working on the top of the roof where space was limited. Freddy was however able to manage the situation effectively, splitting us up into 2 groups. For the first half of Tuesday, I worked with one group on the third floor. With Freddy rushing me I successfully completed the wall, but not before cracking 3 blocks apart and requiring Dan´s assistance.

The rest of Tueday and Wednesday I worked with Rachel, Mariella, Marie and at times Greg in the shed behind the after school center. The shed was filled with wood of differing sizes and they all need to be cleared out. The wood was separetd and stored in various piles based on its length and width. Initially the work was not very taxing and the larger pieces were stored inside the building itself. However as we reached the floor, the work became more meticulous as twigs had to be picked up and trash was becoming more frequent. Most of the trash consisted of corn husks and I even found part of some animal´s jaw. What made the task vexing was the presence of a colony of endangered spiders. I´m not fond of spiders and Rachel herself had what she called a genuine phobia of them. As we cleared ever more layers of twigs and garbage more and more spiders made an appearance. Eventually we reached their lair from which several large specimens emerged. I had to employ significant mental reserves to keep calm, particularly as I swept off a spider from Rachel´s back.

Wednesday culminated with us cutting a large banana tree and then placing the remains in a large organic pile. Thursday which was my last day due to my Tajumulco hike was fairly different than any of the previous days. Juan Jose assembled all the new volunteers and me in a room which contained a computer. Over the next hour he proceeded to explain that the building on which I had worked the prior 4 weeks was used as an after school center for 60 kids. They came here for a meal, to receive tutoring for school subjects and learn practical skills, such as IT and agriculture. Hearing him speak with quiet passion about how his wife had started the center, had battled a culture of alcoholism and belittlement to receive an education which only inspired to make a change, moved me. I was able to understand most of what Juan Jose was saying in Spanish, allowing me to understand how important this was for him.I myself felt motivation to keep working hard and to contibute as best I can to the project. Several other people felt differently however, and wanted to get back to work as quickly as possible. For me it was different baceause I finally understood where it was I working and what I was helping build without the need for conjecture and speculation.

To close out my week I worked on the third floor again, helping make a very liquidy mix of concrete which was then poured into a foundation between 2 sections of the wall that had been constructed. This was fast paced and I went through a lot of cement, but the wall itself is nearing completion and is coming along nicely.

Volunteers-people, stories and other funny things

donkosarev — Wed, 3 Jul 2013 11:17:00 GMT

This post will be intended for all the funny stories, explanations of Guatemalan society derived from various conversations, descriptions of other volunteers will be placed. This post is likely to be updated frequently, and will probably end up being my lengthiest post. Thses stories often occur at Casa Shekina and my construction site or other random places. These stories are also included here if I felt they were not large enough to merit their own post.

1. I will often hear or experience stories on Wedenesday morning. There is a simple logic to this. Tuesday nights are lady's nights at Mono Loco, a popular sports bar 10 minutes away from the house. These nights are so popular due to the river of cheap alcohol available to the patrons, averaging around 4 quetzales or 50 cents per drink, shot etc.

My first experience of this night came from Emily, a girl who seemed to be fond of my roommate, Aaron, a taller American who had travelled to Guatemala with his mother and who was also visiting his aunt, also living in Guatemala on a permanent basis. My first Tuesdays, she, along with several other girls, proceeded to barge in to our rooms and jump on a sleeping Aaron. Shrieking and yelling they would depart after 5 minutes. Surprisingly my roommate had no recollection of this the next day, in stark contrast with me. But this is nothing compared to the following Tuesdays. One Wednesday morning, me munching gently on a pancake with strawberries at half past six in the morning, 2 girls made a dramatic entrance. Never could have I imagined what they would tell us. They had just made their way back home. They had met some guy who had claimed to be a race car driver and who had invited them back to his place. His place turned out to be a mansion outside of Antigua and how those girls managed to return home is beyond my comprehension, particularly since they commenced their walk home in the dark. I must admit that I respect their fearlessness, as they could not stop laughing when recounting their adventure.

Neither is Tuesday a requirement for baffling drunk stories. This Monday it was Ashlar's turn to take the stage. Suffering from ADD, a curvy blonde femme she found it difficult to sit still at times and did not significant alcoholic inducement to start fooling around. I had met her the day before and had gone out with her and some other people who stayed for the weekend. As the night was winding down towards bedtime, she proceeded to start climbing up the metal grates in front of windows we passed. If there had been something else to latch on she would have, I thought then. It was no surprise therefore to hear on Tuesday morning my roommate discussing how the night prior, wanting to enter the kitchen but finding it locked, Ashlar had climbed and descended into the kitchen from above. Either that or she simply broke a window. Neither was it surprising when Alex, a friendly and jovial Canadian in my group Spanish class, recounted how he had gratefully accepted an Oreo cookie from Ashlar. What he had not anticipated was that the cookie was a pot cookie, making Alex baked out of his mind, in his words. Despite her just being in the country for 2 days, this was not surprising, since in coinversation 2 days before, she ad divulged to me that she had bought 2 pounds of marijuana, for 3 grand, and had proceeded to use and sell it to friends for the better half of the year. Considering she had made a 10 thousand dollar profit, despite the persistent attention of the FBI, I found a delightful person to talk her with wonderfully unconventional wit and humor.

2. 4th of July was celebrated widely in Antigua due to the sheer number of Americans present and the desire of all the local tourism industry to benefit from it. Casa Shekina also has many Americans who were pumped for the holiday and wanted to celebrate. Knowing that I had no placement the next day and having promised Alex, a classmate in my group Spanish class, that I would have a drink with him before he left, I had agreed to join the rest of the misfits from my house.

Any celebration in Antigua is not a celebration without the bang of firecrackers. And no simple firecrackers either, they are linked in rows so that when you light one they all go off one after the other in quick succession. Alex had recently got into the taste of using them, since he had used extensively three days prior for Canada Day. Walking towards the house party in Alex´s former house, he set off several firecrackers, even returning to to one that had failed to explode in order to finish the job.

The party itself was a typical North American college house party, people of various backgrounds united by their affinity for alcohol and the desire to have a good time. People played beer pong, talked and some burgers were evn made. As someone remarked to me, this party could have been taking place anywhere in the world where young Amercians, Canadians are abundant.

Surprisingly very few of us from Casa Shekina had joined Alex and so we ended up in La Sala, an establishment many people go to dance. I had actually been in La Sala my first night, dancing on the bar table, even though I did not pay much attention to where it was I was actually dancing. I was not particularly looking forward to just another night of dancing and aimless conversation, so I perked up when I saw Ashlar. Any night spent in her company with her was getting the reputation of being out of the ordinary. She was however feeling poorly and asked me what time I was planning on going back home. Sensing that she really wanted to go back home and knowing that she would not do so until somebody offered to accompany her and wanting to get a bit of sleep before my scheduled 5:30 am departure from Antigua to Xela, I insisted on walking her home.

After almost 4 weeks I had finally developed some sense of orientation and I found my way pretty instantly. Our route took us past the largest supermarket in town, where I buy my chocolate coins as a snack during break time at my placement. Tonight however in the lit ambience of the supermarkets courtyard, a homeless person had found temporary refuge and was inspecting a wound on the sole of his foot. Ashlar immediately took pity on the man, approaching and asking him if there was any way she could help him. Hearing the man ask for some socks, she immediately promised the man that we would be back in 15 to 20 minutes. Still feeling unwell, but doing her best to move past her pain, we rushed back. She was already deeply in thought on what else she could offer the man and discussing her plans out loud with me. I could offer her no practical guidance, just moral support. Grabbing a goody bag with 2 pairs of socks, water, blankets and some money she pushed back to where the man had promised to wait for us.

Dissapointingly for her, the man was nowhere to be seen once we had returned. Despite our inability to help the man, her spontaneous and unprovoked altuism certainly moved me. You do not see this often and that fact that it came from Ashlar certianly demonstrates that Casa Shekina certainly has some multi dimensional and multi layered, complicated human beings. the fact that certain people are so unique and special that no label can stick them and they are simply their own person.

3. Globalisation in Guatemala

I was inspired to write this section by various amusing coincidences over the past 4 days. The exact moment that inspired me can be found in an internet cafe in Xela which charged 3 quetzales or around 40 cents per hour of using the hour. It was a small place where men came in to internet date using Skype, one on my left and the other on my right. The Internet was also somewhat shifty, and not all internet pages would load, while at times it would simply refuse to work, leading me to ask the manager to fix it, which he did by muttering and banging on the computer.

What stunned me however was how at one point the radio which was been played throughout the cafe put on a song by Serebro, a Russian girl band who had faded from prominence after participating in the 2007 Eurovision Song Contest, and trying to reverse that, have released videos and songs of them fooling around in cars and planes. Their latest had bombed in Russia but was being played over the radio in Guatemala.

And it was not just that. Several days before, trying to find Atlas Shrugged in Antigua, I had been walking around town when I suddenly found myself walking behind a Guatemalan boy wearing a sport jacket with "RUSSIA" emblazoned on the back. Moments later just after I entered a bookstore, I located 2 books in Greek. Since this particular establishment was selling used books, its collection reflected the clientele that had visited it. One book was a greek translation of the spiritual teachings of some Indian guru, while the other was a greek edition of the 'Hobbit'.

Considering the fact that I have also met many people of Russian descent but who could not speak Russian, it is remarkable how without actually having met someone from Greece or Russia here, I have seen signs of their influence and their mark. Since very few tourists from these countries visit Guatemala, it is somewhat good to know that at least such sparsely represented groups in Guatemala are leaving almost like artifacts for those who follow. Something to find and remind yourself where you're from and why you left.

4. Teamwork, political correctness and emotional intelligence

A big part of working in a team I find is to be able to judge what people's pet peeves and do your best to avoid them lest you want to cause permanent friction and conflict. A case in point would be Rachel, a volunteer that triumphantly refuses any label,is witty, rejects the use of social networking sites and is intensely passionate about politics and the life in general in the United States.

I pride myself on staying informed about current world affairs and since the US is one of the more prominent countries in terms of stature and coverage that it receives in the world media, I stay up to date with the news there with particular attention. I also particularly enjoy talking with others about their countries in general and talking with Rachel was especially interesting.

It was on casual morning, Tuesday morning I think it was, when carrying some wood that me and Rachel got talking about politics in the US. The conversation led us to Occupy Wall Street at which point I commented about the perceived failure of those protests due to a lack of concrete goals that were shared by all the protesters. After that it quickly went downhill. I was unable to find common points with her and the tone became heightened and very serious. Personally I had no principles to defend but I was alarmed by how passionately Rachel defended her point of view for I had never before been in such an intense debate. In an misplaced attempt to lower the tone of the debate, I attempted to make a joke first through physical slapstick and then by commenting how serious Rachel's face was in response to her demand to know what was so funny. Evidently I failed since she stormed off and refused to speak with me for the rest of the day. Ultimately we both got over it and were able to keep working together effectively and productively.

In another instance at the end of a productive day I arm wrestled with Freddy and was able to secure a draw, which for me was a success, considering his superior strength, with my only advantage being my sheer stubborness. In my sheer joy I exclaimed that my feat was similar to that of Stalingrad. I was promptly crashed to the ground as both Rachel and Robert, a 27 year old Brit and a great construction worker, both stated that my exclamation was offensive. Speaking to them I understood that our associations with the term were vastly different. Whereas Rachel and Robert solely associated Stalingrad with Stalin and his evil deeds throughout his reign, my association is with the battle of WW2 and the extraordinary bravery and tenacity shown by the typical Soviet soldier and in no way was glorifying Stalin or his deeds. I had aslo referred to Stalingrad in particular because I hoped to avoid offending anyone by not mentioning the history of other countries, just my own. I had failed however in part because Robert, a history enthusiast, knew little about Britain's involvement in WW2, but had formed a strong opinion on Stalin. In this case any tension was resolved immediately in a mature way.

There are many other cases which I have witnessed as well where supposedly harmless jokes cause offence. Now, whenever Rachel is talking about the US, I keep my mouth shut and when refering to history in a humorous fashion, will now only mention ancient history because good relations with my coworkers will always be more important than a silly joke or the need to explain my views on subjects that I do not have a strong stance in.

5. Names, names, names

I have received multiple names, nicknames and aliases since my arrival in Guatemala. They're usually accompanied by a funny story so I will list them all here. I like accumulating all these names simply because my name is so adjustable depending on where I'm living, meaning I have lived with several versions of given name, Dmitry, based on where I live.

Red/White Russian

As I've mentioned before this has been used as a nickname due to my occassional sun burns and the colour sun cream creates. Since I have bought SPF 50, I do not usually apply a lot and sometimes I get areas of skin with a thick layer of sun cream giving me the nickname White Russian. I also had a very pale skin tone on my arrival, particularly compared to Freddy's who having worked in construction in some capacity or another has accumulated a very dark brown tone. Have recently also been using Red Russian(Ruso Rojo) to introduce myself to the kids at the school where I'm volunteering at. Red Russian is also used by Freddy because he claims that my face goes bright red whenever we arm wrestle and how Russians are associated with being angry. Angry=red.

Cleopatro

Name introduced by Willy in one of the Spanish classes. He says inspiration came to him suddenly. Others associate with me being a diva in class. Me; I like it.

Extraterrestre

Spanish word for alien. Mentioned in class how I sometimes feel like an alien amongst other people and how I/m afraid of aliens even though I don't think they exist. Alex later went further with this nickname and called me an alien several times in class to great comical effect. That's why I liked the guy and appreciated him. He knew how to make fun of me the right way while at the same time boosting my reputation for being different to others.

Ruso

Russian in Spanish. SInce there are so few Russians around(really nobody except me) this nickname has proved a very good way of identifying me to others in Guatemala.

Plutarco

Another of Willy's creations. Taken after a famous greek historian I feel like it conveys my wisdom. I also have a slight suspicion that Willy associates it with talking too much and hogging the spotlight when I was in his Spanish class.

Geovanni

The past weeks I have been unable to keep up with all the new arrivals in the house and have not introduced myself to several of them. One Sunday eveningone of the new girls, Hunter, a girl with which I avoid hanging out, entered my room while me and my roomate were inside. Turning to me she wondered out loud what my name was. She started out with "Geeee..." at which point my roommate decided to give her a helping hand and finished in questioning tone "Geovanni?". I burst out laughing and decided against correcting Aaron, my roomamte and to go along with it. I have always been looking for a credible alias I could use and now I have found one. In fact, while in Monterrico, I used that name with a Guatemalan who mentioned how one of his dreams was to travel to Siberia and live with the indigenous nomadic tribes that live there; the Chuckchi. A fine gem in my collection of names.

Pacaya Volcano

donkosarev — Sun, 30 Jun 2013 06:35:00 GMT

A big part of volunteer life in Guatemala involves trips; weekend tips, day trips, night trips. Many of the larger trips that are available often take up most of the weekend and require transportation back during a week day. This of course would involve missing a productive day of both construction and classes, the main reasons for my presence in Guatemala. Wanting to minimize the loss of week days to trips, I set out to discover trips that would avoid this. Fortunately I already knew that I wanted to pursue hiking of some natural wonder due to me enjoying the hike that I did in Semuc Champey so much. Guatemala is fortunately blessed with an abundance of volcanoes, many of which are imminently hikeable. I had always admired people who recounted their tales of climbing of mountains such as K2, the inescapable but mysterious drive that pushes them to reach the summit, despite all the hardships. In my mind the sheer awesomeness of climbing a volcano, mattered much more than that they were fairly short. To boot there are 4 volcanoes in Antigua's vicinity, Fuego, Acatenango, Agua and Pacaya. Wanting to pack in as much as possible I became enraptured by the idea of ding 2 volcanoes in 2 days.

Asking around it immediately became obvious that without a big group of people, Agua would pose severe security risks and the most likely outcome would be that I would get robbed. Fuego and Acatenango are neighbours, so scaling one would give you a great view of the other. Every day after having had dinner, i would venture forth into the darkness, searching out specks of light that might be still open agencies. Due to the sheer number of tourists in Antigua, a myriad of tourist agencies have also sprung up to serve them and offer trips to many different places, both in Guatemala and other countires in Central America. Finding tours to Pacaya was easy enough as all the agencies offered it, and it was simply a matter of price. The other volcanos were either not on offer or required you to sign up with a certain number of people or were simply outrageously expensive. I kept asking around until someone who was departing in the coming weekend handed me a brochure for a travel agency that had fairly reasonable prices on it, such as 8 dollars for a Pacaya tour versus 10 with other agencies. Intrigued I set out to find it on Wednesday night. Having told myself that I simply needed to walk straight, I for some reason convinced myself that I needed to turn left instead. What followed was me walking in some sketchy parts of Antigua, until I reached a part that did not even have the trademark cobblestone streets. I kept walking until I finally walked along the church where me and freddy usually wait for the bus. never have I ever been so happy to see a church!

The next day I tried again and succeded because I walked straight where I was supposed to walk straight. I was quoted a very attractive price to climb up Acatenango, considering that the whole trip was likely to take approximately 12 hours. Buoyed by my find I counted my quetzal reserves and I decided that I needed to change some of my Canadian dollars. Friday afternoon, I ran to the bank where i had exchanged my euros. They informed me politely but firmly that this was not possible. I then tried walking to Citibank, reasoning that a branch of such an international bank would surely be able to convert my hardly exotic Canadian dollars. Reaching it at 20 minutes past one, I saw a notice posted on the door that the bank had shut at one and it would remain closed for the following 2 days. Growing increasingly exasperated since I did not want to arrive at the travel agnecy too late and discover it was not possible to book anything at such a short notice, I returned back home and decided to extract money from my card. I had by then also realised that any currency exchange required your passport which I had not brought along either.

Having run out of time to get some money from my card before my Spanish classes started, I resolved to completing the necessary tasks after they would finish ie after six. By five however the sky had turned as gray as the cement mix at my construction site with rain pouring endlessly. Now I had already walked in the rain twice without appropriate clothing items and both times I had to take my t-shirt off, for it became heavy with all the water it had absorbed. having taken a tuc-tuc home and then having run back to find an ATM, I had doubts. Certain ATMs had either experienced card theft or card cloning. Additionally I was uncertain as to whether local ATMs would accept my Canadian debit card. I also had a credit card but I was not 100% sure of the PIN, making me quite anxious. Nonetheless I stuck my card in the ATM, pressed the buttons on the side and accepted the charge. The ATM refused to hand out more than 1000 quetzals and I had a moment of panic, figuring the machine had swallowed up my card. I almost puched the machine out of frustration until I remebered I had actually put the card back in my wallet. Walking out both the person using the neighbouring machine and the security guard gave me looks of bemusement and suspicion.

Finally, having reached the Shibusin agency the good news was that they were still open. The bad news was that the woman who had given me a quote for Acatenango had failed to actually ask and double check the quote she gave me. As she did so in front of me, I could understand from the tone of her voice that she had made a mistake. Putting the phone down she said that I actually needed two more people. Disappointed I admonished her in Spanish, telling her that what great hopes I had for the weekend and that i was the only person I know crazy enough to do 2 volcanos in 2 days, one of which required 5 and a half hours to climb.

I still booked Pacaya though, and woke up at ten to five in the morning to prepare myself. The day was very cloudy so brought no sun screen, just water and something to wear if the weather was cold at the apex of our climb. I was the last to be picked up and the drive took longer than I expected. I was joined in my challenge today by two dozen other tourists, making me grumble at the touristy nature of this trip and how much more challenging and personal hiking Acatenango would have been. This feeling was amplified as children started to offer us crude, wooden walking sticks and a legion of horses greeted us. As all of us commenced the climb we walked among horse poop, old and fresh, with the first quarter of an hour spent carefully managing to avoid stepping in some of the more obvious piles. Walking on, the climb started to strain me slightly and I gasped for air despite not being that tired yet. Onwards and onwards we climbed with varying inclines, but always circling upwards, making me question why people dont just try to walk straight up. However incredible views of the other 3 volcanoes started to appear on the horizon, giving me a welcome excuse to stop and take photos. I was already at an altitude above some of the msit that was forming, which as it did would move quite rapidly to obscure the views, requiring me to snap even quicker.

Finally I reached the dead zone, where there was no more vegetation, just heaps of volcanic rock. Pacaya is an active volcano and has been continously active for quite some time, meaning tourists are only let up to a certain distance deemd safe. One tourist had ignored the distance and simply walked abit closer not even to the summit and had died after being hit by a rock from the volcano. Nonetheless, I still got a great view, and the I could see smoke from the top of the volcano. Pervasive mist had started not only the volcano but also the tourists, and you could physically see patches of mist glide through the air. the guide led us up a very steep crater, at the bottom of which was a dense forest, shielded from the volcanic eruptions.

Knowing now that we were about to head back, I was looking forward to the descent, usually something much more painlees than the ascent. But I was wrong. The guide did not take back down the winding path around the volcano, but rather directed us to run down the volcano! The first part was down a wide patch of a thick layer of volcanic rocks and dust. It was steep enough that many were able to jump down with both feet, sprint down, but only suffer from boots filled with dust. The second part was more thrilling because it was more dangerous. A steeper descent, with a much narrower path, and a thinner layer of dirt that allowed us to slide. Instead of running, sprinting and jumping carelessly, the feeling was as if gravity was tugging on you, and all you could was try to balance yourself. Several times I was unable to do so and landed on my backside, sliding down uncontrollably, and trying to get myself back up by using my hands to slow the descent. I had not done anything similar since I was a young boy and it felt incredible.

The rest of the descent was fairly mild and we swiftly climbed back on to the bus that brought us there. The kids that had tried to sell us sticks before the climb, were now of all things in a football mad country, playing baseball, with one of the sticks they tried to sell us. Despite the unsuitability of the equipment the kids were able to make some good hits, and several of the American tourists joined in the game. Despite me not feeling tired, I dozed off on the bus, banging my head on the window, yet stll feeling content by the whole experience and feeling determined to climb the highest volcano in all of Central America; Tajumulco.

Weekly volunteer progress report Jun 24-28

donkosarev — Sun, 30 Jun 2013 04:55:00 GMT

Having figured that due to my presence in Guatemala being for many more weeks and me wanting to record all the different activities that I do at my placement, I have decided to keep updating weekly all the goings on, to make sure nothing significant slips my memory. This week bar Friday, 4 volunteers(including me) and Freddy were present. This week we continued to work on the wall on the third floor with some other miscellaneous tasks. Friday was my busiest day since all other volunteers were away on trips and Freddy had to leave early for a meeting. Victor, the head of the international section, or in my experience the guy who accompanies new volunteers to their construction placements and devises schedules and plans where future placements will be, aslo accompanied us. He was sick on my first day at my placement, but had joined us several times at the placement site and like Freddy, his company was pleasurable and much laughter would occur in all of our daily interactions.

This Friday, me, Freddy, Victor, and Juan Jose, the person who requested the construction project and occassional helper, first sat down where I with my line of questioning in Spanish, sparked a lively debate about Guatemalan and US history and politics. Having started the conversation I was content to listen, and despite me not being able to understand anything, I knew enough in general to be able to recognise what was being discussed, and understand what points were being developed by the participants. After an hour, we finally got to work. Cement was mixed with sand, and upon addition of a moderate quantity of water, the resulting mix was used to place the final row of blocs on the north side of the third floor. Since this was a new row, first the corners of the row were placed carefully to ensure that they were exactly even to the blocks beneath and opposite them. Then two lines were strung across the row to be built, allowing for future blocks to be aligned along the string. The final row also needed U shaped cement blocks, along with cuts along the shorter sides to accentuate the U shape. After an hour Victor and Freedy left for their meeting, and with Juan Jose's whereabouts unknown, I proceeded to work alone for an hour, placing more blocks along the row. Little water was available to me to add to my cement mix, leading me to struggle to align the blocks precisely. Juan Jose returned and was able to assist me greatly, to the point that now only one more block is needed to complete the row and the wall. The previous days I was kept busy either by making concrete mixes, using a pick and a hammer to create a gap along the wall on the left side for the water pipe to fit in and using the same tools to create an indent in the floor, allowing water to flow along it off the floor through a carefully placed hole in the wall.

This week was also the last for Robert, an older and more mature volunteer than the typical college student or recent graduate. In fact he was unique because his path in life did not feature university at all, rather an apprenticeship in cabinet making. Having worked with his hands for 15 years, he was more skillful and adept at any of the tasks assigned to him at the site. He was also a perfectionist and always aimed to do the best job possible. It took some time for me to warm to him, since he was also quite reserved with his emotions, making it difficult for me to read his stae of mind. He was also quite honest at times, perhaps a bit too honest but as his final day at placement approached, i was able to distinguish more and more cracks in his shell. This was aslo aided tremendously by Rachel, the sole female volunteer at our project, with whom he had formed a strong friendship. On his last day, taking pictures of the site, receiving his certificate and hugging the people who lived beneath us as we worked, realising he would probably never come back, he almost teared up. Watching him, hearing him say how everything looks different when you look at it for the last time, made me think ahead and wonder just how sad I would be when I would leave. He had spent only 8 weeks in Guatemala and despite his learned ability to control his emotions he had almost cried. How would I react after 12 weeks?

Typical week day

donkosarev — Tue, 25 Jun 2013 11:01:00 GMT

A very important part of all of my days on weekdays is my 4 hour volunteer placement. Despite the fact that I have to wake up at 6 each morning, precluding me from going out at night, it is always an easy choice to prefer my volunteer placement over a night out. A major factor in this is my foreman Freddy. Every day I will meet up with him at Maximo Nivel's office, and we will talk together to the bus stop, chatting in Spanish about all sorts of different topics despite my still restricted Spanish vocabulary. His openness and graciousness when confronting my enthusiastic albeit often limited Spanish, doing his best to understand and answer to the best of his ability while allowing me to understand is what motivates me every day during my Spanish classes. I had opted to work at a construction site, figuring that this type of placement was closest to engineering in spirit and because the prospect of a hard day's work, seeing your work actually materialise, seemed very appealing. I had picked this also because or despite the fact that I had no prior construction experience, meaning I would have to learn on the job itself. Freddy's patience at the placement site, teaching and sometimes demonstrating what he wants me to do several times is unmatched and because of his continous use of Spanish whilst we work, my immersion is significantly increased, and not only do I get to practise the Spanish I learn, I also pick some new things every day.

Typically after meeting Freddy, we will walk 2 blocks to the bus station to wait for the chicken buses to get to San Mateo, a small town just outside Antigua where I am based. Now the chicken buses are simply US school buses still bearing the Porsche label, repurposed for the general public. Suffice to say that in a developing country like Guatemala, environmental standards are fairly relaxed and not the first priority. This can be directly evidenced by the chicken buses, where the exhaust fumes that they produce are black and frankly smell pretty terrible. But at least the bus ride there and back costs only 6 quetzals, which in US dollars is 75 cents. As ever ther is a trade-off which ultimately many of the Guatemalans themselves prefer, as the low cost allows them to travel acroos the country on their wages, despite the bus sometimes having unrelaible service and unpredictable hours. In fact, last week having missed the bus, Freddy drove us to San Mateo by motorcycle, which was actually my first experience being driven on a motorcycle. I gripped on tight to the straps of Freddy's bag, but it was still an exhilarating experience, particularly when we climbed the steep winding hill. As the motor furiously vibrated trying to cope with the weight and the incline, my foot would absorb all the vibrations. Steadily my foot would begin to feel smaller and smaller and my shoe felt like it was going to slip and then the foot itself would drop of the motorcycle and plod along the ground. Thankfully just as I would get worried, the motor would finally explode into a higher gear, awakening my foot in the process.

The roof on the third floor of the project where I work opens a stunning 360 degree view. To the north a volcasno can be seen, usually with its summit dipped in mist. On the other sides, mountains covered with villages appear, with local farmers cultivating and leading their lives regardless of our presence. For the first 2 weeks, I participated and assisted in numerous activities. Starting with the preparation of foundations into which cement was to be poured, where I assisted by tying wire knots around the structural supports and metal bars to the preparation of cement, everything was centered around the preparations of the construction of a wall on the third floor of an school children's center. My first Thursday was a pivotal day, since I was the sole regular volunteer present and that was the day a truck full of material arrived; sand, blocks and cement bags. Having anticipated the scale of the challenge awaiting us he had summoned emergency help by using a volunteer from Spain usually working with children along with various people from the town of San Mateo. Having carried heaps of sand using a wheelbarrow, dozens of blocks, my day was only complete when I carried 4 cement bags, weighing 42.5 kgs each, up a flight of stairs to the second and third floors. The previous days I had also assisted in the erection of a temporary cover for various material that were best not exposed in the rain. Just before starting to build the wall itself, the final cement foundations for the wall were were completed without any barrier or reiling on the edges of the building. Having a fear of heights, I was especially paranoid of falling off the roof, especially once freddy warned that the roof of an adjacent house just below us would height up tremendously and that he personally would prefer falling 5 metres than falling on those metal covers.

At the end of last week work had finally started on the wall itself. Cment was deposited on which the blocks were subsequently placed. Using some thread, Freddy created a visual guide along the wall to be built, to follow when lining up the blocks, to ensure that all the layers of the wall matched up to each other. Using a spirit level and a hammer blocks were gently coaxed into the perfect postions next to their neighbours. So far I have helped mix the cement used to secure the blocks in place, filled the gaps between them with cement, and I have covered any cracks at the bottom of the first row of blocks. Usually having given me a task, Freddy will demonstrate the optimal way of completing a task if he sees me struggling, several times if necessary until I can independently finish the task to his satisfaction. As of today 5 rows of blocks have been placed along one side of the building we have commenced working on the immediately adjacent side. The next stage will involve the towering cement foundations into which quite wet concrete will be poured. Estimated completion time for the project is 3 and a half weeks.

After work, having returned home and eaten, I head to Maximo Nivel's building to have my daily 4 hours of Spanish. The 4 hours are separated in 2 blocks; 2 hours of private instruction with Sandra and 2 hours of group class with Willy. My private classes are mostly conversation with some work done using a textbook with grammar and short articles. Sandra, my teacher for those 2 hours, matches me every step of the way with every joke I make. She now proceeds to tease by implying that the resident cleaner is attracted to me and will proceed to buy Victoria Secret underwear to seduce me. The fact that she is also nearing 50 and has a daughter does not deter from mentioning it. Generally though the majority of time is spent talking about random topics, usually revolving about my daily activities at my placement or my weekend trips. My second 2 hours, of group instruction with a teacher named Willy, is not so indulgent to my idiosyncracies as willy needs to be considerate of the needs of the whole group. Therefore despite me trying my best to amuse and entertain myself and others in a spirit of fun and respect, I have gained a reputation despite constant changes in the people who make our group. Hence I have gained the nicknames 'El Gran Demetrio', where Demetrio is the Guatemalan equivalent of my name, Cleopatro which amuses because of its sheer randomness and Extraterrestre, or alien in Spanish. I have also at times benn shushed and called a pain in the "select which are you thinks works best here, eg butt". Still such is the power of a reputation that it sometimes takes very little for me to make Willy or someone else laugh making it all worth it.

Photos: Semuc Champey

donkosarev — Mon, 24 Jun 2013 01:01:00 GMT

Photos from my trip to Semuc Champey