Tag: peacecorpsguatemala

I Spent So Much Time in the Peace Corps Partying

I almost never went out in college, and a part of me felt like I missed an essential part of growing up, so throughout my two years in Guatemala I made up for lost time.

I clung to other volunteers like my life depended on it, because it did. My friends were, and still are, the only people who knew what it was like. Sure there were tourists 20 minutes from me who spoke English, there were even expats in that town, but only 60 people in Guatemala had integrated alone into an indigenous community for two years. Those were the people I turned to when I needed to process, question, or vent. As fate would have it, my cohort was full of extroverts who wanted to chat, and that meant staying up until 2-3am almost every other weekend, dancing and drinking and doing nothing.

My favorite part of it was meandering in the lit streets of Antigua or Panajachel that were usually crowded with honking tuktuks and chaos in the daytime. I loved the darkness and dancing with my girlfriends, but those things took up only a small portion of the night. Partying for me meant dodging drinks and then dealing with stomach pain when I failed. It meant losing the sleep schedule I worked so hard for during the week. It meant travelling and Airbnbs and spending money. It meant feeling bad about myself when the two hot guys at the club didn’t pick me. It meant feeling annoyed when there were no hot guys there. It meant feeling like I had to have sex or I wasn’t young or pretty or alive. It meant trying to stay awake from 9 pm-11 pm until adrenaline kicked in. It meant praying someone would come talk to me by the door so I didn’t have to go into the circle and try to keep up with the banter. It meant trying to tuck my bloated stomach that was processing dinner into my jeans when all it wanted to do was sleep. It often meant not working out for two days. It meant pretending I liked all of that when it was chipping at my soul.

After coming back to the United States, the fog lifted. The satisfaction of pursuing my dreams outweighs whatever was found in the early hours of the morning, and it would be impertinent to waste more time. I don’t regret that phase of my life because college was a lonely experience, and I felt that hole filling up while dancing reggaeton 2,000 miles away from home; but I can let it go with a clear head and heart. The path forward feels clear. I’ve traded in the darkness of the night for the darkness of the morning.

April 29, 2026

mental-health, partying, peacecorps, peacecorpsguatemala
When The Kids Played Soccer, Not a Second is Spared

I’m looking down from the school’s balcony at the kids playing soccer. It’s Segundo versus Tercero Básico today (7th versus 8th grade), just like it is every day, and right now Mike has the ball. A lanky kid with an infectious smile who is the perfect amount of recalcitrant, his pent-up energy radiates off of him as he runs. He dodges Ramiro from Tercero, touches the ball with his right leg, then kicks it with his left. He passes it to Dylan, another kid from Segundo, who does the same sequences of complicated steps and kicks it back to Mike. He shoots, scores, and pumps his fist. That is the extent of the celebration: It is of the utmost importance that the game resumes immediately.

These kids sometimes take ten minutes to go to the bathroom during my class, but the ball was back in session 30 seconds after Mike’s goal. They don’t care that it’s snack time or that thunderous clouds have rolled in, they don’t even notice the girls who are watching. Every second on the soccer field is gold, and the kid retrieving the ball knows it’s his duty and moral responsibility to return it as quickly as he can. Few words are spoken throughout the game, yet the boys emote and relate to one another in ways they never can in the classroom. Javier is an impenetrable defenseman, which solidifies trust amongst his teammates. Jefferson doesn’t like to be in the middle of the action, so he thrives as goalie. Adial’s quick feet score goals, allowing him to shine when he spends so much time hiding. Even when someone plays atrociously, they keep going. Even if class is terrible, they keep going. They forgive their teammates and they forgive themselves, because nobody knows what will happen once that ball is back in play. I leave, wondering what my soccer field is. They don’t notice.

April 29, 2026

adventure, centralamerica, peacecorps, peacecorpsguatemala, soccer, travel
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

I Spent So Much Time in the Peace Corps Partying

I almost never went out in college, and a part of me felt like I missed an essential part of growing up, so throughout my two years in Guatemala I made up for lost time.

I clung to other volunteers like my life depended on it, because it did. My friends were, and still are, the only people who knew what it was like. Sure there were tourists 20 minutes from me who spoke English, there were even expats in that town, but only 60 people in Guatemala had integrated alone into an indigenous community for two years. Those were the people I turned to when I needed to process, question, or vent. As fate would have it, my cohort was full of extroverts who wanted to chat, and that meant staying up until 2-3am almost every other weekend, dancing and drinking and doing nothing.

My favorite part of it was meandering in the lit streets of Antigua or Panajachel that were usually crowded with honking tuktuks and chaos in the daytime. I loved the darkness and dancing with my girlfriends, but those things took up only a small portion of the night. Partying for me meant dodging drinks and then dealing with stomach pain when I failed. It meant losing the sleep schedule I worked so hard for during the week. It meant travelling and Airbnbs and spending money. It meant feeling bad about myself when the two hot guys at the club didn’t pick me. It meant feeling annoyed when there were no hot guys there. It meant feeling like I had to have sex or I wasn’t young or pretty or alive. It meant trying to stay awake from 9 pm-11 pm until adrenaline kicked in. It meant praying someone would come talk to me by the door so I didn’t have to go into the circle and try to keep up with the banter. It meant trying to tuck my bloated stomach that was processing dinner into my jeans when all it wanted to do was sleep. It often meant not working out for two days. It meant pretending I liked all of that when it was chipping at my soul.

After coming back to the United States, the fog lifted. The satisfaction of pursuing my dreams outweighs whatever was found in the early hours of the morning, and it would be impertinent to waste more time. I don’t regret that phase of my life because college was a lonely experience, and I felt that hole filling up while dancing reggaeton 2,000 miles away from home; but I can let it go with a clear head and heart. The path forward feels clear. I’ve traded in the darkness of the night for the darkness of the morning.

April 29, 2026

mental-health, partying, peacecorps, peacecorpsguatemala
When The Kids Played Soccer, Not a Second is Spared

I’m looking down from the school’s balcony at the kids playing soccer. It’s Segundo versus Tercero Básico today (7th versus 8th grade), just like it is every day, and right now Mike has the ball. A lanky kid with an infectious smile who is the perfect amount of recalcitrant, his pent-up energy radiates off of him as he runs. He dodges Ramiro from Tercero, touches the ball with his right leg, then kicks it with his left. He passes it to Dylan, another kid from Segundo, who does the same sequences of complicated steps and kicks it back to Mike. He shoots, scores, and pumps his fist. That is the extent of the celebration: It is of the utmost importance that the game resumes immediately.

These kids sometimes take ten minutes to go to the bathroom during my class, but the ball was back in session 30 seconds after Mike’s goal. They don’t care that it’s snack time or that thunderous clouds have rolled in, they don’t even notice the girls who are watching. Every second on the soccer field is gold, and the kid retrieving the ball knows it’s his duty and moral responsibility to return it as quickly as he can. Few words are spoken throughout the game, yet the boys emote and relate to one another in ways they never can in the classroom. Javier is an impenetrable defenseman, which solidifies trust amongst his teammates. Jefferson doesn’t like to be in the middle of the action, so he thrives as goalie. Adial’s quick feet score goals, allowing him to shine when he spends so much time hiding. Even when someone plays atrociously, they keep going. Even if class is terrible, they keep going. They forgive their teammates and they forgive themselves, because nobody knows what will happen once that ball is back in play. I leave, wondering what my soccer field is. They don’t notice.

April 29, 2026

adventure, centralamerica, peacecorps, peacecorpsguatemala, soccer, travel
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