Tag: guatemala

• Bend the Rules

  When I came home from Guatemala, I started playing a lot of tennis. The ball can’t bounce twice or land outside the lines, but there are also “rules” in the sense of guidelines for where to be and when. The beautiful part of the game is finding these patterns and then breaking them; if someone is really aggressive at the net, shoot down-the-line. The creativity and connection on the tennis court are pronounced, but all of life’s beauty reflects a tennis game. We collect data on a system then stretch and play with what we know to be “right” and ordinary.

  My friend Maggie is pursuing a professional career in comedy. She plays with dichotomies and controversies, which look a little different in Guatemala. After I ate a plate of food, my coworkers would joke “wow, she was really hungry.” From their point of view, women don’t eat that much and pinpointing that abnormality is humorous. Maggie, on the other hand, would make jokes about the family of four riding a motorcycle or sixteen kids on the back of a pickup truck. We’ve been taught that those things are irresponsible and dangerous, but not a single Guatemalan would blink an eye at it.
  
  My friend Jess is a writer who pushes the boundaries of words. In Guatemala, the nickname your family gives you is the physical attribute that sets you apart: gordita – little fatty, chino – Chinese face, colocha – curly head. If you called your neighbor “little fatty” in the United States, a restraining order might await you, but in Guatemala it’s a sign of trust. Almost like saying I love your insecurities because they make you, you. This is one way to do it, but I usually found myself talking about high school for three hours when Jess and I validated our insecurities.

  My friend Kaitlyn has a high-energy, adventure-seeking, variety-needing personality. Her way of playing is putting herself in new environments. In Guatemala that would mean going to every restaurant and street-food vendor, putting ourselves on the sides of volcanos, and taking every public bus up narrow, mountainous roads at 11pm. Geography, food, and transportation all have different rules in Guatemala, and staying prepared for them was a game in itself.  
  
  It seemed unrealistic to write an essay about tennis, a game I never played in Guatemala, and tie it to my experience there. But playing tennis is just understanding the rules well enough to no longer be confined to them. My entire Peace Corps experience was learning a new set of rules and then bending, pushing, and stretching them. In life, Maggie, Jess, Kaitlyn, and I view the rules in similar ways, and I think that is why we are friends.

  April 29, 2026

  books, central-america, guatemala, peacecorps, peacecorpsguatemala, travel

  ---

• Las Camionetas

  I’m on the edge of a highway in a foreign country. Street dogs roam around me, searching for scraps of food, and the constant whirl of cars speeding past bring glimpses of hope, extinguished by the fact that I’m still here, waiting for the bus.

  After buying and leisurely eating a chuchito and atol from a nearby street vendor, I eventually hear a tumultuous horn disrupt my wandering mind and watch as the bus rumbles in. I’ll climb up the steps and either clumsily make my way down the aisle, dodging limbs and grabbing seats as it takes off, or I’ll climb up the steps and wait for another 15-20 minutes so the driver can buy and leisurely eat his chucito and atol. When we start down the steep, twisty road, the driver will decide to either move at a normal pace or absolutely haul ass, leaving us to clutch the seat’s railings and fly over speed bumps.

  The ayudantes are the people who collect the cash from each rider and bungee-jump large bags, farming equipment, or couches on the top of the bus when necessary. They are athletic, flexible, and a little mean, but also willing to hold a baby and help an abulita up the steps. Ayudantes reach a flow-state on overcrowded buses. Imagine 3 people on each seat and a 7th person using the pressure from either side to make a makeshift seat in the aisle. The ayudantes spiderman their way over the tops of the seats or somehow maneuver their limbs to squeeze through, but the money gets collected, guaranteed. When they reach the back of the bus, instead of moving back through the masses, they will often open the door, climb on the roof, and once again spiderman their way to the front door as the bus is speeding down the highway.

  The bus is a canvas to each camioneta driver and ayudante, and they will decorate it with passion. A fan favorite is the photo of a scandalous lady provocatively posing next to a quote like “Jesus is our savior.” But the best vibes come from those who blast regatton, preferably with LED lights changing color and bopping along to the beat that are strung on the shelves above our heads.

  There were times when the bus didn’t come, so I hopped on a pickup truck, called a taxi, or used a TukTuk, and I was always fine. Although the systems in place are chaotic, they get the job done 99% of the time even in the rain, the traffic, and with a couch strapped to the roof. The resources and infrastructure available are utilized, which look a little scattered to an American, but it was better public transportation than my hometown.

  April 29, 2026

  adventure, camioneta, centralamerica, guatemala, lakeatitlan, peacecorps, peacecorpsguatemala

  ---

• The Two Worlds

  I lived 20 minutes from Lake Atitlan, which is one of the most beautiful lakes on Earth that sits at the bottom of a cauldron with three towering volcanoes surrounding it. The principal town on the coast of these waters is called Panajachel, and I lived 20 minutes up a road that started from Panajachel and traversed this cauldron. Stay on that road for another 20 minutes and you’ll reach the top of the cauldron and the school where I worked. Due to Panjachel’s proximity to the water, a wave of tourism, economic growth, and gentrification swept the town in the past 20 years, so that’s where I found my bougie coffee shops and Chinese food. My site, by comparison, had two coffee shops, a market, and a laundromat. It was enough to sustain a comfortable life, but I went elsewhere to buy quinoa. Keep moving up, and the aldea where I worked followed indigenous culture, didn’t have a market, and was primarily farmland. The 1000 ft of elevation gain between the top and bottom of the cauldron was like night and day. Panajachel had white people “seeing authentic Guatemala,” and the other one was authentic Guatemala. Being an American myself, but one who lived there for two years, I felt like I belonged to both worlds. I would roll my eyes at the tourists’ party boats and its over-priced markets, but I also didn’t belong with the Guatemalans. I am simply too loud, too opinionated, and too conditioned to a life that is easier for women. 

  As you moved up the towns on the cauldron, the level of social cohesion and community grew. Starting at the bottom, Panjachel somewhat parallels the United States, and there was a certain dogma to be the most “woke” within the expat community that felt a little toxic. Conversely, families in my site lived together and spent a lot of time together. There were constant events like quinceñeras, weddings, and birthdays to celebrate where family and friends would sit around the table and eat in silence. It was a comfortable silence, one where nothing needs to be said. And lastly, in the aldea where I worked, community was synonymous with survival. People would share, giving and taking without worry of the debt. Everybody helped until the work was done, and everybody showed up to make their children’s lives better. They live with less, but part of me was jealous of their intimacy. I miss them all nearly every day.

  April 29, 2026

  culture, cultureshock, guatemala, peacecorps, peacecorpsguatemala

  ---

• Bend the Rules

  When I came home from Guatemala, I started playing a lot of tennis. The ball can’t bounce twice or land outside the lines, but there are also “rules” in the sense of guidelines for where to be and when. The beautiful part of the game is finding these patterns and then breaking them; if someone is really aggressive at the net, shoot down-the-line. The creativity and connection on the tennis court are pronounced, but all of life’s beauty reflects a tennis game. We collect data on a system then stretch and play with what we know to be “right” and ordinary.

  My friend Maggie is pursuing a professional career in comedy. She plays with dichotomies and controversies, which look a little different in Guatemala. After I ate a plate of food, my coworkers would joke “wow, she was really hungry.” From their point of view, women don’t eat that much and pinpointing that abnormality is humorous. Maggie, on the other hand, would make jokes about the family of four riding a motorcycle or sixteen kids on the back of a pickup truck. We’ve been taught that those things are irresponsible and dangerous, but not a single Guatemalan would blink an eye at it.
  
  My friend Jess is a writer who pushes the boundaries of words. In Guatemala, the nickname your family gives you is the physical attribute that sets you apart: gordita – little fatty, chino – Chinese face, colocha – curly head. If you called your neighbor “little fatty” in the United States, a restraining order might await you, but in Guatemala it’s a sign of trust. Almost like saying I love your insecurities because they make you, you. This is one way to do it, but I usually found myself talking about high school for three hours when Jess and I validated our insecurities.

  My friend Kaitlyn has a high-energy, adventure-seeking, variety-needing personality. Her way of playing is putting herself in new environments. In Guatemala that would mean going to every restaurant and street-food vendor, putting ourselves on the sides of volcanos, and taking every public bus up narrow, mountainous roads at 11pm. Geography, food, and transportation all have different rules in Guatemala, and staying prepared for them was a game in itself.  
  
  It seemed unrealistic to write an essay about tennis, a game I never played in Guatemala, and tie it to my experience there. But playing tennis is just understanding the rules well enough to no longer be confined to them. My entire Peace Corps experience was learning a new set of rules and then bending, pushing, and stretching them. In life, Maggie, Jess, Kaitlyn, and I view the rules in similar ways, and I think that is why we are friends.

  April 29, 2026

  books, central-america, guatemala, peacecorps, peacecorpsguatemala, travel

  ---

• Las Camionetas

  I’m on the edge of a highway in a foreign country. Street dogs roam around me, searching for scraps of food, and the constant whirl of cars speeding past bring glimpses of hope, extinguished by the fact that I’m still here, waiting for the bus.

  After buying and leisurely eating a chuchito and atol from a nearby street vendor, I eventually hear a tumultuous horn disrupt my wandering mind and watch as the bus rumbles in. I’ll climb up the steps and either clumsily make my way down the aisle, dodging limbs and grabbing seats as it takes off, or I’ll climb up the steps and wait for another 15-20 minutes so the driver can buy and leisurely eat his chucito and atol. When we start down the steep, twisty road, the driver will decide to either move at a normal pace or absolutely haul ass, leaving us to clutch the seat’s railings and fly over speed bumps.

  The ayudantes are the people who collect the cash from each rider and bungee-jump large bags, farming equipment, or couches on the top of the bus when necessary. They are athletic, flexible, and a little mean, but also willing to hold a baby and help an abulita up the steps. Ayudantes reach a flow-state on overcrowded buses. Imagine 3 people on each seat and a 7th person using the pressure from either side to make a makeshift seat in the aisle. The ayudantes spiderman their way over the tops of the seats or somehow maneuver their limbs to squeeze through, but the money gets collected, guaranteed. When they reach the back of the bus, instead of moving back through the masses, they will often open the door, climb on the roof, and once again spiderman their way to the front door as the bus is speeding down the highway.

  The bus is a canvas to each camioneta driver and ayudante, and they will decorate it with passion. A fan favorite is the photo of a scandalous lady provocatively posing next to a quote like “Jesus is our savior.” But the best vibes come from those who blast regatton, preferably with LED lights changing color and bopping along to the beat that are strung on the shelves above our heads.

  There were times when the bus didn’t come, so I hopped on a pickup truck, called a taxi, or used a TukTuk, and I was always fine. Although the systems in place are chaotic, they get the job done 99% of the time even in the rain, the traffic, and with a couch strapped to the roof. The resources and infrastructure available are utilized, which look a little scattered to an American, but it was better public transportation than my hometown.

  April 29, 2026

  adventure, camioneta, centralamerica, guatemala, lakeatitlan, peacecorps, peacecorpsguatemala

  ---

• The Two Worlds

  I lived 20 minutes from Lake Atitlan, which is one of the most beautiful lakes on Earth that sits at the bottom of a cauldron with three towering volcanoes surrounding it. The principal town on the coast of these waters is called Panajachel, and I lived 20 minutes up a road that started from Panajachel and traversed this cauldron. Stay on that road for another 20 minutes and you’ll reach the top of the cauldron and the school where I worked. Due to Panjachel’s proximity to the water, a wave of tourism, economic growth, and gentrification swept the town in the past 20 years, so that’s where I found my bougie coffee shops and Chinese food. My site, by comparison, had two coffee shops, a market, and a laundromat. It was enough to sustain a comfortable life, but I went elsewhere to buy quinoa. Keep moving up, and the aldea where I worked followed indigenous culture, didn’t have a market, and was primarily farmland. The 1000 ft of elevation gain between the top and bottom of the cauldron was like night and day. Panajachel had white people “seeing authentic Guatemala,” and the other one was authentic Guatemala. Being an American myself, but one who lived there for two years, I felt like I belonged to both worlds. I would roll my eyes at the tourists’ party boats and its over-priced markets, but I also didn’t belong with the Guatemalans. I am simply too loud, too opinionated, and too conditioned to a life that is easier for women. 

  As you moved up the towns on the cauldron, the level of social cohesion and community grew. Starting at the bottom, Panjachel somewhat parallels the United States, and there was a certain dogma to be the most “woke” within the expat community that felt a little toxic. Conversely, families in my site lived together and spent a lot of time together. There were constant events like quinceñeras, weddings, and birthdays to celebrate where family and friends would sit around the table and eat in silence. It was a comfortable silence, one where nothing needs to be said. And lastly, in the aldea where I worked, community was synonymous with survival. People would share, giving and taking without worry of the debt. Everybody helped until the work was done, and everybody showed up to make their children’s lives better. They live with less, but part of me was jealous of their intimacy. I miss them all nearly every day.

  April 29, 2026

  culture, cultureshock, guatemala, peacecorps, peacecorpsguatemala

  ---