Waterfall - San Rafael Chilasco

So, as usual I'll start with an apology for not having written for ages. We're a month and a bit into summer school and the schedule is hectic to say the least. I'm teaching 15 hours of SAT preparation a week, which means a lot of preparation as until Wednesday I hadn't actually taken the exam. It also requires me to teach math, which has a much greater capacity to make you look like a berk in front of your class, so much of my time at the moment is spent with my head in a math book trying to recall everything.

In personal terms I'd say that the Guatemala honeymoon is very much over. I'm increasingly fed up with working a six day week with no scope for travel, not being able to learn Spanish as I'm teaching the whole time and being too tired at the end of the week to do anything interesting. My other problem is that there is relatively little to actually do here. The city is a fascinating place to live for about 6 months, after which it becomes very, very boring. The problem is that everyone is terrified of each other and so there is little social scene in the city. Any that there is lacks any kind of cultural drive and usually tends towards drinking over-priced under-flavoured beer in completely soulless bars. I am though striving to find something, anything more interesting to do with the little free time I have.

In terms of plans, I would like to continue to teach English abroad and work on my Spanish. However, with few savings it looks like this is going to be a difficult ask. Thus, I'm hoping to score a job in Korea or China, with paid flights and accomodation and frankly a much better wage than the one I currently earn. At the moment I'm hoping to leave in November but we'll see. I do need to start looking now, and I've earmarked most of today to do some applications.

To hark back to happier times, I've posted some photos of a trip i made back in April. This was the last call on my Semana Santa tour and came as something of a surprise. I had intended to just get the bus back from Coban, but a last minute change of plans meant that Bryant was driving back to the city. We decided that in the interests of pushing some eco-tourism style stuff, we should check out one of the local attractions: a little known waterfall at a small village in the mountains called San Rafael Chilasco.

Getting there is not easy. You turn off the Coban highway at km125 and follow a twisting dirt track about 15km as it winds up into the mountains. It's worth it for the drive alone as you rise further up above the valley around some potentially fatal corners. When you finally reach the top you are greeted by the local tourism committee, to whom you pay an entrance fee and hire a guide. We actually ended up with two guides for the price of one, as the girls we were assigned's brother jumped in too. We drove another kilometer to the top of the trail and set off into the jungle.

It's not an easy hike to the waterfall, as it involves a steep descent on muddy paths down hte side of the valley. The jungle is incredible though, with giant ferns making it seem like you've regressed to prehistoric times. It's not the safest place in the world though; on walking past a section where a landslide had previously wiped out the path and a great swathe of jungle below it, we asked our guide how long ago had it happened? "About 15 days," came the reply. It was about this time we started to be able to hear the distinctive roar of a lot of water falling a long way. Rounding a corner of the path we were greeted by the sight of a white torrent plunging about a hundred metres into the jungle. It looked a bit like this:

We walked on for another twenty minutes and finally reached the bottom of the waterfall. despite our guides advising us not to we went over to the bottom of it. Only then do you realise quite how powerful and quite how loud it is. You really can't hear much but you can get some awesome photos like this:

It was a bit cold and we were underprepared so we didn't try swimming, but the pool under the waterfall is quite calm so it would certainly be possible. Instead we took some more photos with our guides and then headed off to the other waterfall.

The other waterfall is less spectacular in that it has less water, but is much more serene. This is another good place for a swim or simply clambering about on tree roots about a drop of about 50m so you can take photos like this. How neither Bryant nor I died taking this I'll never know.

Having squeezed the last battery life out of my camera we decided that we'd better get back and get on our way. We didn't quite manage it though, as we decided to stop for lunch in the village as well, and ended up hanging around and chatting to the locals for quite a long time. It was three in the afternoon when we finally got back on the road, about three hours later than intended. Both of us agreed it was a thouroughly worthwhile day though, and now I have a tracing of Winnie the Pooh given to me by a little girl in the village. I just have time to post up one more picture of Bryant posing with our guides...

...and then I'm off. I have lots of photos and some time today, so expect more very soon.

Semuc Champey

So, back to my Semana Santa travels, though expect a blog on my current health situation very soon.

Our plan for day two of our Alta Verapaz adventure was to visit the natural wonder of Semuc Champey, about two and a half hours outside Cobán. My enthusiasm waned quickly when I got up, as we were in the middle of the most intense rainstorm I'd seen in Guatemala. I was assured that this was pretty natural for Cobán though. Still, the prospect of leaping into cold water, and then being further soaked by cold water falling from the sky was not attractive.

I need to backtrack a bit here and explain Semuc. A river running along the bottom of a valley suddenly drops away into an underground cavern, through which it runs for around 500m. Some of the water then bubbles back up through the rocks to make spectacular blue green bathing pools. It's a bit like the Sovereign Centre in Eastbourne but without the wave machine. Perhaps a photo would go some way to explaining this phenomenon?



Okay, so hopefully now you have some idea of how it all works at Semuc. If not, there are more photos to follow. For now, lets whizz back to Cobán where the rain, as usual, was absolutely bucketing down. Check out the shot below from the Parque Central. Quite why the people of Cobán decided to build something looking like a spare prop from Independence Day in the centre of their town I have no idea, but this is Guatemala, and things don't always make sense here.

Without our own transportation a shuttle becomes our sole means of getting to Lanquin, the nearest village to Semuc Champey. This time I'm sat in the back and the preponderance of people prevents me from checking out the driving. I think this is for the best, my nerves are still frayed from yesterday's trip to the Biotopo. On arriving at Lanquin we jump straight on to a pickup bound for Semuc. Pick-ups are just about my favourite way to travel in Guatemala. Basically, you jump in the back and hang on to a metal frame, you have to stand up as it's so packed but you get to meet many interesting people and their cargoes, which range from wood to enormous bags of fish. Like I've said before, travel here is rarely boring and never comfortable.

When we arrive we head straight up to the Mirador (look out point) from where I took the first photo. We figure that it's better to get the sweating out of the way before we jump in the water. It's a good idea too as it ascends very rapidly and very steeply but it's a great fun climb. When we get back down, we take a few photos of where the river disappears (see below) and wonder if anyone has ever made it in and out of the underground cavern (answer, unlikely). Then it's on with the swimming costume (Jasmine almost flashes some unsuspecting tourists and I'm forced to act as a makeshift beach hut using a towel) and into the water. It really is beautiful: clear and populated with small fish which pick your feet if you stay still. This is a feeling no-one can work out whether they like or hate. You have to watch your toes at times as there's also a smattering of good size freshwater crabs wandering about on the bottom. There's excellent opportunity for diving, jumping, swimming or just lounging under a waterfall. Awesome.

Climbing up to the Mirador Jasmine and Greg looked off the pace.


I'm trying very hard not to fall in here.


Tan check: Negative.



I'm not trying very hard not to fall in here though.

Having done all this we get Churrasco (BBQ pork) for lunch, and I just have time to hurl myself off a bridge before the pick-up returns. I will endeavour to add the youtube footage of this happening, though perhaps with the sound turned off to mask my girly scream. Then it's back to Cobán for tacos and sleepytime.

Brief Update

I still have a lot of interesting stuff to blog about from my travels around Easter, but since then it's been (mostly) back to work. However, a few notable things have happened since then.

1. Illness

After a relatively fortunate first three months here, the stomach troubles that seem to plague everyone have cuaght up with me. I'm now two weeks into a stint of diahorrea which nothing seems to shift. I've been given anti parasitic medicine but even that didn't do much more than postpone it for a couple of days. I'm now on an exclusively rice, bread and pasta diet. Fun, I can assure you, it is not. However, as a form of crash dieting I can highly recommend it: I haven't weighed myself recently but I'm willing to bet the scales haven't been this untroubled in a few years.

2. New Housemates

The merry-go-round at the Oxford teachers' house continues to turn, and we welcome Nick and Hannah (both Australian, making the current scores Aus 3, US 2 and UK 1 (sob)). Ben leaves in a couple of weeks and then perhaps we get someone new. Anyways, Nick and Hannah are both ace and up for drinking and adventuring. Nick's buying a car too, so the potential for weekend road-trips pops its head up.

3. Big Trouble in Little Guatemala

Trouble at the top in Guatemala politics-wise. The assasination of a notable lawyer this weekend (who was the lawyer for a notable anti-corruption politician) triggered the release of a posthumous video in which he accuses the president's secretary of carrying out the murder of his client and implicating the president, a major bank and the Mexican drug cartels of working together. I'm going to refrain from commenting as I don't fully understand the political system down here (or indeed, how anything works at all) but if you're interested you can watch the video on youtube. Some of our staff are quite excited by the prospect of a coup, me not so much. Revolution often involves bullets and collateral damage, being a part of which I'm not a fan.

Right, I'm off to neck an Immodium and try to teach my SAT class. Toodle-pip.

First blog post for ages!

Hey team, apologies for the lengthy interlude between blog posts. As you may have guessed, I have been rather busy over the last month, and not having the interent at home makes blogging a challenge. So, while the blog vegetable patch may be looking a little overgrown, I think with some careful pruning and weeding it might just be salvagable...

So let's go back in time a month to just before Semana Santa and our big week off. The Friday directly before SS we all went to pick up our renewed passport stamps from the immigration office (a surprisingly hassle-free process, destroying my illusions of Central American beauracracy) and then popped into Guate's botanical garden for a look around. The garden was actually closed but the 'gringo factor' and some gentle pleading got us in to the deserted garden. It really is a beautiful place, and forms a surprisingly effective sanctuary in the middle of the city. While you can still hear the car-horns, you can at least imagine that you're elsewhere. I have a couple of pictures that I took.

(L to R: Andrea, Me, Jasmine, Alice, Theo, Ben)

Following this we went for our usual Friday tacos & Gallo session, which was complemented by a procession. I wasn't sure if it was appropriate, but I took some photos anyway.

If you flick back through my blog posts, you'll notice that a few weeks before all this Andrea and I had dinner at our taxi drivers house. We thought it would be polite to return the invitation, so for Saturday lunchtime we invited him and his family around. We had assumed in would just be him, his wife and his Grandson, so we were slightly surprised when no less than 10 people turned up. Still, a quick trip to the butchers later and beef stir fry for 13 was underway. All in all it was a reasonable success, though the stress of the cooking rendered what little Spanish I speak useless. Still we battled through the awkwardness and made it out the other side.

After this, it was time to say goodbye to a couple of housemates who were off to Coban (though weirdly, it was us leaving for Coban the next day). Cuatro Grados Norte was the destination of choice, followed by Cien Puertas. Basically, drink was taken and a good time was had by all. The highlight was probably the ride home in the back of a pick up. Photos:

(In order: 1. Drunken Greg, 2. Me doing my collie impression, 3. Alice & Theo (Goodbye!))

The following day I woke up around 11, having been informed we'd be leaving for our holidays in Coban "before 12". Given the way I was feeling and the state of my director the previous evening I thought I'd have at least an hours grace. Thus, I stumbled out of the door to hunt for eggs and bread, to be confronted by my directors truck pulling up "I told you before 12!" he yells. Ugh. This was going to be a long day. We woke housemate Greg up and told him to pack (it took him an impressive 5 minutes) and hit the road to Coban, via a quick pit-stop for Gatorade and sandwiches. Jasmine opened a box of warm red wine which did nobody any good. The drive through Guatemala is pretty impressive. Baja Verapaz, which features the lowest point in Guatemala is pretty much a desert and was a little hot for one so pasty as I.

As we climbed back up towards Alta Verapaz we broke to climb to a waterfall in the hills just off the road. Accompanied by the dogs from the local farm we climbed up into the forest as you can see from these photos. It was rather peaceful apart from the dogs, who were intent on fighting with each other and also biting Greg's ankles. Heh.

Having got to Coban and had a delicious dinner in Casa de Acuna, we spent the following day Quetzal hunting. The Quetzal is Guatemala's national bird, a symbol of freedom (it dies in captivity) and highly prized by the Maya and Aztec cultures. It's also extremely rare. The biotopo de Quetzal is a reserve set up to protect their cloudforest habitat and to give people a chance to see them. However, unless you get up very early in the morning it's almost impossible apparently. Unfortunately, so it proved for us, though the biotopo nevertheless sports some beautiful forest, though not much wildlife apart from lizards (one of which is pictured below). We see two birds the whole time we're there (not quetzals) and so we have to be content with the stuffed quetzal at the end of the trail (also pictured). Still, it's a fun day I guess. We hail a 'shuttle' to get back to Coban. These are small minibuses which drive around the country picking up and dropping off locals. They are extremely cheap and outrageously uncomfortable. At one point, our 12 seater minibus has 25 occupants and is still overhauling articulated trucks around the outside of blind bends. Travel in Guatemala is very much not for the faint-hearted. We survived though, and having eaten a delicious Cuban BBQ meal for dinner, drank some cheap rum and hit the sack.

That's it for this post, I'll further cover my adventures in Semuc Champey and San Rafael Chilasco, as well as later travels in Rio Dulce and Antigua. This afternoon I'm debating whether I'm well enough to climb one of the highest volcanoes in Guatemala. More on this later.

Grev.

Slightly late weekly update.

Blog Entry – 22/3/09

Yesterday was my two-monthiversary in Guatemala. Perhaps it’s time for a bit of a review; be prepared for some self-indulgence later on. First though, this week, which has been a bit more interesting than last.

Firstly, no scorpions this week, though I did have to kill a cockroach on Saturday morning. This week has been mental, I’ve taught 30 hours of classes, which is a lot I can assure you. I’d be interested to know how many hours you guys teaching at home do, and if it’s as much as this, how you do it. I am exhausted. Still, I am looking forward to a pretty big paycheck at the end of this month.

Football this week was a little disappointing. We were only six out of seven again so a 6-3 defeat sounds like a respectable effort, but that hides the fact that the opposition never even got out of a jog. I think the big problem is lack of practice, but there’s not much opportunity. Guatemala doesn’t really do parks, they just build houses on them. There’s very little green space here, except in the middle of the main east to west highway. This is closed each Sunday for people to use as a park, which is nice but not really ideal. Apparently London is about 50% green space: in Guatemala the figure is more like 5%. Football-wise, I’m starting to favour the idea of joining a softball league instead. I was rounders captain in primary school, so I have experience.

On Friday evening our taxista, Freddi, invited housemate Andrea and I to his house and to watch a religious procession in El Pueblito (the little village), where he lives. I’ve talked before about how religious Guatemala is, but it’s worth mentioning again especially as we are in the run up to Semana Santa (Holy Week). Every bus you get on has numerous figures of Jesus and other religious minutiae, and most of the ‘camionetas’ are painted with “Jesus Es Mi Pastor” or suchlike. This obviously doesn’t help too much with keeping them safe though, as the number of bus-drivers murdered this year is already in double figures. Freddy, by comparison, is not so fanatical, keeping the iconography down to a small pendant of Christ on the cross hung from his rear-view mirror and ‘D-I-O-S’ written on the side of four pads of post-its on his dashboard.

Anyway, Freddi’s invitation poses a couple of problems. One, it threatens a whole evening of speaking Spanish, at which I am still less than proficient. Secondly, watching religious festivals make me feel rather awkward and slightly perverted: I’ve never quite seen why people who are wholly irreligious choose to get married in church. I can respect that people worship, but going to watch seems a little weird. I put these concerns to one side though, as this is something that few foreigners get to see in Guatemala -you can’t just wander into a village here, order a cream tea and potter about in the churchyard like you could in England. So, after work on Friday Freddy picks us up from our house and drives us up the hill south of the city to El Pueblito.

Freddi lives in a three storey house constructed of concrete blocks. It’s pretty austere but homely, and contains a nice stereo, big TV complete with Nintendo Wii for his nephew, Davide. He shares the house with his wife, three daughters, one of their husbands. He also has three cocker spaniels, who live perched precariously on the roof. His uncle lives next door, with several other relations. When we arrive, his family are engaged in building a shrine outside the house for the procession.

The procession takes the form of several of the women from the village carrying a statue of Jesus dragging the cross through the village. They are followed by a battered Nissan with a huge amplifier lashed to the top. From this emerges a stately march at deafening volume. Each house in the village has constructed a shrine outside, lit with candles or floodlights, and featuring variously pictures or statues of Jesus, melons, bits of tree and incense burners. The procession halts at each house, the music is turned off and the women say prayers through a microphone to the kneeling population. I stay back and observe while Andrea takes photos. I think about how privileged I am to be seeing this, and then about how many houses are in the village and how many stops the procession will make before it gets to Freddi’s house at the top of the hill. I reckon about 15 instances of listening to unintelligible prayers before I get some food. The children of the village prove to be more entertaining, they seem to be excused from the procession and amuse themselves playing football. Some of them speak a little English and shout “How are you?” They don’t really seem to understand when I answer them though. I try in Spanish instead with no more success. The only person who I seem to be able to communicate with is Davide, who is six. I think our Spanish is probably at about the same level, though that might be unfair on him.

Andrea meanwhile is proving a hit with the children. She is surrounded by them, showing them pictures on her digital camera and chattering away in Spanish. Andrea was definitely born to teach kids. I cower by Freddi’s side: “Muchos amigos,” he says pointing at Andrea. “Si,” I reply, then after a pause “Ella es muy beuno con los ninos”. I suspect that this is less than perfect Spanish, but I get my point across.

After about an hour of prayers and singing the procession winds its way to Freddi’s house. I stand next to him on a step. His daughters kneel in front of the shrine. Prayers are said and songs are sung, he looks at me and smiles. I can tell he’s proud. After one more halt, the procession makes its way back to the church. We follow it and bathe in the stares of the villagers who weren’t involved in the procession. Normally I feel fairly foreign just walking around the city, here I feel triply so. When we get to the church, the lady pastor gives a mercifully short speech and then thanks everyone for coming, including personally thanking “our visitors”, prompting everyone to turn around and applaud Andrea and I. I wonder if this is really deserved, all I’ve done is stand around and look out of place.

We retire to Freddi’s house for tacos and sweetbreads, both of which are delicious. I spend the rest of the evening murdering the Spanish language in an attempt to communicate, and confessing that yes, the English do drink a lot (well, we do). Then we go back home through the ravine, which Freddi tells us isn’t that dangerous after all, and is absolutely amazing. I set my alarm for 6:30am (on a Saturday!) and go to bed.

Saturday night is birthday night, no less than three people associated with the school had birthdays around last weekend, so on Saturday night we went out for some drinks and a bit of dancing in Cuatro Grados Norte, a small, slightly bohemian area which is springing up in Zona 4. It’s definitely the best part of the city I’ve been to. The bars are cool, the crowds are good and you can row about drink prices in pigeon Spanish. We go to a bar where we are the only white people, and show the locals how you should definitely not go about dancing.

Since I started writing this a while ago more stuff has happened. Yesterday we all got sent home early as Guatemala City was ‘kicking off’ a bit. The gangsters here murdered 8 bus drivers for not paying their extortion monies, and also two Koreans for no good reason at all. Then the bus drivers blocked the roads, the army came out and martial law was looking like it might get declared. In the end I don’t think that it did. It made little difference to me anyway, I went home, went for a run, ate some soup and watched ‘The Last Castle’ with Robert Redford. It’s a hard job living here, but someone has to do it.

So how is it going? Well, actually really good. The teaching’s going well, though in terms of grammar it’s a very steep learning curve especially as I prefer to teach higher levels, and the people at the school are great. They kind of have to be though, as it’s not the easiest place to meet people here. There’s little nightlife and what there is is eye-wateringly expensive for poorly paid English teachers. The house is also fine, I’m enjoying things being a bit more simple, though the electricity cutting out halfway through your shower is never a good thing. I’m not that sunburnt, though not at all tanned either. I’ll end with two wishes:

1) The school recruits a teacher who’s halfway decent at football, but not so good as to upstage me.

2) Someone brings me a computer, or points one out that I can afford here.

Thanks for reading all this. I’m also attaching some parade photos, courtesy of Andrea.

AG

The Scorpion King!

So, I’ve had a nice weekend. I wish, for the sake of interest, I could say it was a nice weekend enjoying the spectacular scenery and fascinating culture that Guatemala has to offer. Sadly for you, dear reader, I’ve hardly left the house.

Everyone seems to have been away this weekend. My housemates are, as I write this, on their way back from Antigua Guatemala, the quetzal reserve and a hippy festival at Lake Attitlan. I was invited to the festival, but the thought of a ten hour round trip simply to come back smelling of Patchouli wasn’t too appealing. Besides, I had to work on a Saturday and shouting at a corral of ten Korean kids of a morning is my best paid class all week.

So that left me with nothing to do except to tell my housemates that I intended to spend the entire weekend naked, and head to the supermarket in search of steak. “Could you grab some toilet roll while you’re there?” they asked. No problem, I thought. I got in to Paiz (basically Wal-mart) and located the toilet rolls. A big special offer sign grabbed my attention. “I’m in here,” I thought, “Cheap toilet roll and steak, awsomeproso!” Then I looked at the price: 60 quetzales for 12 rolls. That’s about £5! I’m not sure what the going rate for bog roll back at home is, but I’m pretty sure it’s not that much. Even if it is, as a proportion of my earnings it’s huge, I only earn around £500 a month here and I can’t afford to be shelling out that much just for a wipe. It’s not even good quality either, Andrex shits all over it.

The relative cost of things here is mad, anything vaguely western or middle class is hugely expensive, largely as you are also funding the men with shotguns who guard the store and keep most of the local populace out. Being a ‘canche’ has it’s advantages here as you never get challenged going anywhere, as people just assume that you’re rich. Anyway, by way of a comparison, I bought three bags of fairly basic sweets for one of my classes on Friday (due to a foolish bowling bet). They cost me 75Q, about the same amount I’d spent on full, cooked lunches with drink and sometimes dessert in the local eateries that week.

Basically, a lot of things are damned expensive here. I’m keen to buy a laptop as my lesson planning is causing the destruction of great swathes of rainforest, and my room is starting to resemble that of one of those old people they have to dig out of their flats as they’ve kept every newspaper they’ve ever bought. Sadly, the cheapest laptop here new is about 7,000Q. This is once again because of security issues, and the fact that there’s no internet shopping whatsoever here means the prices are prohibitive to say the least. Fortunately, I might have found someone with a laptop to sell for nearer 2,000Q, so that would be nice. It might even mean more regular bog updates. No doubt you’ll be pleased to hear that.

Definitely the most terrifying thing that’s happened to me this weekend involves an encounter with some of the local fauna. Having woken up from a little late afternoon nap, I was sat downstairs doing my Spanish homework. Grappling with relative pronouns, I was distracted by a movement on the floor. Initially I thought it was a cockroach, but looking again I espied a scorpion sauntering toward my flip-flop shod foot. I squealed, and ran upstairs. Scorpions are a bit of a childhood fear: I used to check under my duvet each night after my Dad told me they snuck into England in banana crates. Having calmed down a little bit, I decided it was time to man up and go scorpion hunting. I changed into some more appropriate footwear and crept back downstairs. I armed myself with a Tupperware box and peered into the dining room. The scorpion was sat by a table leg. At this point I should say it was all of an inch and a half long, and probably as scared of me as I was of it. It wasn’t the fleetest either, and sat meekly as I threw the box over it. I considered keeping it, my flatmate Ben would have been very interested in a scorpion, but I decided that I should set the noble beast free. Sliding a folder under the box, I scooped the intruder up and deposited it at the edge of the patio. Hopefully we won’t be seeing it again, as I’m fairly sure Alice would go absolutely spastic if she saw it.

That though, was about as exciting as anything got this weekend. I watched Fracture in Spanish (awful film) and then a bit of Slipstream with Vinnie Jones (even worse) while supping a litre of Clos Cabernet Sauvignon (surprisingly good). I had steak twice and chips once, and of course the obligatory Friday night tacos and beer. If anyone wants to come and see me, it will be worth it just for a trip to the taco stand by the way. I went for a quick potter round the residencia this evening and peered into the barranco, and said good afternoon to the pretty girl cleaning her car, but that’s about as far as my flirting Spanish (or English) extends.

Maybe I’ll do something next weekend. It feels like I should. If I do, I’ll be sure to tell you about it. Hasta la proximo vez. Grev

Still alive, yo.

Hey team,

Apologies for the lack of hot blog action of late. Truth is I've been very busy of late. My teaching schedule is now up to 23 hours a week, with 8 hours of travelling to and from to business classes and another 6 hours of Spanish tuition. That's all before I've started lesson planning too. All this means I'm not a very exciting bunny at the moment.

That said, the teaching is great fun and to be honest, there's not really that much to do here anyway. I did manage to go to some bars and talk to some Guatemaltecos in halting Spanish last weekend and as soon as I finish writing this the school is taking all the staff bowling. Then I'm off to empty the pockets of Arnout, our Dutch teacher, in a game of poker.

In football news, we keep getting thrashed but we have now recruited a 7th player and we we're even ahead for a few minutes last week, so things might be looking up. No suntan (obviously) or Guatemalan girlfriend yet to those keeping score on that front. My sunblock just needs to last another couple of months and the its rainy season and cloudy skies for six whole months, whoop whoop!

My future plans include a trip up north to our other school in Coban, and maybe escaping down to El Salvador for a weekend if I can ever get some time off. Reports on anything exciting I do will be swiftly posted on here, possibly with photos once I've attacked the charger for my camera battery with some 'No mas claves'.

That's about time up for this blog post. Thanks to anyone who's emailed - I've tried to reply to all correspondence. If anyone fancies visiting feel free, although bear in mind there is bugger all to do here. Also, if anyone fancies bringing me a laptop from Asia, the US or Britain that would be awesome.

Laters, potaters...

Mas Futbol

Oxford 0 - 6 The other lot

Early kick off at 8:30pm this week, and the leap forward extended to the Oxford team. At least, it did in terms of performance, though not in number. The fact that Adna, our first choice centre-forward lives in an area too dangerous to drive through at nights rules him out this week, so we started a man down.

What followed was a gritty defensive performance, and an Oxford side with genuine shape. OK, we only managed a couple of shots on goal, having deployed a Kevin Davies-esque stand in forward with no ball control skills (me), but we defended stoutly, with Wisconsin born Ben again impressing in only his third game. Are you watching Alexei Lallas?

Anyway, on to next week and perhaps, even more impovement...

Antigua & Volcano Climbing

So, I have something exciting to report: on Saturday I left Guatemala City for the first time! Actually, I'd left it before, apparently our football pitch is just outside the city limits. But this was an extended time outside doing exciting stuff, so in a frightening break from what you've been used to on The Guat Phone, here's something interesting.

After Saturday classes we got a lift with our director, Bryant, over to the neighbouring town of Antigua. Antigua is a little different to Guatemala. For one, it doesn't have a population of 3 million people. For two, it has things that you might want to see, and for three, you can walk about at night with only a negligible risk of someone trying to shoot you. Antigua was the old Spanish colonial capital until 1776 when the people got fed up with their homes being completely flattened by earthquakes and so gave nascence to my beloved(?) Guatemala City instead. Anyway, it's everything Guate is not: relaxed, pretty with an excellent nightlife. It feels a bit like cheating sometimes though, as it's far too easy to get around not speaking any Spanish at all. Anyway, here are some pictures of it:

The old colonial palace. Not sure who the chap doing The Bartman in the foreground is though.

The fountain in Parque Central.

If you go to Antigua you have to take a picture of this arch. Its like, the LAW.

We didn't really do that much in Antigua, just aprpeciated being able to walk around and breathe without choking on bus fumes. We had a couple of beers in Monoloco (Crazy Monkey) which was very touristy, then a burger at a Tex Mex place, then went to Cafe No Se (Cafe I Don't Know), which is an entertainingly arty self-proclaimed "dive-bar". It's OK, though I think it tries a little too hard, and the Gaelic folk band covering 'Losing My Religion' was trying to say the least. It does publish an excellent free arts magazine though, called La Cuarda. I decide to leave trying their "Illegal Mescal" until next time though, as we'd booked a tour to the Pacaya volcano leaving at 6am.

So, at the appointed hour, Andrea, Tamara and I climb bleary eyed into a minibus and set off in search of hot stuff. The drive to Pacaya is twisty and we probably go up and down several thousand feet. At one point, on the opposite carriageway we see an BMW on its side dangerously close to the edge of a steep drop into the valley below. It looks like it has been in collision with a "chicken-bus". Having seen Guatemalan driving first hand, I suspect this is not uncommon. We turn off the road onto an unmade track winding up through coffee plantations and tiendas (there is seemingly nowhere without one in Guatemala) until we reach the entrance to the national park. We are told our group is called Panteras (will they call the next one Sepelturas I wonder?) and that our guide is called Karina. She doesn't speak any English, which I would have said was fairly essential for guiding tourists through a rapidly shifting landscape of molten rock, but hey ho, up we go.

The climb starts winding up through a forest. There's surprisingly little wildlife here, apart from the dogs which accompany tour groups up the volcano in search of snack foods. Although the forest is quite dense, there's little birdsong or rustlings. Maybe it's a bit high for them, we're about 2,000 metres above sea level here. After this the forest clears out and we are faced with a view of about twenty mobile phone masts. Ah, the romance of the mountains. A few hundred metres on though, and we are faced with our first view of Pacaya. A scorched, black, lifeless landscape which sweeps up to the cone, which is busy belching steam into the sky. We walk down onto the black plain, formed of tiny, lightweight gravel type rocks. The going gets tougher as it's rather like walking through sand. My walking shoes are webbed and quickly fill up with black dust. As we start to ascend, the rocks gradually become bigger and the effect is more like being in a ball-pit. Every step sets off a mini landslide, so you are forced to avoid rocks being dislodged by people in front, as well as trying to keep your footholds. I find, due to my 'scrabbling' technique, that volcanic rock is pretty sharp. Fairly soon there's a fair amount of blood on both hands, but I carry on nonetheless. The guide leads us on to a lava flow, which gets hotter and hotter the further we climb. I wonder what the working tempreature of my soles might be. Eventually though, we reach a point where we can actually see the lava. The heat is searing, robbing the breath from your lungs, but I stand there for long enough to point a camera at it, then escape to a safe distance. This is what we came for.

After a drink and a snack (shared with the dogs) we head back down. This proves to be even more difficult than getting up. A technique which combines surfing, jumping, running and falling over seems to be the choice of most people. I do further damage to my hands, but escape relatively lightly compared to some, who sport quite nasty gashes to the legs. Life tip: If you're climbing a volcano, take gloves and don't wear shorts.

So all in all, a short, but satisfactory expedition. We get the "chicken bus" back to the city and are home eating a resorative salad by 2pm. For my next trick, I plan to climb the highest volcano in Guatemala over Easter...

Is this a good idea?


Essential volcano climbing equipment: Marshmallow, Stick


Yep, that's a jet of superheated steam and molten rock spurting from the top of my head.


Guatemalan volcano dog. Species: unknown. Diet: Sandwiches, Muffins, Chocolate. Possibly rabid.

Futbol Mundial Numero Dos

Oxford 2 - 10 Some other Guatemaltecos

So, once again we wind up out of the city into the hills toward Pradera Concepcion for gameweek 2 of the Oxford season. Confidence is high(er) tonight. Rumours of not only a full team, but a substitute as well abound. Personally I'm more confident tonight, having managed to eat something in the two days preceding this week's game. No rum either, as we're running late - all in all the omens couldn't be better...

On arrival, I'm presented with a slip of paper detailing my 20Q fine for last week's (scandalous) yellow card. 20Q is about 2 quid, forex fans, but gets you a cooked lunch, drink and change in one of the local comedors here. I promise to pay next week and wonder what the Spanish for 'appeal' might be.

With a full team the opening exchanges of the game are quite even, you might even say that Oxford are shading it, particularly when my speculative affort (left-footed too) crashes against the bar and out. Then, unfortunately, a shot finds a way through a throng of bodies and nestles itself in the bottom corner. How will Centro de Idiomas respond to this setback? Very well, as it turns out, as impish striker Adna robs a dithering defender and slots into the top corner. Turns out this was a bit of a false dawn though, as the opposition quickly rack up another three goals to go 4-1 up. Just before half-time some neat Oxford passing brings just, if ungraceful reward as your correspondent shins in a volley for 4-2.

The half-time team talk consists of lots of heavy breathing and imbibing of water. Someone wheezes "we're still in this". And we are, matching the opposition blow for blow for the first 10 minutes of the second half. Then, disaster: goalkeeper Hergil, in attempting to save a corner, succeeds only in turning the ball back to the lurking striker, who rolls into the empty net. Oxford hearts break, and knees start to give way. Truly, playing at altitude is no fun at all; you feel permanently breathless, unable to recover any energy whatsoever once its gone. I find myself praying for just a couple of gulps of good old Sussex air, but there is none. The last fifteen minutes is a parade for the opposition, slotting in six more. After the game, training is half-heartedly discussed, and dismissed. Better luck next week I guess - I'm off for a run.

My So-Called (Guatemalan) Life Pt. 1

So, I’m yet to really say much about things here. In between bouts of New-York related lexical diahorrea (and some bouts of the more real kind) I’ve been too busy to write much about what I’m actually doing here. Over the next thousand words or so I’ll try to put that right.

I’ve now been here for about two and a half weeks, though it feels quite a lot longer than that. My weeks have taken shape now and its clear that I’m going to be very, very busy over the next year. I did point out to people before I left that I wasn’t going on holiday, but to have to be up before 7am six mornings a week was rather unexpected. I’m up to teaching about 21 hours per week, to a mixture of young and old, Korean and Guatemalteco at the school and at two local companies. Once you factor in lesson planning as well as six hours of Spanish per week, then you can see I have a pretty packed schedule. The good news is that I do really enjoy it. Most of my classes are a joy to teach and we have a great deal of fun. It also means that I’m going to have more disposable income than I’ve ever had, and absolutely no time to spend it. I’m beginning to think that some traveling after this may well be in order.

The school itself is great. A large, cool building set in a tropical looking garden. We get hummingbirds feeding on the flowers just outside the windows I’m looking out of, which was tremendously exciting when I first noticed it. The people here are lovely and we are well looked after. The Spanish speaking receptionists also make sympathetic conversation partners for learners like me.

Similarly, our house is a joy. I live with three other teachers in a terracotta brick house with marble floors. It’s so huge that we don’t use half of downstairs, though this is also partly due to the current lack of furniture. We have a lovely back patio with built in barbeque, ideal for parties for the half of the year when it’s not raining (see photo in previous post). The house is set in a ‘residencia’, a gated community which is staffed by shotgun wielding guards. They are terribly efficient at stopping anyone unless they are ogling a pretty ‘chapina’ walking past, in which case all and sundry are allowed to enter. While I feel slightly guilty about locking myself away from the city, it is a relief when I pass through the gates. Everyone here lives behind some form of security – I’m afraid that it is a necessary evil. Anyway, we do walk to school through the local neighbourhood, which is more than most of our neighbours do.

In terms of going out and doing stuff, I’ve done fairly little here so far. The truth is it’s not very safe to go out after dark, and most of us are too tired after school anyway. We have had one epic night out around ‘Las cien puertas’ (The hundred doors) in Zona 1 but we were chauffered there and back. Our plans to escape the city at weekends have been scuppered by the fact that either myself or one of my housemate’s has been ill almost continuously. I think it’s due to adjusting to the food, and the recent cold snap that saw temperatures fall as low as 13C! I am plotting escapes at the weekends, though having just given most of my cash to Banco America Central only to be told I can’t access it for 8 working days, I may have to put those plans on hold. The good/bad news is there’s no such thing as ‘going to the pub’ here really – the closest we get is strolling to our local taco stand and buying a couple of litres of ‘Gallo’ from the shop next door to drink with our meal. Last time the owner sent his infant son to get our beer for us - I don’t think there’s much in the way of licensing laws here. The food is great here. We buy fresh vegetables on our way home and eat an awful lot of salad (I know, how the carnivorous have fallen) and it’s heartening to know that anything you eat has been picked within a few miles, rather than flown across several oceans and then polished to within an inch of its life. Local comedors (eateries) provide most of our meals out, often eating there is cheaper than cooking yourself - a meal and a drink will set you back no more than 20Q (about $3).

So that’s really it, in a nutshell. I get up at about 5:50am, usually get back about 8pm and go to bed soon after that. I’ve not been shot or stabbed as of yet. As I’ve said before, I think I’m more likely to get run over. Expect news on any adventures soon, hasta pronto!

Futbol Mundial con Grev

El Centro de Idiomas Oxford 5 - 15 Some Guatemaltecos

Well, it is the global game I suppose, but still I was surprised and delighted to discover that the language school had a football team - and not the American kind either. Having been handed my kit I headed for the mall with my extremely limited Spanish to try to buy a pair of football trainers. Guatemalan people are on average smaller than the average westener and the lady in the shoe shop looked at me mystified when I asked for a pair of US size 12's. After about ten minutes rummaging in the back of the shop she finally came back with what may be the only pair of size 11.5 trainers in Guatemala. With little choice, reader, I bought them.

Early signs for the game weren't good. We had 5 definites for a 7-a-side game, with two Guatemalan possibles (that's pretty much a definite no show in any other country). One of the 5, Ben, had never played football before either. Our chances of improving our 1-21 record were not looking great.

Still, I kitted up and went around to our team meeting point, the house of team stalwarts Hergil (GK) and Joe (DF). "You'd better have a drink then," said Joe, handing me a tot of white rum. "Sorry, it's not very nice and we usually try to have more. It tends to numb the pain of defeat though." Well, it beats stretching and running I guess. By this point one of the Guatemalans has shown up, but the mood is still not hopeful.

We wound out to the south of Guatemala City up the kind of road usually seen leading to Alpine passes. Climbing ever higher out of the city I begin to wonder whether this is a good idea. Even down in the city centre we're 1,502m above sea level (that's more than Ben Nevis is) and we're adding another couple of hundred here I'm sure. That, allied to the fact that I've been violently ill and haven't eaten a square meal in two days makes me wonder whether I'll be able to keep the pace.

Still, we pile out of the cars and onto the pitch. The Guatemalans are already there, taking great pleasure in hitting the ball with supreme power and no accuracy whatsover into the advertising hoarding above the goal. A ball rolls to my feet. Time to demonstrate a bit of European sophistication I figure, picking out a spot in the top corner and plotting the precise, graceful curve that will take it there. Naturally, the ball slices high and wide nowhere near the net. I jog over to retrieve it and find myself breathless and sweating. Oh dear.

So the game kicks off and it feels like thousands of tiny Guatemalans swarm around my ankles, much like the thousands of tiny dots swarming in front of my eyes. I'm going to claim the altitude and the illness and not the fact that I haven't broken out of a waddle for about two months, save to dash for my life across Guate's highways. Within a few minutes we are three nil down, and lucky it's only that. Then I get booked for the tiniest clip on an opposition shin (seriously, I really didn't deserve this) which angers me sufficiently to rob one of the midfielders and run half the length of the pitch to score our opening goal. Sadly, this feat renders me inoperative for the rest of the half and we go in 8-1 down.

The second half is markedly better though. Some rugged defending from debutant (in football, ever) Ben makes the oppo think twice about coming anywhere near him. I score again on a rare foray upfield before director Scott slams in a long range hat-trick. Sadly, the goals have been trickling in at the other end and the oppositions never ending supply of substitutes sashay onto the pitch poised and ready. Eventually, the end comes at 15-5 against us.

The overall feeling was not too bad, a bit fitter and with some key players back we might be able to make a bit of a go of it. I promise that I will do some running and possibly climb a volcano before the next time that we play. Oh, and if you're looking for a football team in Guatemala, please give us a call, yeah?

Further New York burblings

Two posts in a day? Amazing scenes. Here follows another thousand words or so on me doing comparatively little in New York. Probably best to ignore it...

Bowery’s Whitehouse Hotel – 3:30pm ET (ish)

I pay and am handed the keys to room 243: “Upstairs. Door on your right.” I heave my belongings up the stairs and locate 243. After initially turning the key the wrong way (apparently American locks work backwards), I unlock the door and push it open to reveal… a wall. And no ceiling. Ok, not quite, but the room is the length of the bed, which is indeed a shelf, with about three feet of space on the near side to stand in. A rudimentary wardrobe is built into the wall at the head end of the bed, but it’s not blessed with a hanging rail so is next to useless anyway. It strikes me that this is the sort of floor space that would have sold in Kensington for about £200,000 last year, and is now worth about 10% of that. I also note that by the condition of the sheets, the Whitehouse’s laundry system isn’t too efficient either. Still, I can’t say I wasn’t forewarned I suppose.

My room at the Whitehouse, taken from as far into the opposite corner as I could get. Apologies for the feet, they're for perspective purposes.

I should address the issue of a hotel room without a ceiling. Basically, each room on the corridor is made of concrete walls which create each room (cell? hutch?). The problem is that for some reason these walls stop a foot from the ceiling, and a wooden lattice is placed across the top of each one. I’d love to know the reason for this. Perhaps it’s a new fangled architectural principle, in which not joining the walls to the ceiling improves the core strength of the building. Maybe they just ran out of bricks and mortar with a foot to go. Whatever the answer, it makes the Whitehouse a marvellous place to stay if you are a) a very heavy sleeper or b) unnaturally interested in the sleeping habits, personal hygiene and bowel movements of your fellow guests. That’s right, not even the toilets have ceilings. As I’m neither of these things, it seems as if I’ll be spending the money I saved on my $36 per night room on drink to attempt to anaesthetise myself sufficiently to get some shut-eye. OK, objection sustained, I would have done this anyway but it still seems like a bit of a false economy.

Having arrived, as I always do, with no plans whatsoever, I scan the guidebook for something to do. I check the attractions in the locality and hit upon the Housing Works Used Book Shop & Café, 2 blocks down and two west of the hotel. A nice little acclimatiser for a green New York explorer. I’ve been looking for a cheap copy of War and Peace to accompany me on my trip, something tells me English reading material won’t be too commonplace in Guatemala, so a weighty tome like that should see me right for a while and a used book store’s bound to have a copy, right? I find the café without any problem at all, and head in. It truly is an amazing place. Anyone of a vaguely literary persuasion would surely dream of running a place like this. The walls stacked with books on every subject all around the room, while trendy people drink fair-trade coffee, type on Macbooks and discuss poetry. There’s no Tolstoy though, which is disappointing. Why does no one ever give away their copy of War and Peace? Is it just that great, or do you all just leave it on your bookshelves because it looks impressive?

OK, at this point please forgive me a quick departure into indie frippery. Those of you not fond of over-earnest, scholarly guitar combos may want to just skip this paragraph. Fair warning I think, for those of you still with me, here goes: I think in the HWUBS&C I may have discovered the beating-heart of trendy New York. Think of every Wes Anderson movie ever made, it’s all here. In browsing the titles in the fiction section I twice spot book titles which have been appropriated by two of my favourite bands for their lyrics (That’s The National and Okkervil River, fact fans). Eventually I grab a copy of Saul Bellow’s Herzog and buy a lemonade from the pretty girl with the nose piercing in the café. I sit down, sharing a table with a girl in a purple scarf and big glasses, who thumbs photography books with her oriental-looking boyfriend. Another girl sits down next to me and hums along when “Your Ex-Lover is Dead” by Stars drifts over the speakers. Hmm, I think, My Life Is Not a Mumblecore Movie or Maybe… actually not though, because just at that moment a woman asks us to vacate the table as it’s been reserved for a reading later on. I buy the Saul Bellow, reasoning that reading the ramblings of a deranged Jew might just make my own writings seem a little less odd.

I take a walk up Broadway as far as Union Square, pausing to take what I thought was quite a nice photo of Grace Church. There’s a free Palestine demonstration going on there, and lots of police. I figure that it’s better not to get caught up in it, married to the fact I know far too little about Middle Eastern politics to form a proper opinion, and so I turn back south and decide that it’s high time that I had my first beer in New York. St. Mark’s Ale House, just off 4th Ave. looks like a nice spot, so I head in. I order an Anchor Steam that turns out to be a strong flavoured, dark lager. It’s not bad actually, I sit down at a table in front of a screen showing archive Premiership footage and start writing this journal (ooh, reflexive!). I’m heartened to hear Ben Folds singing Song for the Dumped over the speakers. New York really does have the market in playing good music when you least expect it cornered, right to the end of my stay I’m treated to some great music, including the entire Vampire Weekend album at LaGuardia airport. There’s not much going on in the bar though, so I head back out into the snow and return to the Whitehouse.

My Grace Church photo.

Some Photos...

I thought you all might like to see one or two photos of Guatemala. I haven't taken too many as it's a bit of a risk to take the camera anywhere (the basic rule here is never leave the house with anything you can't afford to lose), so these are all from within the confines of our little gated community...


This is part of the inside of the house - putting phtographs up of the whole thing would take a while because it's absolutely huge. The effect is heightened by the fact we're somewhat lacking in furniture, but I'm assured that this is being worked on.



This is the back garden, and very nice it is too. Note the walls which mercifully provide a bit of shade for pasty folk such as I. Also note the built in barbeque, tasty.



Our residencia backs on to the 'barranco' (ravine), one of several which run through the city. This goes all the way to the airport, which you'd think would might provide a handy shortcut for travelling folk, but apparently to go down into it 'would be suicide'.


Looming over the barranco is the volcano, Fuego, which sits just outside the city. It's still active, but not really in the erupting sense (I hope). It is pretty impressive though, we plan to climb a different volcano (Pacaya) in the forthcoming weeks.

This is 21-80 (our house number) crew (well, three of us at least). From left to right are Andrea, me and Alice who all live together, plus Mike, who teaches in our sister school up in Coban. Here, we are pretending to be gangsters, a useful skill in a city like this. Come on, really, would you mess with us?

In terms of what I'm doing with myself, I'm actually working pretty hard. I teach 13.5 hours a week at the school but there's a lot of planning involved with that and I also have 6 hours of Spanish classes a week. I had my first experience of bad reaction to food or water on Saturday and was violently ill, but seem to be fully recovered as I write this on Monday morning. Very strange. That's about it for now, I'll write more soon.

New York, New York Pt. 1

This is the first installment of my New York adventures, a hugely bloated and not very entertaining account of my one and a half days in New York. I'll post this as I type it up from my journal. I'm also hoping this weekend I'll find time to write a bit more about Guatemala City. As it is, I'm still safe, still well, still having fun...

JFK Airport: 14:00 NY Time

I take the subway to my hotel instead of a taxi, despite lugging two enormous bags with me. I have a bit of a phobia about being on public transport with bags, especially systems that are completely alien to me. This comes of having used the London tube on a regular basis. I have given withering looks to German tourists getting on at Bank, in the rush hour, with three suitcases each and have received the same withering looks coming back from festivals muddied and smelly with huge backpack on and tent in hand. As a luggee in these kinds of situations, my normal response is to panic, sweat profusely and pray to painlessly cease to exist. It's too expensive to get a taxi from the airport though, so on to the subway go me and my possessions.

The subway, to my surprise, is a joy to use. The trains are well-worn with uncomfortable plastic seats but this seems to have the effect of keeping most of New York from using it. It's airy and spacious enough for me and my stuff, and at $2 a ride, very reasonable too. I do have one complaint though. Mr. Bloomberg, I am personally inviting you to come to England so you can observe how we get in and out of most of (Covent Garden excepted) our underground stations. Then we'll give you the designs and you can build escalators at all of your subway stations. I wonder if this is some sort of initiative to combat America's obesity problem. What I'm sure of is it's bloody hard work carrying suitcases up stairs, and so I at least get the sweats, if not the panic to accompany them.

The sweat immediately begins to freeze as I emerge into the New York snow. Thanks to some excellent street signage (almost making up for the escalators) I quickly work out the way to my hotel and set off. Before too long I come to my first ever intersection, and look up expecting to see “walk/don’t walk’ signs. Instead, I’m greeted with an orange hand pointing its palm at me. Who removed the don’t walk signs I wonder, and when? I certainly didn’t get the memo. Anyway, I’d been warned about the driving in New York so when the hand said stop, I did. A bunch of locals walk around me and my suitcase and tut – did they not see the orange hand? Turns out I clearly have a lot to learn about crossing the street in NY. It seems to me that it’s every man woman and child for themselves here, and pedestrians have all the power. The populace is colour blind to the orange hand: if the roads clear, we’re going; if the cars are coming slowly, they’ll probably stop. Only if someone’s coming really fast will people stay on the safety of the pavement. Even when the green man is lit, taxis can still turn into the street you’re crossing, and don’t always cede the right of way. Basically, it’s a mixed up crazy road-crossing system*.

Bowery’s Whitehouse Hotel was described to me as being “scruffy and a bit noisy and your bed is a shelf and there are mournful semi-homeless men in reception, but if you can deal with that it's perfect.” I push the door and encounter two down-at-heel Rastafarians playing guitar and discussing the role of the artist, check one. I shuffle to the counter; the latino girl sat behind it glances up at me, then proceeds to studiously ignore me for the next five minutes while she talks in Spanish on the phone. Eventually she puts it down and wearily comes to the counter. “I have a reservation here for two nights,” I announce. She rolls her eyes, “Passport. Credit card.” I hand over the requested articles so she can make an “imprint”. As she does so I notice a sign on the counter bearing the legend: “Price may change according to customer attitude.” Hmph.

* I’m typing this up in Guatemala City, and suddenly the roads in New York seem a doddle. The “calle” the school is on is a roaring, belching dragon comprised of three lanes, the middle of which either lane can use. There are no traffic lights or crossings for several miles either side. If I don’t get shot here, I fully expect to be run over instead.

More next time...

Some notes on: My blog.

Hi everyone,

I thought I should let you all know that I've arrived safely in Guatemala City and am doing well. My Spanish is hopefully going to take place. I'll start beginners courses at the school next week as well as my teacher training and observation, with a view to actually teaching people the following week.

I'll be updating as often as I can. I actually have a whole lot handwritten, so it's just a case of digitising it all as and when I can. Hopefully we'll have internet in our house before too long and then you can all expect regular updates, you lucky things.

Hasta luego!

Travel Blog #1, Royal Tunbridge Wells > New York City

Repeat after me: “I will never again travel hungover”, “I will never again travel hungover.” I say this every time, so why exactly did I find myself rushing to the bar in the Prince Blusher in Twickenham with seconds to go until last orders, then compound my error by having another beer when I got back to the flat? The upshot is I awake at 4am to the sound of heavy rain being lashed against the window. I never sleep well after drinking, and I’ve spent considerably more time over the past week or so packing away friendships and pints of real ale than folding shirts or practicing my Spanish. The one phrase I am confident of using: “No hablo Español.”

I’ve never driven into Heathrow before, usually I sneak up underneath it on the tube. It really is an abomination, especially in the near-dawn and the pissing rain. Monolithic warehouses loom out of the darkness and hyena like pairs of streetlights prowl the car parks. I can’t see that a single thought went to making this place look anything other than a sprawling mess of concrete and steel. Never mind expanding it, they should probably bulldoze the whole thing.

The flight to Dublin is horrific. Surrounded by preening businessmen I clutch my stomach, fight wave after wave of nausea and sweat. Fortunately the flight is less than an hour and I manage not to vomit. Back on terra firma and armed with water, I begin to feel better. I steel myself for American Immigration, which is situated at the Dublin terminal rather than JFK. Maybe I was lucky, but I really didn’t find it too bad. Polite, though definitely not friendly, a few searching questions are asked, I hand over my onward tickets and struggle to stop my hands shaking long enough to give a fingerprint. Overall though, patience and understanding were shown to my shambling corpulence and I was waved through with little delay.

Strangely, after the nightmare of the previous flight, Dublin-JFK is a marvel. I feel relaxed, and only picture apocalyptic crash scenarios once or twice an hour. The highlight of the flight is passing over Greenland. Ice ringed and covered in thick snow, the rocky peaks of the mountains the only terrain not covered. I have mixed feelings on seeing a glacier snaking a slow path to the sea – it is a wondrous sight, but as the jet wash from the engine hazes the view, I realise that we may not be seeing this for much longer. Once we pass the far shore and ice field around it, I draw the blind down and sleep until we begin our descent into JFK.

Leaving Party - 93 Feet East

First thing I have to say is a massive thank you to all of you who came on Saturday night. Having been a bit panicky during the week, to have as many people as we did come along was rather overwhelming in the end. Special thanks goes to everyone who DJ'ed and made it a night of spectacular musical treats unsurpassed in recent times, or possibly ever. Also, thanks for 93 Ft East for hosting us - though if we could have our deposit back now that would be awesome. Cheers.

Some photos for you perusal:


(Above) DJ Christian, fresh from his audition for a 'The Bravery' tribute act, and (Below) "Come behind these decks and I'll propaaaah nut ya!", DJ Norton.


(Above) The joy and the disdain that Ace of Base can bring about and (Below) How cool is Roman? He's deejaying with invisible headphones, with a CD the wrong way up on the wrong decks. Ice cold baby.


(Above) I'm going to have to try really hard to make it look like I'm not just playing a CD and (Below) An-dee-jay.

I've put the whole party set on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=54138&l=e26bb&id=641825911

Err, enjoy I guess... see you all in a year or so *blubs*

Hola!

Hi,

Welcome to 'The Guat Phone', or my travel blog as it shall be more sensibly known.

I plan to detail my adventures teaching English in Guatemala over the next year or so, and anywhere else I'm traveling during that period. I'm hoping to host photos, videos and all kinds of other gubbins for anyone that's interested.

The drastically condensed back story is: having lost my job in August I decided that, given a plummeting economy and being a bit miffed with city living, I would set out to do something different, preferably a long way away. A few conversations with friends turned up a contact in Guatemala City, and here we are. I fly in just over a week's time with a little money, no Spanish whatsoever and a hastily arranged TEFL qualification. Should be interesting.

I hope you'll check back once in a while to see how I'm getting on. I have the best of intentions of keeping this regularly updated, even if I have to send blog posts in by carrier monkey. In the mean time, thanks very much for reading.