This past weekend I had the chance to visit a few friends in Nebaj, a city in the department of El Quiche, made famous by 1992 Nobel Peace Prize winner Rigoberta Menchu and her work during the war. Before leaving I was little apprehensive about what kind of a reception we would get there, having heard rumors of people in the area strongly disliking Americans after such tumultuous times during the internal conflict. Located in the middle of an area many still refer to by its military name – the Ixil triangle - the municipality of Nebaj was hit very hard by the war and hard feelings still remain. Although I haven’t substantiated this rumor, nor have I heard of it happening to any of my acquaintances, I heard that it isn’t uncommon for children and/or adults to throw rocks and sticks at gringos in some areas around Nebaj.
The trip up there took about 5 hours from my site, but I met up with another volunteer on the way, so luckily I didn’t have to do it alone. We caught a bus to get to the capital city of the department, Santa Cruz del Quiche, but as soon as we boarded, we wished we had waited. Not only was every seat full – 3 people deep, with people crowding 75% of the aisles as well – but vendors were boarding the bus as we stalled at the bus stop for about 5 minutes, offering food, drinks and snacks, knowing that the bus had come from the capital and the people aboard were a captive market for such things. Standing in the aisle while a bigger lady trying to sell Chuchitos (Milled corn with tomato sauce steamed in a corn leaf) from an oversized basket attempted and eventually succeeded to squeeze through, my friend Kate and I looked at each other with the familiar, “Oh, Guatemala” expression that has come to represent resignation to some of the quirks of the culture down here.
After standing for two hours as the bus spun around tight curves and steep ascents and declines, we finally got to sit down about half an hour outside of Santa Cruz del Quiche, but we quickly got off and boarded a Microbus for Nebaj, which was still another 2 hours away via foggy mountain roads. Luckily we made a stop for gas along the way, during which vendors raced up to the microbus to peddle their various offerings through the windows. Kate and I broke down and indulged in a bag of neon colored popcorn balls, which I won’t admit to liking. Once we arrived, we met up with a friend whose site is Nebaj and went out to dinner at an ex-pat’s restaurant.
The following day we set out early to hike to a nearby village that boasts a cheese farm with some of the best cheese in Guatemala. Obviously, this was one of my main reasons for wanting to visit Nebaj – the chance to taste some fresh, well made cheese. After the two and a half hour hike through mud and spitting rain, we arrived at the cheese farm and sat down to enjoy gourmet grilled cheese and coffee – complete with fresh cream that was rich enough to eat by itself. We ate overlooking the pastures of the farm, and found ourselves constantly wondering how we had stumbled upon this strange oasis in the middle of the most war- torn region of Guatemala.
After lunch at the cheese farm we caught a ride back to Nebaj proper in a pickup truck and met up with more friends later that night. We ended up eating almost every meal at the same restaurant, mainly because he had fresh pickles (which I hadn’t had since before I left the states), peanut butter and a mean apple pie.
Although the weather was cold and miserable, it was nice to see a different part of the country and see another site. I hope to go back soon, if not to see my friends again that for the cheese alone. I bought some to take home, but as you can imagine, that didn’t last me very long.
Until next time..
Monday, January 19, 2009
Monday, January 5, 2009
Christmas In Site
Yet another experience I acquired while religiously not writing: Christmas Eve and Christmas Day celebrations in site.
I was fortunate enough to be invited to celebrate Christmas with the family in my site and that has graciously taken me under its wing. With two women in the family (mother and daughter) who have spent time abroad to study, we can easily relate.
So, having been invited, I headed over on Christmas Eve -¨Noche Buena¨ in Spanish- in the afternoon and found several women hard at work preparing the tamales for our dinner (and subsequent breakfast, lunch and dinner, again, to be exact). They had a sort of assmebly line working to get the job done - tamales are made from a varying amount of corn mash and milled rice, allotted a small piece of meat and tomato sauce ladled into a banana leaf and wrapped with small pieces of twine or plant fibers.
While it seems pretty simple to me, each family claims to have their own recipe, involving different proportions of rice and corn mash, tomato sauce and the secret ingredient: pig fat. Appetizing, I know - but I constantly have to remind myself that a lot of the stuff we love as Americans probably looks less-than-scrumptious to them as well. For example: when offered stuffing, two Guatemalan friends cringed, but graciously accepted a small spoonful. I don’t know about you, but stuffing is my favorite dish at holiday meals.
Two women in my host family worked for almost an entire day to prepare all the tamales. To cook them they’re piled into a huge pot and steamed over a wood fire for an hour or two – another component that makes each family’s tamales different;cooking time and method.
After praying and giving thanks for the joy and impending meal of Noche Buena, each person was handed a plate with the unwrapped tamales and a mug of the Guatemalan version of hot chocolate. Everyone ate between two and four tamales, accompanied by nothing more than bread, salt and hot sauce, while eagerly looking forward to the next meal of the same thing. I could only manage one.
Once we finished eating, we had a small gift exchange between the ten people who chose to participate. Everyone bought a gift worth around ten quetzals (about $1.30) and gave it to their designated recipient. I bought a decorative basket for an aunt of the family and one of the siblings bought me a woven cloth that I’m now using to spruce up my kitchen table.
And, of course, there were plenty of fireworks. Speaking of which, I tried to spread a rumor with another American friend in a futile attempt to curb the noise in my area. Interpret this as you may, but desperate times call for desperate measures. The rumor goes like this: the famous reindeer that carry Santa Claus all over the world on Christmas eve are deathly afraid of fireworks. Therefore, if you light fireworks, especially the loud kind, the reindeer won’t bring Santa Claus anywhere near your house.
As you can imagine, this rumor was unsuccessful. Seeing as Santa Claus is not a well known visitor in the area, kids only laughed when they heard it (see for yourself the smug expression on one of the cousins’ face as she lights a violent sparkler in the street).
My Kaqchikel teacher suggested that next year, to more effectively scare the kids away from fireworks, I should spread a rumor claiming that they interfere with the production of tamales on Christmas Eve…which would be much more frightening.
I was fortunate enough to be invited to celebrate Christmas with the family in my site and that has graciously taken me under its wing. With two women in the family (mother and daughter) who have spent time abroad to study, we can easily relate.
So, having been invited, I headed over on Christmas Eve -¨Noche Buena¨ in Spanish- in the afternoon and found several women hard at work preparing the tamales for our dinner (and subsequent breakfast, lunch and dinner, again, to be exact). They had a sort of assmebly line working to get the job done - tamales are made from a varying amount of corn mash and milled rice, allotted a small piece of meat and tomato sauce ladled into a banana leaf and wrapped with small pieces of twine or plant fibers.
While it seems pretty simple to me, each family claims to have their own recipe, involving different proportions of rice and corn mash, tomato sauce and the secret ingredient: pig fat. Appetizing, I know - but I constantly have to remind myself that a lot of the stuff we love as Americans probably looks less-than-scrumptious to them as well. For example: when offered stuffing, two Guatemalan friends cringed, but graciously accepted a small spoonful. I don’t know about you, but stuffing is my favorite dish at holiday meals. Two women in my host family worked for almost an entire day to prepare all the tamales. To cook them they’re piled into a huge pot and steamed over a wood fire for an hour or two – another component that makes each family’s tamales different;cooking time and method.
After praying and giving thanks for the joy and impending meal of Noche Buena, each person was handed a plate with the unwrapped tamales and a mug of the Guatemalan version of hot chocolate. Everyone ate between two and four tamales, accompanied by nothing more than bread, salt and hot sauce, while eagerly looking forward to the next meal of the same thing. I could only manage one.
Once we finished eating, we had a small gift exchange between the ten people who chose to participate. Everyone bought a gift worth around ten quetzals (about $1.30) and gave it to their designated recipient. I bought a decorative basket for an aunt of the family and one of the siblings bought me a woven cloth that I’m now using to spruce up my kitchen table.
And, of course, there were plenty of fireworks. Speaking of which, I tried to spread a rumor with another American friend in a futile attempt to curb the noise in my area. Interpret this as you may, but desperate times call for desperate measures. The rumor goes like this: the famous reindeer that carry Santa Claus all over the world on Christmas eve are deathly afraid of fireworks. Therefore, if you light fireworks, especially the loud kind, the reindeer won’t bring Santa Claus anywhere near your house.
As you can imagine, this rumor was unsuccessful. Seeing as Santa Claus is not a well known visitor in the area, kids only laughed when they heard it (see for yourself the smug expression on one of the cousins’ face as she lights a violent sparkler in the street).
My Kaqchikel teacher suggested that next year, to more effectively scare the kids away from fireworks, I should spread a rumor claiming that they interfere with the production of tamales on Christmas Eve…which would be much more frightening.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Coffee Trainings
So, having been traveling frequently the last few weeks for various holiday celebrations and visits, I haven’t had much time to write anything coherent to share with you, but on the bright side, I’ve had plenty of time to collect observations and experiences that you might find interesting.
I’ll start with the two huge coffee trainings we had scheduled for the week before Christmas. The main objective of these trainings (of which we’re having three more) was to relay the steps of the coffee processing which we are promoting to the small coffee producers in order for them to sell their coffee at a later stage in the procedure, thus making more money per pound from their coffee beans. So, as I mentioned, the steps that transform the coffee fruit into a mouth watering cappuccino (my preference) are much more complicated than just picking beans and roasting them, something I’ve noticed of many things I absent mindedly consume. While I can’t imagine I could make it worthy of an episode of How Things are Made, I’ll break it down into the steps we’re teaching the attendees:
First, the coffee fruits, which look a little like small, red grapes, are picked once they’ve matured to a point where they are firm and a consistent deep red. All together, they go through a process to weed out any stained or apparently ‘bad’ fruit, which ensures the quality of the beans later in the process – which is crucial to an even, uniform quality in the subsequent steps.
Once sifted through, the fruit must go through a de-pulping machine on the same day it is picked. These machines can be as simple as the one I’ve shown here or as intricate as the industrial sized, motored-powered ones that the large exporters use. The machine we use removes the peel and flesh of the coffee fruit at a rate of 100 pounds of fruit through the machine per 15 minutes, if being cranked manually.
After the peel and pulp are removed from the bean, the naked beans are washed with clean water (preferably not from a river or contaminated water source) and stored in sacks in a cool, dry storage place for up to 48 hours to encourage fermentation. The fermentation, I’m told, cements the indigenous flavor of the bean.
Once thoroughly fermented, the beans are laid out to dry on any readily available, clean, flat surface. This could mean a homemade drying rack or a metal roof, if otherwise unoccupied. Depending on the weather (and this can only be done in the dry season, which is a complication for some) it can take between 8 and 36 hours to fully dry.
Once dry, the beans are stored in a cool, dry place free of other plants with strong odors, such as bananas or onions, in order to preserve its delicate aroma until it is sold to an exporter or sent in for the final steps of the processing.
All this, before it is roasted and ground, the two steps which I imagined comprised the entire process from exotic coffee plant to steaming coffee mug.
At each of the trainings we had about 60 attendees. At the second training, I worked up the nerve to present myself in Kaqchikel, with the little knowledge and few phrases that I’ve acquired thus far. While I didn’t get very far, I did get a round of applause for the effort which has given me a bit of encouragement to continue with lessons – I’ve had about 25 hours of class up till now.
Ch’oyan chik. Until later, that is..
I’ll start with the two huge coffee trainings we had scheduled for the week before Christmas. The main objective of these trainings (of which we’re having three more) was to relay the steps of the coffee processing which we are promoting to the small coffee producers in order for them to sell their coffee at a later stage in the procedure, thus making more money per pound from their coffee beans. So, as I mentioned, the steps that transform the coffee fruit into a mouth watering cappuccino (my preference) are much more complicated than just picking beans and roasting them, something I’ve noticed of many things I absent mindedly consume. While I can’t imagine I could make it worthy of an episode of How Things are Made, I’ll break it down into the steps we’re teaching the attendees:
First, the coffee fruits, which look a little like small, red grapes, are picked once they’ve matured to a point where they are firm and a consistent deep red. All together, they go through a process to weed out any stained or apparently ‘bad’ fruit, which ensures the quality of the beans later in the process – which is crucial to an even, uniform quality in the subsequent steps.
Once sifted through, the fruit must go through a de-pulping machine on the same day it is picked. These machines can be as simple as the one I’ve shown here or as intricate as the industrial sized, motored-powered ones that the large exporters use. The machine we use removes the peel and flesh of the coffee fruit at a rate of 100 pounds of fruit through the machine per 15 minutes, if being cranked manually.
After the peel and pulp are removed from the bean, the naked beans are washed with clean water (preferably not from a river or contaminated water source) and stored in sacks in a cool, dry storage place for up to 48 hours to encourage fermentation. The fermentation, I’m told, cements the indigenous flavor of the bean.
Once thoroughly fermented, the beans are laid out to dry on any readily available, clean, flat surface. This could mean a homemade drying rack or a metal roof, if otherwise unoccupied. Depending on the weather (and this can only be done in the dry season, which is a complication for some) it can take between 8 and 36 hours to fully dry.
Once dry, the beans are stored in a cool, dry place free of other plants with strong odors, such as bananas or onions, in order to preserve its delicate aroma until it is sold to an exporter or sent in for the final steps of the processing.
All this, before it is roasted and ground, the two steps which I imagined comprised the entire process from exotic coffee plant to steaming coffee mug.
At each of the trainings we had about 60 attendees. At the second training, I worked up the nerve to present myself in Kaqchikel, with the little knowledge and few phrases that I’ve acquired thus far. While I didn’t get very far, I did get a round of applause for the effort which has given me a bit of encouragement to continue with lessons – I’ve had about 25 hours of class up till now.
Ch’oyan chik. Until later, that is..
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Visits to the Villages
Last week we completed our delivery of the coffee dis-pulping machines, taking two full days to load up the machines (they are by no means compact), and all eight of us (myself, my counterpart Marvin and the six promoters who work on behalf of SID; Chepe, Efrain, Diego, Samuel, Miguel and Emeliano) in the villages into one small pickup truck. Luckily, I was graciously given a seat in the cab with Marvin, whereas all six promoters and up to four coffee dis-pulpers at a time were stuffed into the truck bed. Although the farthest village was only about 15 km away, it took up to two hours to get to each one, because of the awful condition of the roads; there were certain stretches of trails that were hardly passable on foot, let alone in a vehicle. This really made me think about the accessibility of the far reaching communities from the town center and logically, the availability, or lack thereof, of transportation to and from each one, which directly restricts the flow of information, goods and, most importantly, opportunity. But I digress.
Arriving in one community Wednesday morning, we were greeted by several members of the board of the local organization of coffee growers (and soon to be coffee processors). One of them, to whose house we had arrived, welcomed me to town and quickly started conversing with Marvin in Kaqchikel. When he finished, Marvin turned to me and told me in Spanish what the man had requested. Apparently he had received some boxes that had arrived labeled in English that he needed my assistance in translating. Feeling very excited at the opportunity to actually apply tangible skills, I agreed and allowed him to lead me into his house so I could tackle the challenge.
Once inside his house, he held up what looked like an inhaler, accompanied by a package of pills with a matching label. He handed me the instructions and explained that he didn’t know what they said and therefore could not sell it, because he didn’t know what it could cure. I was unsure what he meant at first, but when I looked around, I saw that he had at least 5 large boxes full of these inhalers and other types of prescription drugs that he had just received from the states. There must have been about 15 different types of drugs in those boxes. And now, the only obstacle between him and the profit was an application for the product.
As you can imagine, I was a little overwhelmed when he continued to place various bottles, boxes and even capsules in my hand to have me translate their purposes and uses. Not knowing what to do, I ended up calling the Peace Corps nurses, who suggested that I play dumb and politely point out that the medications were past their expiration dates, which they all were. In the end, I told him that since I was a marketing volunteer and did not recognize any of the medicine he had, I was not qualified to prescribe it for their respective ailments. Although he was visibly disappointed, he understood and we were fortunately able to move on to the coffee training smoothly.
Aside from visiting the communities to deliver the dis-pulpers, I’ve also begun visiting villages on my own to start to assess the situation of various community organizations. I have two such organizations with which I’m planning to share my time, one which is just starting out (¨just born¨ as they call themselves) and another that is already pretty well established in a village about 5 km away from the first. I visited the first yesterday, and while there we visited various coffee plots, while strolling around the village and intermittently snacking on oranges and breadfruit we picked along the way. Today I visited the second and was greeted by several members of the board along with the coordinator. Although I was initially excited about all the potential work to be done, I was put to work typing up a survey that had been done of the village’s primary school, which wasn’t exactly what I had been expecting. I have to start somewhere I guess.
This weekend, we have our Christmas party for SID. The partner office about two hours away (which also has a marketing volunteer) has arranged for a day of festivities, feasting and dancing – they rented out a dance hall for the night. This being my first official company Christmas party, it promises to be pretty exciting. While I pictured it going a little differently, perhaps with cheesy mistletoe, fake snow and a poorly dressed Santa Claus for starters, a few dozen Guatemalan men with a taste for homemade liquor, a roasted pig and hours of dancing definitely doesn’t sound too boring. I’ll report back.
Until next time..
Arriving in one community Wednesday morning, we were greeted by several members of the board of the local organization of coffee growers (and soon to be coffee processors). One of them, to whose house we had arrived, welcomed me to town and quickly started conversing with Marvin in Kaqchikel. When he finished, Marvin turned to me and told me in Spanish what the man had requested. Apparently he had received some boxes that had arrived labeled in English that he needed my assistance in translating. Feeling very excited at the opportunity to actually apply tangible skills, I agreed and allowed him to lead me into his house so I could tackle the challenge.
Once inside his house, he held up what looked like an inhaler, accompanied by a package of pills with a matching label. He handed me the instructions and explained that he didn’t know what they said and therefore could not sell it, because he didn’t know what it could cure. I was unsure what he meant at first, but when I looked around, I saw that he had at least 5 large boxes full of these inhalers and other types of prescription drugs that he had just received from the states. There must have been about 15 different types of drugs in those boxes. And now, the only obstacle between him and the profit was an application for the product.
As you can imagine, I was a little overwhelmed when he continued to place various bottles, boxes and even capsules in my hand to have me translate their purposes and uses. Not knowing what to do, I ended up calling the Peace Corps nurses, who suggested that I play dumb and politely point out that the medications were past their expiration dates, which they all were. In the end, I told him that since I was a marketing volunteer and did not recognize any of the medicine he had, I was not qualified to prescribe it for their respective ailments. Although he was visibly disappointed, he understood and we were fortunately able to move on to the coffee training smoothly.
Aside from visiting the communities to deliver the dis-pulpers, I’ve also begun visiting villages on my own to start to assess the situation of various community organizations. I have two such organizations with which I’m planning to share my time, one which is just starting out (¨just born¨ as they call themselves) and another that is already pretty well established in a village about 5 km away from the first. I visited the first yesterday, and while there we visited various coffee plots, while strolling around the village and intermittently snacking on oranges and breadfruit we picked along the way. Today I visited the second and was greeted by several members of the board along with the coordinator. Although I was initially excited about all the potential work to be done, I was put to work typing up a survey that had been done of the village’s primary school, which wasn’t exactly what I had been expecting. I have to start somewhere I guess.
This weekend, we have our Christmas party for SID. The partner office about two hours away (which also has a marketing volunteer) has arranged for a day of festivities, feasting and dancing – they rented out a dance hall for the night. This being my first official company Christmas party, it promises to be pretty exciting. While I pictured it going a little differently, perhaps with cheesy mistletoe, fake snow and a poorly dressed Santa Claus for starters, a few dozen Guatemalan men with a taste for homemade liquor, a roasted pig and hours of dancing definitely doesn’t sound too boring. I’ll report back.
Until next time..
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Back from Thanksgiving, On with Work..
So, I’ve decided it’s a good idea to maintain this blog for several reasons, (maintaining some semblance of English, transmitting my experiences to others, the list goes on..), but most importantly it reminds me to keep track of time and date. Over the past few months I’ve made the transition from the U.S. to Guatemala, arriving only to relocate within mere days. Once I finally started to get comfortable in my training community, after three short months I had to move again. Now in my third, and if all goes according to plan, final site, I’ve completely lost all track of the seasons, holidays, and even days of the week for that matter. I think this may have something to do with losing touch with the things that used to punctuate my daily schedule in the U.S.; visits with friends, regular doctor’s appointments and marathons of No Reservations on the Travel Channel to name a few. So, keeping this in mind, it felt like Thanksgiving snuck up on me, because I hadn’t really looked at a calendar in a while, but I must say, it was a welcome surprise.
I had arranged to meet a group of friends from my training class at Lake Atitlan, a volcanic crater now filled with water and flanked by the 5 or 6 volcanoes responsible for its creation. The shores of the lake, which measures 8 miles in diameter at its widest spot, are peppered with quaint towns each boasting a different unique population. Panajachel, the biggest city on the lake, is known as a tourist destination, thus its Guatemalan nickname “Gringo-tenango,” or, place of white foreigners. San Pedro la Laguna, the second largest town on the lake, is home to a sizeable hippie community, but is off limits to all Peace Corps volunteers, for some reason or another.
One of these towns, Santa Cruz la Laguna, had a number of small hostels right off the dock where we were able to get cheap rooms and a Thanksgiving meal, complete with turkey (my friends said it wasn’t bad), stuffing and, I kid you not, cranberry sauce. After a great Thanksgiving dinner, we got to enjoy each other’s company, Kayak, boat around the lake and explore Panajachel a little more. Having never heard of Lake Atitlan before arriving in Guatemala, I was amazed at how much I had been missing.
Having just arrived back in site, we’ve gotten into the thick of things with the coffee season right around the corner. Today we began to deliver artisan machines that remove the flesh of the coffee bean to initiate its processing. As I learn the process better, I hope to share it here; although I’ve only been here for a few short weeks I already have a newfound appreciation for the coffee I drink.
Aside from work at the moment I’m in a very intensive process of decorating my new house with Christmas adornments and drowning out the barking dogs and marimba music in the neighborhood with Bing Crosby and the Love Actually Soundtrack. Although I lost track of time before Thanksgiving, I’ll be sure to be good and ready when Christmas gets here!
Until next time…
I had arranged to meet a group of friends from my training class at Lake Atitlan, a volcanic crater now filled with water and flanked by the 5 or 6 volcanoes responsible for its creation. The shores of the lake, which measures 8 miles in diameter at its widest spot, are peppered with quaint towns each boasting a different unique population. Panajachel, the biggest city on the lake, is known as a tourist destination, thus its Guatemalan nickname “Gringo-tenango,” or, place of white foreigners. San Pedro la Laguna, the second largest town on the lake, is home to a sizeable hippie community, but is off limits to all Peace Corps volunteers, for some reason or another.
One of these towns, Santa Cruz la Laguna, had a number of small hostels right off the dock where we were able to get cheap rooms and a Thanksgiving meal, complete with turkey (my friends said it wasn’t bad), stuffing and, I kid you not, cranberry sauce. After a great Thanksgiving dinner, we got to enjoy each other’s company, Kayak, boat around the lake and explore Panajachel a little more. Having never heard of Lake Atitlan before arriving in Guatemala, I was amazed at how much I had been missing.
Having just arrived back in site, we’ve gotten into the thick of things with the coffee season right around the corner. Today we began to deliver artisan machines that remove the flesh of the coffee bean to initiate its processing. As I learn the process better, I hope to share it here; although I’ve only been here for a few short weeks I already have a newfound appreciation for the coffee I drink.
Aside from work at the moment I’m in a very intensive process of decorating my new house with Christmas adornments and drowning out the barking dogs and marimba music in the neighborhood with Bing Crosby and the Love Actually Soundtrack. Although I lost track of time before Thanksgiving, I’ll be sure to be good and ready when Christmas gets here!
Until next time…
Friday, November 28, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
A slow start..
As of last week, I officially started work with my host country agency, Estrategias para el Desarrollo Internacional (Strategies for International Development), an NGO based out of Washington that deals specifically with coffee farmers in impoverished areas of the world. As for what these ¨Strategies¨ are, I´m still not quite sure. I´ve been following around my counterpart for the better part of three weeks now, trying to learn anything and everything I can in order to get a better grasp on what´s going on here. In the absence of intensive work, which I´m told will come once the coffee harvest gets going, I´ve been taking Kaqchikel classes, spending time with my host family and looking for familiar cues that tell me its ok to commence Christmas preparation. (Of which I´ve found plenty, and thus launched full force into Holiday season)
This past weekend I got the opportunity to attend a Guatemalan wedding in the department of El Quiche, which borders my municipality, but lies about two hours away by conventional travel methods, i.e. chicken bus. The man getting married was a friend of my host sister from her studies in Wisconsin. We were accompanied not only by several other alumni of the program, but also by her host parents from Wisconsin who recently relocated to a nearby village in Chimaltenango (my home department). We rode the bus up to the capital city of the department Santa Cruz del Quiche and then took a jalon (standing up in the back of a pickup with five to ten others) to his town about twenty minutes away. Once we arrived we were ushered in and welcomed with soup and coffee while a church service was taking place in the backyard. The actual wedding service began later that evening, to which we walked en masse from the house.
Obviously I noticed several differences between their traditional wedding and the standard American wedding, but there were several in particular that I wanted to share. Before walking to the church, the bride and groom prepared together, each one smoothing the other´s creases and picking pieces of stray fabric or lint off each other. The bride wore a similar veil and tiara of sorts, with a white beaded guipil (traditional shirt worn by indigenous women) and a traditional corte (long, belted skirt). The cue to depart from the house was a preset series of bells sounded from the town square, and once we arrived at the church in our group of around seventy five, we weren´t to enter the church until the last chime of the series was heard. The music once we huddled into the sanctuary was provided by a local band playing religious marimba music, which I’ve found take the place of hymns in all church services. After the groom and his best man took their place at the altar, the bride timidly strode down the aisle to this music and was met in the middle of the aisle by the groom who took her hand from both parents.
The service proceeded like any other regular mass, with the Father talking about the eternal kingdom, the past liturgical year in the church and the importance of tithing. The actual wedding took up a mere ten minutes of the actual service, neatly inserted between the sermon and the offering. Meanwhile, the bride, groom, best man and made of honor in enjoyed it from front row seats.
Once we got back to the house, the bride and groom stood in front of a table to receive gifts from a long line of family and friends, after which the groom delivered a speech to the crowd in Quiche (the local Mayan dialect), Spanish and English. After a light supper we got a chance to talk to the groom more during which he shared the story of how he had met his wife after returning from the states and how he was required to ask for her hand in marriage through a series of visits with her parents. Apparently he only had to ask once, whereas the typical series of requests is between two and four visits, where the suitor is subjected to interrogation on qualifications as a spouse, financial standings, and future plans by parents and family members. (Not to mention he´s expected to bring gifts every time).
After the low key reception, we spent the night in the capital city of Quiche where the groom had arranged a room for us and then headed back to Chimaltenango. Since getting back, I´ve been listening to Christmas music, daydreaming about stuffing (with Thanksgiving only a few days away) and watching Christmas movies in Spanish (I recommend Elf). I wish you all a happy Thanksgiving and hope to be in touch!
Until next time..
This past weekend I got the opportunity to attend a Guatemalan wedding in the department of El Quiche, which borders my municipality, but lies about two hours away by conventional travel methods, i.e. chicken bus. The man getting married was a friend of my host sister from her studies in Wisconsin. We were accompanied not only by several other alumni of the program, but also by her host parents from Wisconsin who recently relocated to a nearby village in Chimaltenango (my home department). We rode the bus up to the capital city of the department Santa Cruz del Quiche and then took a jalon (standing up in the back of a pickup with five to ten others) to his town about twenty minutes away. Once we arrived we were ushered in and welcomed with soup and coffee while a church service was taking place in the backyard. The actual wedding service began later that evening, to which we walked en masse from the house.
Obviously I noticed several differences between their traditional wedding and the standard American wedding, but there were several in particular that I wanted to share. Before walking to the church, the bride and groom prepared together, each one smoothing the other´s creases and picking pieces of stray fabric or lint off each other. The bride wore a similar veil and tiara of sorts, with a white beaded guipil (traditional shirt worn by indigenous women) and a traditional corte (long, belted skirt). The cue to depart from the house was a preset series of bells sounded from the town square, and once we arrived at the church in our group of around seventy five, we weren´t to enter the church until the last chime of the series was heard. The music once we huddled into the sanctuary was provided by a local band playing religious marimba music, which I’ve found take the place of hymns in all church services. After the groom and his best man took their place at the altar, the bride timidly strode down the aisle to this music and was met in the middle of the aisle by the groom who took her hand from both parents.
The service proceeded like any other regular mass, with the Father talking about the eternal kingdom, the past liturgical year in the church and the importance of tithing. The actual wedding took up a mere ten minutes of the actual service, neatly inserted between the sermon and the offering. Meanwhile, the bride, groom, best man and made of honor in enjoyed it from front row seats.
Once we got back to the house, the bride and groom stood in front of a table to receive gifts from a long line of family and friends, after which the groom delivered a speech to the crowd in Quiche (the local Mayan dialect), Spanish and English. After a light supper we got a chance to talk to the groom more during which he shared the story of how he had met his wife after returning from the states and how he was required to ask for her hand in marriage through a series of visits with her parents. Apparently he only had to ask once, whereas the typical series of requests is between two and four visits, where the suitor is subjected to interrogation on qualifications as a spouse, financial standings, and future plans by parents and family members. (Not to mention he´s expected to bring gifts every time).
After the low key reception, we spent the night in the capital city of Quiche where the groom had arranged a room for us and then headed back to Chimaltenango. Since getting back, I´ve been listening to Christmas music, daydreaming about stuffing (with Thanksgiving only a few days away) and watching Christmas movies in Spanish (I recommend Elf). I wish you all a happy Thanksgiving and hope to be in touch!
Until next time..
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