honduras. and the go now in peace thing

a whole week has gone by and i have still have not been able to find words for honduras.

tomorrow i leave on a plane with the recent memories of the bottom of the grand canyon and its perfect blue waterfalls etched neatly in my mind,

- but mostly i will be thinking of honduras.

many times i have sat down, eager in front of the computer, ready to spill out a bit of the heaviness that lies in my heart,
but articulating this thing inside seems more and more impossible each day. i must admit, there is some anger, and there is confusion...

but thankfully, mostly, there is love.

so i will settle with writing these few things in the thought that we will have plenty of time to talk- and that even if we dont, that if the things i have learned are true, that you will learn them also, in your own time.

honduras.
the facts: after leaving cam and allison in Guatemala i made my way to a beautiful property just outside the teeny mountain village of Urraco, a couple hours from the big city of La Ceiba. A couple named Jason and Sarah are there building an orphanage and I went to do some agriculture stuff... honestly, i can't say i accomplished tons in the time i was there, but none of that matters. I experimented a bit with plants, I visited another missionary couple named Larry and Allison, i talk some english at a local school, i spoke to local farmers, i got soaked in the heavy rainstorms, i bathed in a beautiful creek. i lived in the present in the exact way i have always dreamed of living. i played lots, and for the first time in a long time, i prayed. i fell to my knees feeling the weight of this world, and i prayed.

now in pheonix arizona, i cant help but put the toilet paper in the garbage can, or shiver when I walk into an air-conditioned room. I can’t help but feel odd in this strange land so ordered and so clean, with people manicured and quite tame. here the men do not stare as intently, and everyone’s hair is a little less greasy and a little more silky and soft. here i am again in this dangerously comfortable world- and it is easy to understand why this world exists, and it is hard for me to accept that few are resisting. very hard.

of the crazy little village boys I met this summer while living and working in Honduras, I fell in love with Allen first (motherly love in case you were wondering). One day I was the only person in the house and I was playing the dusty keyboard that sits in the corner of the kitchen, singing to myself. and outside the window he, Allen, was standing there, watching me- listening, trying to calculate and understand what was transcending. Likely Allen has never seen a keyboard in his life, and positively he has never heard Regina Spektor’s spectacular “Folding Chair” song (which, if you don’t know- you should definitely look up). All in all it was a strange meeting of our completely different worlds, and i felt something in us meet right then and there at our incredible differences and erase them boldly, erase them silently. When together with the village kids I felt naked of my history and my education- I felt as though playing was the only important thing in those moments. playing and praying.

Allen and I, and a bunch of the other village boys and sometimes the neighbour girls- would play soccer and swim often, most days. For me that meant at the end of a day of working in the soil. For the boys it meant every afternoon, all afternoon- and when their teachers were gone protesting in the city- it meant all day every day, unless we gave them odd jobs to do around the farm.

On December 28th when I left Canada I wish I had known about the Honduras I would find in my 7th month away. I wish I had gone straight there, to my friend Allen who sleeps in a hammock made of an old rice sac- to him and his 2 “brothers” whose parents are absent. To them whose grandfather works desperately in the mountains to grow beans for food, and whose grandmother is sitting in a chair with a stomach cancer tumour hanging out of her side, waiting to die. I didn’t “know” when I left home about Allen or his brothers, but oh, I knew. I knew just the way you know, just the way everyone knows. Poverty is impatient and murderous, it is now and has been forever. i wish i had known about the existence of incredible people like sarah, jason, larry, and allison- people that are doing great things, inspiring things-- people that are people.

so now i come home to learn about farming in these marginal lands, to read informative books that are impossible to find in small mountain villages, and to rally up an army of people who will fight this disease I call “forgetfulness”… essentially, I come home to serve God in the only way i think he can be served- one day at a time, one broken heart at a time.

id like to be jungle woman
in this modern world of temptations and plans and complications and comforts.

and that's it.

the end, thank you for sharing in this adventure.


(carries a lot of suitcases
But all of them are empty
Because she’s expecting
To completely fill them
with life by the end of
this trip

& then she’ll come home
& sort everything out
& do it all again.
-brian andreas (traveling light))



After a crazy afternoon playing in the rainstorm.

During my visit to Las Mangas and my stay with Larry and Allison and their community of Honduras students who live there and have been sponsored to go to school.

THIS is where I was.

some harvest!! (oh how i miss the mangos!)

Janine, during her visit to Urraco- teaching some English.

one day in guatemala

Around the 23rd day of June Cam, Allison, and I arrive in the ocean-side town of Livingston, Guatemala- surrounded by eager (sometimes rough) Garifuna people, and colourfully dressed indigenous Guatemalans. The moment we arrive I feel myself naturally slipping into Spanish-speaking mode again, something I missed while being in Belize.

Rio Dulce.

A few hour boat ride from Livingston.

We meet a teenager in the park who gives me a shocking introduction to the need, the violence, and the redemption that resides in the borders of Guatemala. I forget his name but he comes up to the three of us as we are sitting in a park trying to figure out what hostel to stay at. He has a long piece of brown paper that he found in the garbage, and on it he has written his Spanish-english dictionary. He is desperate to learn English. I add to the list of vocabulary, and I give him a notepad I don’t need to further his studies. His plan, he says, is to jump on the train and try to make his way (illegally) to the United States to find work. He is doing this because he is responsible for taking care of 3 orphaned children whose parents were killed by machete only a year ago. He wants to make money for them so they can eat, and also he wants to help all the families in his community. For this he will risk his health and his life. He is about 15. His is a poverty clearly defined.

Horseback at the Finca Ixobel (finca means farm).

One day in Guatemala, with my two lovely dorm room-mates (Elsa and Dana Banana) and 2 volunteer guides I went on a horseback riding adventure while Cam and Allison went caving.

A small group of us set out at 8 am and I am given a beautiful white horse named Pancho. All morning it is bright bright bright sunshine as we walk through green cattle pastures and lush jungle (our guide Roy had to machete the way through!).. Sometimes we walk on deep muddy roads and watch as Guatemalan men steal rocks from eroding hillsides. Some of the hills, naked hills once covered in jungle, are half gone because of deforestation for cattle farming and erosion that most-inevitably results.

Regardless of land-health, everything is intensely green and for this, glorious.. Cantering through open pastures feels rather dream-like. I remember the first time we began to canter, the precise way I had to remind myself of the importance of living in the present moment. I then lost myself in the moment’s recklessness, and with it-a sweet release…

Mid-day we arrive at a creek where we eat lunch and enjoy cool waters. All morning the sun had shon down on our shoulders but now we see behind us a storm is moving in. We mount the horses again and with greater speed begin the journey back home. Through fields we fly- our bodies at risk of the most painful of falls, our hearts racing, and our leg muscles holding tight the the saddles. We are lost in the danger… in the bliss.

And then, 10 minutes before the rain begins to fall, my horse takes off with incredible speed charging me directly into a branch. I yank hard on the reigns but his force is unfaltering. The branch is closer, closer, closer- it is in front of my face… I put my hands up, grab a branch, and-while Pancho canters away, I hold the branch for dear life. I swing hard down from the branch and land on my back on the ground. Elsa turns around to find me laughing.

Only a few hours before I had briefly mentioned how I thought it was cool in movies when people grab onto branches and their horse runs away naked of his rider. Ya, I did that.

But the adventure is not over. As soon as I am back on the horse the rains begins to fall, the thunder crash, and the lightning flash flash flashhhh. Here, there, everywhere there is lightning- so close I fear we will be hit. Moving targets through open fields open fields we soar- so fast that the rain hitting my face hurts, and I can’t keep my eyes open. “Please, for the love of God, no more running me into branches Mr. Pancho,”- I think, while holding on tightly to the saddle.

After a few more hours through the driving then gentle rain, we arrive at the finca and race back to the stables. Every part of my body is wet, and every part of my body is sore. For a week it hurts to walk, but heck it was an a-m-a-z-i-n-g day.

Canada Day at Semuc Champey.

One 530am morning in Guatemala, after seeing Tikal- the cool-time-beans pyramids in the jungle of North Guatemala, we (Cam, Allison, Jeff the eccentric Australian, and Elsa the well-travelled French woman) set off by the light of the sunrise for a hitch-hiking adventure. After a day of sheer luck and the generosity of Guatemalan folks, we arrive in Lanquin. The next day, Canada day, we go, by foot, on the 9 km journey up the mountain to Semuc Champey (beautiful waterfalls in the jungle). We bring along with us Jeff’s pot, some food to cook, and matches.

After a grueling but breath-takingly beautiful walk we arrive in Semuc Champey where we bathe our sorrows (sweat) away in the pristine river and waterfalls. When we get hungry we leave the park, and find a spot along the road where we build a fire and make a wonderful meal of salsa, guacamole, and hummus (we had to cook the chick peas)… we are joined by Mayan children- energetic boys and 2 bashful girls- and in their company the afternoon is purely delightful. For dessert we buy homemade chocolate from the little girls that has been made by their mothers- vanilla, cinnamon, and cardamom flavours… delightful. Jeff and Elsa learn how to sing “Oh Canada” on the 9 km walk home, and even though we are far from home it feels like a grand Canadian celebration.

A few days later we head to Lago Atitlan where we watch the sun come up over the lake and almost flip kayaks in late morning waves.

After that we visit Xela, the city that smells like a city. At night the waning moon shines from behind the city’s clouds to light up the quiet city with a dim light. The crazy and wonderfully hilarious group of Israelis fills the hostel kitchen with their jokes and inevitable laughter.

Then we go to Antigua, the city that smells like flowers, fine foods, and foreigners. We climb a lava-leaking volcano, we sit in parks and watch people go about their lives, we meet fellow travelers, we test our limits with the squishy chicken buses…

and then we split up.

belize

it is night and the whole world seems to have fallen into a gentle silence. inside the small thatched roof hut a lamp burns and from a couple steps outside the light can be seen through the cracks in the planks of wood that are the hut´s walls.

a couple more steps and I am in complete darkness except..

it looks like the night sky has fallen. They are all around me- dancing, flitting, floating, flickering- hundreds, thousands of fireflies lighting up the night. I walk away from the hut and to the open field at the top of the hill. There I sit in the wet grass and watch them; a moving canvas of light, of shooting stars.. sporadic.. breathtaking.

at night my sleep is deep, my dreams are strange, and I am the first one to awake in the morning of Cam, Allison and i. The family is already up. A fire has been lit, the chickens have been let out and are running around pecking the ground; last night´s dishes are being washed, and the second oldest daughter, Angela, is grinding corn for tortillas. She asks me if I would like to learn, I say I would, and my are muscles are soon awoken as I attempt to turn the handle on the corn grinder.

it is a day of simplicity. We explore up river in the jungle, help make tortillas, play soccer in the field, attend ¨church¨in the back of the hut, play uno with the kids, and learn new words from the beautiful language of Mopan. All 3 meals are eaten together, and we share in laughter and fellowship throughout the day.

when Cam, Allison, and I got on the bus at 4 in the morning the next day we were leaving with beautiful memories of Hemeterio, Matilda and their 4 children- Roberto, Rosa, Elvira, and Angela.

Belize was, is a confusing, poor, and pushy country-
and though I will remember it as dirty streets, begging men, and unsmiling cities- I will remember too with great fondness these few days we spent sharing in the life, environment, and generosity of a Mayan family.

No morirá la flor de la palabra.

In my first blog entry I confessed that one of the reasons that I wanted to go to Mexico was because of what I had learned about the Zapatistas...

And though every part of living in Mexico turned into a great experience, a time finally came when I remembered my original urge to visit the Zapatistas so... the c and b adventures continued into the lush green mountains of the state of Chiapas to find the Zapatistas.

The day Carelynn and I visited the Zapatistas was an intimidating and suprising one, a day most certainly on the top of the list of the life-telling adventures of b and c.

After wandering through a chaotic market on the North side of San Cristobal Carelynn and I found a collectivo (shared) taxi that was going to the town of Oventic, a town I had heard through word of mouth was where the Zapatistas were... (what that meant, I wasnt sure).

When we arrived in Oventic we were greeted by a masked man at the gate asking for our passports. We didnt have our passports. We had no idea we might need our passports. He demanded what we were doing there and a bit startled I said that I simply was inspired by the Zapatista movement, and that I'd like to talk to them and see their village. Carelynn nodded trusting that what I was saying in Spanish was something reassuring while I fumbled in my bag to find my Guadalajara student card. I handed it to him, and h took it and then he went off to conference with some other villagers nearby. After a few minutes he returned and reluctantly opened the gate. It was then that we entered into a world of buildings covered with the most gorgeous murals I have ever seen, murals of struggle and victory, of the uniting of nations, all set against the backdrop of a pure blue sky and the ever present green mountains.

The man escorted us into a small cabin where we were smilingly greeted by a group of men wearing ski masks..(so i couldnt exactly see their mouths but their eyes were definately soft and friendly). There we were sat down on a wooden bench and questioned. I had to speak for both Carelynn and I, and as they asked our objectives, our organizations, our intentions I felt my heart race. I fumbled with my words, trying to explain how were we simply students inspired and interested in their resistence movement. As much as I felt like I was back in high school, in the principal's office getting in trouble for something or other, my excitement to be in hat room, in that place kept me calm.

They conferenced among themselves in the thick and beautiful Tsosil language, finally coming to the conclusion that we were good-hearted and deserving of a meeting with the "Junta"- the official Zapatista spokespeople (or something like that)... They led us to another building, sat us down outside, and told us to wait until we were called in.

Frantically I wrote down the questions I had for them- who were they exactly, which indigenous groups made up the zapatistas, what did they win and lose in their rebellions, what were they still fighting, what did they believe about earth stewardship... Before long I had a page full of questions and though I was prepared once we were called in and seated in front of them, 4 masked men and one masked woman, my heart was pounding once again.

Waiting.

Before we walked in to the room a huge group of woman came out of the building saying hello, welcoming us, shaking our hands- and though I don't know what it was there is something about it that even now sticks with me... It was a magical moment. Here was a hoard of woman with bright clothing, with lives, with histories rich, with a culture I would never fully understand-- and then there were the two of us, with our stories and with our cultures those woman would never know. It was all too overwhelming. Running into them, there, seemed different somehow than running into them in the city for we were right there, in the very lands they had fought for, staring out at the countryside that had become, and rightfully so, theirs once again.

In the meeting my questions were answered by a kind eyed man who kept apologizing for his lack of Spanish, while I apologized for mine...

He told me of the uprisings, rallying up the indigenous groups involved in the fight, their history with the land, current struggles..

Though the answers were not surprising and were mostly things you can read on wikipedia (and i highly suggest that you do so) what was suprising was what was in the air around us. It was something personal, something emotional, something so much more tangible than any lecture or lesson I've had in school- it was real life floating around us... real, powerful, shocking life. I felt like there were shards of glass exploding in the room, gently poking back to life some little parts of me that had forgotten why I had situated myself so far from home, forgotten why i had abandoned my community and set off in the first place. I suspect (and hope) that those little pieces of glass might just forever gently press beneath my skin at my heart and memery when I am far away in time and place from that room and those mysterious masked people.

It was over so fast.

We walked around, saw children having class outside of the beautifully painted school, sat and enjoyed the mountain view.. And then we returned to the city of San Cristobal.

the Life-Telling Adventures of Carelynn and Bethany

though leaving Guadalajara was a bit chaotic and not at all in time with regular occurances in these parts of the world (slooooow...) everything that has happened since I left has been mind-blowing and unpredictable...incredible.

top on the list are...
full moon bathing in puerto escondido
visiting the zapatistas in Oventic
running wildly through waterfalls in the jungle of palenque
staying with a mayan family in Belize
horseback riding through a lighting storm in el Peten, Guatemala
and hitch-hiking from North Guate to where we are now, Lanquin (dont worry we were 5!)

If ever I am feeling weary of this life, of the life on the road, of fragmented friendships, and of sharing the most incredible experiences with persons who might forever be in worlds apart from me, I stop myself. I look around. I breathe in fresh mountain air, or taste the salt on my lips, or marvel at the faces around and I cease to feel exhausted. I look forward to when I can stay somewhere for a while and use my hands to serve or to get to know a people more than just fragmented relationships... but while I am on the road I am enjoying every bit of adventure, every taste of new air, every sight of exotic landscapes.

Since I dont have time to recount the adventures that I have had since leaving Guadalajara for Michoacan I will simply tell a few stories from along the way.

The Life-Telling Adventures of Carelynn Loopstra and Bethany Klapwyk began on a hot Guadalajaran day when I sat in the centre Guadalajaran square and saw in the distance a tall white Carelynn walking bewildered on the other side of the park. I ran to her, we reunited, and the seed of a great adventure was planted.

Our first stop was Michoacan where we went to the Bosque Village (where I had been in April) to volunteer for 2 weeks. While there I was excited, harassed, challenged, dissapointed, and inspired by all that I learned about community through the many conversations that were had. I also spent about half the day each day on the computer trying, with great frustration, to complete my final school projects.

After 2 weeks we went from there to Pachuca, Mexico´s ¨Windy City¨, 2 hours to the north of Mexico City. We went to stay at the house of my cheery and hospitable friend Melody. While there I finished my final projects and the 3 of us went to explore the wild and hugeee Mexico city. After a day of wandering the wild and colourful streets of the city we went to a baptism party in a real and rough part of town. We danced and laughed the night away in a one room house with people of all ages, then slept the night in Doña Lupe´s house- a woman who sells churros (donut things) out of her front door. We visited the Anthropology museum the next day and after a community dinner with Quakers in the centre of the city we headed ¨home¨ to Melody´s house. There we explored Pachuca and the mining towns nearby. I stayed there for a few days longer than Carelynn to finish my school-work and then went to meet Carelynn on the beach in Oaxaca... but first I stopped for a solo adventure in Oaxaca city.

Oaxaca city was an awesome, but also a strange day of being chased by strange Mexican men, hiding in (and enjoying) art museums, eating lunch with a shoe shiner, being caught in a teacher´s protest, and sleeping in a beautiful cathedral.

I met Carelynn in Puerto Escondido the next morning. We spent a couple days and nights beach-bumming it- by sun and by moon in Puerto Escondido and then we headed to Mazunte, where we did the same. There we cooked our meals in the kitchen of the Mexican Restaurant we were staying behind and ate our dinners by candle-light under a waning moon.

Next was the beach of Zipolite and then we set of to the wonderful and bright streets of San Cristobal. While there we visited a few small towns in the mountains nearby and got off the beaten tourist path a bit. First was a town called Tenejapa. Stepping out of the collectivo taxi we had arrived in another world. We were very clearly the only foreigners around and stuck out like a sore thumb. It seemed as though a hush was over the town and indeed there happened to be a sort of spiritual ceremony going on. We tried to go in their interesting looking church but were very firmly shooed away by a religious leader in all black holding a long staff. We observed that at one side of the central square there was a line of religious leaders sitting and holding staffs, wearing hats with ribbons of every colour falling from the rim of their hats down to their eyes. We left the small central square for the market and when we tried to walk through a part of the market we were stopped in our tracks by a group of spiritual men who were standing in a wide circle in front of a house. After befriending a local who knew some Spanish (his second language after the mayan language of Tsosil) we learned that they were warding off an evil spirit that lived in the house...

As if visiting that little town was not fascinating enough the next day we made our way to Oventic, the headquarters of the Zapatista army...

TO BE CONTINUED!

In only a few days the ¨Mexico Journals¨ will be coming to an end and I will leave the country... However, the journals (if there is time) will continue as next my plan is to head deeper into the south- first Belize, then Guatemala, volunteering in Honduras for July and August...and by the time August 23 comes around I should have found myself in San Jose, Costa Rica to begin the journey home (fly to Pheonix Arizona, visit the grand canyon, and then greyhound it home!)

Wow.

It is hard not to think it, not to say it quietly into the thick Mexican air every minute of every day- I am so blessed. I am blessed to be seeing, to be shaking hands with, buying fruit from, smiling at a grand diversity of people in a grand diversity of settings.

Since the last time I blogged a million things have happened (of course) and spending my time blogging while the adventure waits to continue seems silly, but it is about time I gave something of an update.

Currently I am in Palenque, the dreaded jungle where I got terribly sick in January. Carelynn really wanted to see the ruins so while she does that I am... um.. blogging. ha ha .. and then I will be going to splash around in and explore the nearby waterfalls!

Guadalajara is far away now in distance, but not in heart. I left Guadalajara a few weeks ago during the chaos of the swine flu for the tranquility of the mountains of Michoacan and for the Bosque Village (ecological centre). There I spent my days working, learning about community, learning about permaculture, and doing my final projects for my classes.

My last few weeks in Guadalajara were strange, lonely, and beautiful. The majority of my foreign friends left just in time to escape the Swiney whiney ridiculousness and life was rather interesting after they left. I thought that since my only friends that live nearby had left I would be left alone (the city is a huge place and all my Mexican friends lived far away so hanging out was difficult)... but every day I seemed to find myself surrounded by different groups of people, all diverse, all beautiful.

My most favourite day in Guadalajara occured on mother´s day. I was invited to the house of a Mexican family (two twins and their mom) to spend the day. Their house was on the other side of town, the side where the streets are more chaotic, the markets are more colourful, and the people are not so intimidatingly well-groomed... aka. their house was in the poor part of town.

the morning began with going to the market and buying fruit for bionicas- a special mothers day treat we were going to make consisting of (in my translation) yogurt, fruit, and granola.

The rest of the day was spent doing things like dancing salsa in their living room, playing volleyball in the street, and then riding in the back of a pickup truck to the most beautiful place in Guadalajara: the Mirador- a lookout into a breathtakingly huge canyon and river running through the mountains at the very edge of city.

Describing why the day was so awesome is too hard. It was the people in that part of town... the way I tried to buy buttons from a lady down the street and she wouldnt take money for them... the way the markets we visited were hot and sweaty and smelling of exotic fruit... the way we delayed our picnic for hours to wait for another family who were to be joining us (Mexican time)... the way we shared stories and laughter... and then, finally, it was the way it started pouring just as we got back to their house and, whie eating bionicas we smelt the earthy streets and listened to the thunder from inside a cozy living room... yes, it the way i broke a chair and everyone thought it was the most hilarious thing ever (though I was horrified)... it was everything simple and pure and pacient. It was a beautiful day.

IUn my last week I went to the orphanage for one last time and didn´t say a proper goodbye. The kids were watching a movie and I had to get going so I did a wave and walk away. I did say goodbye to Gina, a beautiful child who is 11 and only now is
learning to read. She was the child I bonded with the most in my final visits and she is the one I think I miss most. We exchanged very sincere "i love yous" and I walked out the door.

On the way home in the bus my heart felt ripped apart. I felt sad because I had had othing to give them, and what I wanted to give them most- time - i did not have. All the love I had felt and exchanged while there would become a memory and I would forever be in debt to the worlds they opened for me in my heart and mind.

Okay. enough bloggin for today. im off to some waterfalls!

raindrops keep falling on my head.

the city
a place of a million hidden magical corners
of cracks and flowers growing in them
of dirty looks
of lusty stares
of sparkling eyes
it will all soon be a memory of something i once tried to understand.

it is the moments that i have spent alone downtown or on buses around this city, liberated by ordinary adventure, that i cherish most of my time here. the hours I have spent, consciously and not, searching for music in the hustling and bustling, in the trudging, barefoot and slow.
the way i can sit on a bench and within moments of sitting down, watch poems write themselves in the dust beneath the feet of men in business suits
of children in rags
and of their eyes when they meet

the city
to say, "it takes some getting used to" might be close to describing how I feel.
this description, however, implies a possibility of being able to get used to this crazy place, which I am not sure is true. there seems to me an impossibility in being accustomed to the sensational architecture, those who constantly sweep the sidewalks, the venders selling everything from chickens to fake ipods...

and the men
just when I think I am used to the everyday cat-calls, or the deviousness of guadalajaran taxi-drivers, or eyes watching my every move (because i am most certainly not mexican looking)- something happens and I am left unsettled. walking down the street the other day a group of men tried to get the attention of myself and two of my friends by hurting a dog. I could hear them laughing, and the screams of a suffering dog- and inside I felt my blood start to curdle. i felt so small- like a weak woman against the sneers of lewd men.

i was on a bus going home from the airport where I dropped off my friend Emily and this man in the seat beside me would not stop looking over at me, just staring for the whole 40 minute drive.. getting beneath my skin in the worst way...

this morning a man grabbed my hand flirtingly demanding that I tell him my name- and I did so he would let me go. The other day a taxi driver was absolutely ridiculous trying to charge the equivalent of 30 dollars for a ride... AHHHH!

ive never understood what it means to be blinded by anger but my anger my certainly takes hold of my heart, mind, and tongue in these situations. always I want to politely break these strange inhumane connections by assuming the best of that person and starting a friendly conversation, but sometimes i feel that if I open my mouth I will say something in anger, or I will get myself in a situation I don't want to be in.

yet, at other times, when i do happen to stike up conversation (or indulge in the conversation these men are so desperately trying to begin), i feel myself becoming less of a goddess, and more of a human being- and that feels wonderfully relieving.

one of these such times was the morning of my 20th birthday when i was sitting alone in a park near downtown writing in my journal and a man came up and awkwardly began speaking to me. i decided that, since it was my birthday, i would be try to be exceptionally patient and open, so i invited him to sit with me. his name is esau. he is from monterrey. he and his girlfriend just broke up.

we chatted for quite some time and i discovered that he was just a lonely and bored guy, perhaps he secretly hoped to relieve his loneliness by picking up the "oh-so-exotic (not)" white girl, but in the moments we spent together none of that mattered. he seems a good man.

the city
oftentimes it is in silence that this city abuses me, amazes me, and confuses me. i let stares drive me crazy, i let the beauty of the shoe-shiner filled plazas stun me, and in places where there are crowds of people, i train my heart to be still. i sometimes ask myself if i am wasting my time and life as hours pass among crowds in the city, but then i think that there are worse things to spend one's time doing and that life is not meant to be rushed. im on mexican time.

for some, I feel that downtown is just another place of indifference- a place where those from their respective levels of society become even more accustomed to their situations, affluent or wealthy, that they become another one of hundreds of dull faced stranger on the road. i too am guilty of this thing.

the city
as I walk home I notice a naked baby sucking happily on a bottle while lying in a wooden crate at the side of the road.
I watch as his caretaker runs around, knocking on car windows, attempting to sell water to tired drivers waiting in traffic.

as i walk i notice an indigenous women and two little girls begging for money. i give her some sweet bread i have bought specifically for an encounter such as this, and instead of staring back indifferent like so many others sometimes do, she smiles gently, bringing tears to my eyes. the poverty here is gentle, is is harsh- it is so many things.

the city
is a bit funny right now with this swine flu.
everything is a bit frustrating
i tried to choose something fun to do for my birthday- hike in the bosque de la primavera- and it was closed (after taking a bus and cab farrrr out of the city we found out...).
second thing i tried to do was bike on the big road they close every sunday- also cancelled (after getting up at 630 am to try to get there early enough to rent bikes).
oh dearie
but still people rub shoulders (and exchange air?) in the streets and markets and restaurants and malls and...
weird
a bit more choas than normal

the city
is alive
it rained for the first time yesterday. the streets smelled fresh and earthy after.
it rained again today- i danced in the rain with my host sister Ivannia (10) and her niece Alexia (3?)
then sat and watched the thunder
the played escondieras- hide and seek

i've wanted to leave this place, for in some ways it has exhausted me,
but now the time is really coming and a part of me can't bear the thought

i leave thursday.