Here in San Pedro people say there is a different time scale. San Pedro time is fifteen minutes late, if at all, and it takes alot of thought in the mornings just to figure out what day it is, let alone the date or really just how long we have been here. I think it is two weeks, but correct me if I am wrong. The election came and went while I thought it was still thursday in Australia. Maxine´s seat was well and truely sorted by the time I found out about our new prime minister. It is lovely to know that it´s safe to come home again.
We have filled in our time pretty well here. A week of spanish lessons that has given me enough spanish to waffle out mangled sentences. Next week we will return for another round of lessons with just 3 hours in the morning rather than 4, hopefully we can demangle the sentances a little but. The lessons are in the garden by the lake, with just Tim and I, and out teacher Noberto. We do our best to distract him from grammer with our impressive stories of kangaroos and our questions about the animals here.
But first, before the next round of lessons we are off on a trek for three days. We start in Quetzaltenago and walk back here to Lake Atitlan through the mountains. We will be walking throught the little rural villages, up into cloudforests and down into river valleys, staying with local families on the way. Up in the highlands here is stronghold of the maya, not the spanish, and most of the women still wear the traditional woven fabric skirts and embroidered blouses. Some men still wear the bright woven fabrics with intricate desighs too, but sometimes made into wild west rodeo shirts! What a cultural blend.
We have visited a few different towns over the last few days, and there is a slightly different style of dress in each, along with a different local language, which is generally the first language, not spanish as I thought. And different hights too. I am finally tall in San Pedro, and a giant in Solola! At the local market I tower. Not that anyone is scared, the markets are crowded and squishy, I am pushed and shoved, I turn to see who it was, and time and time again it is a little old lady up to my ribs. It´s a special feeling being manhandled by a grandma!
So for now goodbye
Lot of love
Jillian
