No sleep for any of us for the past 40 hours.
We arrived today at our spartan Antigua homestay, 10 people in an 800 square foot home, and that comfort zone started to crumble. I´m writing this at 10:30 and although we collapsed in bed 3 hours ago, the family is talking and laughing in their cramped living room, enjoying their Saturday night. It´s novel, the idea of 3 teenaged boys enjoying each other´s company like that, but I´m past over-tired!
Paul said he´s feeling depressed and came into bed with me, switching places w/Dena.
I don´t know if I´d call it depressed, but I understand his feelings. A delayed red-eye and Houston connection to a place so unfamliar, the polluted clamor of the capital city in the midst of an election that has angry demonstrations on every corner; stray dogs fed on basura that wander the middle of the street; Mayan peddlers, some of them toddlers, casing you with broken entreaties (Miss, you wait for this?), a homestay cena of halved Vienn sausages with stewed tomtoes poured on top, and everywhere Spanish Spanish Spanish.
Paul held his own playing soccer with the Guatemaltecos, though.
But, yes, they are still talking down there.
