As always, time here in Sololá is flying by. Not only have we finished our first English program, but yesterday my group and I also returned from our first Manna retreat. At every MPI site, PD’s must take a group retreat once every quarter to debrief, unwind, and discuss our programs and personal growth throughout the past months. For our first retreat, my group and I decided to visit the city of Quetzaltenango, more commonly known as Xela, which is located about two hours away from Sololá. As one of our group’s Social Chairs, I was in charge of planning the excursion, and I was so pleased with the trip’s success. Not only were we able to reflect on several issues, but we also bonded as a group. Overall, the retreat provided an excellent break between the end of English classes and the beginning of our summer camp which will start this Tuesday.
Leaving on Wednesday morning, my group and I arrived in Xela just in time to settle into our hostel and enjoy some “family time” watching the Yankees/Rangers game with Dana, our resident Yankee’s fanatic. We spent the next three days enjoying a break from our standard diet of beans and tortillas at numerous delicious restaurants, discussing various international development theories, and experiencing cultural sites near Xela. Like most major cities in Guatemala, Xela hosts an interesting mix of Mayan and “Western” culture. Traditionally dressed women sell fruits and handicrafts outside of McDonalds, the large Catholic church possesses a bright yellow façade painted with both Roman saints and jaguars, and the local market is located next to the shopping mall, which by the way has a movie theatre and a food court with both Burger King and Cajun Grill. Altogether, it is very interesting.
For me, my favorite activity was our excursion to the one, the only Parque Acuático Xocomil, Guatemalan’s own famous water park. Striking me as a Guatemalan version of Disneyland, Xocomil boasts replicas of several Mayan ruins and themed rides, and it has become the most popular tourist attraction in Central America. Although I managed, per usual, to make a spectacle of myself screaming my head off on several rides, we all had so much fun at the park and in true tourist fashion, I bought a tee shirt.
Xocomil and its neighboring thrill park Xetulul are run by IRTRA (Guatemalan Private Enterprises Workers’ Recreation Institute), an organization that directs several amusement parks throughout the country. IRT RA employees and their families receive several benefits, including entrance to the parks, and the organization’s revenues profit the overall national economy. Nevertheless, while IRTRA possesses these positive features and I greatly enjoyed my visit to Xocomil, I cannot help but feel conflicted about the park. Every day, Xocomil uses copious amounts sanitized water. However, in the neighboring villages located less than 10 minutes from the park, children frequently become sick and die from parasites they contract from contaminated water. With their replicas of temples and artifacts, Xocomil glorifies Maya history and culture, yet the park does not aid the thousands of Mayas that live in poverty and do not have access to nutritional food or clean water.
This problem extends beyond Xocomil. Indeed, I believe that the global tourist industry fuels innumerable similar contradictions in developing countries. Far too often do we admire Mayan clothing, without admiring the person inside. Too often do we praise the historical accomplishments of a certain culture, and then fail to acknowledge the current struggles and resilience of that culture’s living population. Too often do we hide in resorts and eat the area’s “traditional” meals, while the resort’s cook cannot afford to eat his own culture’s food that he prepares every day.
Overall, I believe that the tourism industry has made a significant positive impact on developing countries’ economies, and therefore should not be written off as evil or destructive. I also believe that attractions like Xocomil provide a space for fun and reflection, both of which have value. Nevertheless, next time I go to Xocomil, or any other resort in a developing country, hopefully I won’t ignore the woman and child selling fruit on the side of the road. I must remember to give thanks for everything I have, and to do what I can for those who struggle.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Family Matters
There we were. Four gringos in a chicken bus named Maria Luisa, a retired American school bus decorated with religion maxims and pictures of Jesus Christ on the Crucifix. Careening around narrow curves on the landslide-prone InterAmerican Highway at full speed, we speculate when the bus received its last inspection and the vehicle’s actual recommended capacity. Like sardines, we are packed three in each seat, while a fourth traditional Maya person practices “Mayan Levitation,” and somehow manages to span the aisle between the two seats and sit as if in a chair. I pray that Maria Luisa’s breaks do not fail and I calmly listen to the dance club reggaeton blaring through the bus’s speakers. Somehow, this treacherous ride has ceased to frighten me. Using them for almost all daily travel, I mount a chicken bus and suddenly experience a strange feeling of homecoming.
I constantly marvel at the extent to which Sololá feels like home. With its postcard view of Lake Atitlan and the three bordering volcanoes, its bustling market, the colorful huipils (traditional dress) of the local women, the abundant stray dogs, the general friendly atmosphere, and obviously the chicken buses, Sololá has become familiar and homey, while simultaneously surprising me frequently with its quirks and customs. Many friends and family members will be visiting me throughout the year, and I cannot wait to show them the house and city which I hold in such high esteem.
The principal explanation for my attachment to Sololá lies in the familiar relationship of my team. It’s true; my 5 coworkers and I are a family. Whether we are sitting around the dinner table joking about the boys’ questionable cooking skills (they seem only able to cook meat), or we taking Christmas card portraits while wearing Santa hats that say “Feliz Navidad,” I am constantly struck by the intimacy, trust, and respect that our group has already established. Sure, we work together professionally as colleagues, but we also live together and consequently share in each others’ struggles and successes. We are each other’s support system, and I know that I can confide in any or all of my roommates about my beliefs, personal issues, and relationships. Heck, we even have pets; our family now includes one spunky yet snuggly kitten named Oliver and a crab named Eduardo that appeared in our kitchen sink and now lives in a Tupperware on the window sill.
Overall, like a family, we may disagree or quarrel, yet we always resolve those arguments because that’s what families do: they put aside annoyance and anger to forgive and understand each other. Throughout these past three months, we have already experienced so many challenges and laughs together, and I amazed at how quickly strangers can become close friends. I am so grateful for these new friendships and I look forward to the remainder of the year.
Peace
Ginny Savage
I constantly marvel at the extent to which Sololá feels like home. With its postcard view of Lake Atitlan and the three bordering volcanoes, its bustling market, the colorful huipils (traditional dress) of the local women, the abundant stray dogs, the general friendly atmosphere, and obviously the chicken buses, Sololá has become familiar and homey, while simultaneously surprising me frequently with its quirks and customs. Many friends and family members will be visiting me throughout the year, and I cannot wait to show them the house and city which I hold in such high esteem.
The principal explanation for my attachment to Sololá lies in the familiar relationship of my team. It’s true; my 5 coworkers and I are a family. Whether we are sitting around the dinner table joking about the boys’ questionable cooking skills (they seem only able to cook meat), or we taking Christmas card portraits while wearing Santa hats that say “Feliz Navidad,” I am constantly struck by the intimacy, trust, and respect that our group has already established. Sure, we work together professionally as colleagues, but we also live together and consequently share in each others’ struggles and successes. We are each other’s support system, and I know that I can confide in any or all of my roommates about my beliefs, personal issues, and relationships. Heck, we even have pets; our family now includes one spunky yet snuggly kitten named Oliver and a crab named Eduardo that appeared in our kitchen sink and now lives in a Tupperware on the window sill.
Overall, like a family, we may disagree or quarrel, yet we always resolve those arguments because that’s what families do: they put aside annoyance and anger to forgive and understand each other. Throughout these past three months, we have already experienced so many challenges and laughs together, and I amazed at how quickly strangers can become close friends. I am so grateful for these new friendships and I look forward to the remainder of the year.
Peace
Ginny Savage
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Punk'd
So for those of you who are not pop culture junkies, for several years, MTV aired a show called Punk’d, in which goofy yet very attractive Ashton Kutcher would mastermind and film elaborate practical jokes on other celebrities in order to bring the superstars “back to earth.” For example, in one episode, Ashton Kutcher tricked singer Justin Timberlake into believing that the government was seizing all of his property. In other episodes, Kutcher denied Halle Berry entrance into her own movie premiere, and set up Nelly Furtado’s purse as the source of a bomb scare. After every prank when the celebrity is either panicking or fuming, Kutcher would finally appear to inform them that they had been “punk’d.” It is all quite amusing.
It is slightly less amusing when you are the target of the “punk.” Yes, I must admit that this past Thursday, my 5 coworkers and I were punk’d by whom else but the seemingly unassuming, traditional Maya teachers at la Primaria Central. Here’s how it all went down:
Last Thursday, la Primaria Central observed Día del Niño (Children’s Day), a national holiday similar to Mother’s Day, in which adults throughout Guatemala appreciate and celebrate the children. Every year on Día del Niño, not only do restaurants and stores host special discounts for children, but schools also cancel classes and teachers provide special treats and surprises for their students. At Primaria Central, the day was very festive with a viewing of Nanny McPhee in the morning, athletic competitions and activities, dancing, and piñatas. In addition to the baked goods that my coworkers and I prepared for them, the students received t-shirts, lunch, cookies, and copious amounts of candy. Whether from the holiday excitement or from the copious amounts of sugar, the students were bursting with energy and enthusiasm all day.
However, throughout the week prior to the holiday, the other teachers repeatedly informed us that tradition requires all of the teachers to perform dances for the students in the “cultural section” of the festivities. As the resident English teachers at the school, we apparently also needed to perform. Consequently, although we six very rhythmically-challenged gringos were quite reluctant to display our lack of coordination in public, we decided to put our pride aside and attempt to choreograph a dance. After all, the other teachers would be dancing as well, and they had mentioned to us that a payaso artistic (artistic clown) would be performing after us. We might be silly, but at least we weren’t clowns. My coworkers nominated Dana and me to spearhead the endeavor (probably because we own and use several Richard Simmons work-out videos) (did I just admit that?), and so we did what any other girl from the 1990’s would do and chose to choreograph a three minute dance to “Spice Up Your Life” by the Spice Girls. A classic, nay iconic song of my generation.
After practicing frequently throughout the week, we arrived at the Día del Niño celebrations with snazzy dance moves and all the resolve we could muster. As we enter the gate, several teachers approached us and exclaimed: “Good morning! We have told all the students and everyone is so excited for your dance! Are you ready to do it?” Dana replied: “As ready as we’ll ever be! But can we maybe perform after all the teachers?” “Haha,” chuckled Esteban, the school’s principal and former mayor of Central. “The teachers do not dance. Only you six. The whole school is so excited.” We had been royally duped. The “cultural section” of Dia del Niño would include no other dances, no artistic clown. Only us. Dancing to Spice Girls. The teachers all enjoyed a good laugh, while we all stared at each other in disbelief. We got punk’d.
Ultimately, we did perform our dance, and although I still would not consider coordination to be one of our group strengths, we all had a great time. Plus, everyone seemed to enjoy the performance. Not only did several students ask to learn our “traditional American dance,” but we also received a large group chant for an encore performance. Overall, I consider the whole experience to be a lesson in humility. By humbling/making fun of ourselves, I believe that we reached a new level of closeness with the teachers. Also, it seems special that the teachers would feel a close enough friendship with us to punk us. I think we will not tell next year’s team of Program Directors about the “tradition.” It’ll be good for them.
Peace
Ginny Savage
(Video to come soon!)
It is slightly less amusing when you are the target of the “punk.” Yes, I must admit that this past Thursday, my 5 coworkers and I were punk’d by whom else but the seemingly unassuming, traditional Maya teachers at la Primaria Central. Here’s how it all went down:
Last Thursday, la Primaria Central observed Día del Niño (Children’s Day), a national holiday similar to Mother’s Day, in which adults throughout Guatemala appreciate and celebrate the children. Every year on Día del Niño, not only do restaurants and stores host special discounts for children, but schools also cancel classes and teachers provide special treats and surprises for their students. At Primaria Central, the day was very festive with a viewing of Nanny McPhee in the morning, athletic competitions and activities, dancing, and piñatas. In addition to the baked goods that my coworkers and I prepared for them, the students received t-shirts, lunch, cookies, and copious amounts of candy. Whether from the holiday excitement or from the copious amounts of sugar, the students were bursting with energy and enthusiasm all day.
However, throughout the week prior to the holiday, the other teachers repeatedly informed us that tradition requires all of the teachers to perform dances for the students in the “cultural section” of the festivities. As the resident English teachers at the school, we apparently also needed to perform. Consequently, although we six very rhythmically-challenged gringos were quite reluctant to display our lack of coordination in public, we decided to put our pride aside and attempt to choreograph a dance. After all, the other teachers would be dancing as well, and they had mentioned to us that a payaso artistic (artistic clown) would be performing after us. We might be silly, but at least we weren’t clowns. My coworkers nominated Dana and me to spearhead the endeavor (probably because we own and use several Richard Simmons work-out videos) (did I just admit that?), and so we did what any other girl from the 1990’s would do and chose to choreograph a three minute dance to “Spice Up Your Life” by the Spice Girls. A classic, nay iconic song of my generation.
After practicing frequently throughout the week, we arrived at the Día del Niño celebrations with snazzy dance moves and all the resolve we could muster. As we enter the gate, several teachers approached us and exclaimed: “Good morning! We have told all the students and everyone is so excited for your dance! Are you ready to do it?” Dana replied: “As ready as we’ll ever be! But can we maybe perform after all the teachers?” “Haha,” chuckled Esteban, the school’s principal and former mayor of Central. “The teachers do not dance. Only you six. The whole school is so excited.” We had been royally duped. The “cultural section” of Dia del Niño would include no other dances, no artistic clown. Only us. Dancing to Spice Girls. The teachers all enjoyed a good laugh, while we all stared at each other in disbelief. We got punk’d.
Ultimately, we did perform our dance, and although I still would not consider coordination to be one of our group strengths, we all had a great time. Plus, everyone seemed to enjoy the performance. Not only did several students ask to learn our “traditional American dance,” but we also received a large group chant for an encore performance. Overall, I consider the whole experience to be a lesson in humility. By humbling/making fun of ourselves, I believe that we reached a new level of closeness with the teachers. Also, it seems special that the teachers would feel a close enough friendship with us to punk us. I think we will not tell next year’s team of Program Directors about the “tradition.” It’ll be good for them.
Peace
Ginny Savage
(Video to come soon!)
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