Week 27: Visitors (Part I)

Dear Familia,

I sit on the third floor of a Cafe called Atrio (the self-proclaimed “Best Coffee in Town”) near the center of Santa Cruz del Quiché, defeated from more than a month of hosting friends and family and journeying with them across the breathtaking beauties of Guatemala.

I was delighted to receive my friends from Kivunim (the gap-year experience I completed four years ago that Alex is now staffing) in Antigua on March 9. We had an ambitious itinerary that I feared would not succeed. The following morning, we were set to climb the notorious Acatenango Volcano, known for its high-peak views of the Volcan de Fuego attached to its side. When everyone arrived, weary but buzzing with anticipation for the grueling trek ahead, I brought them to the empty rooftop of our popular hostel. In the distance, beyond the glowing central park and heavy grey clouds, a roaring, fiery light suddenly tore through the darkness – Volcán de Fuego erupting like it hadn’t in six years.

Sleeping it over, our initial excitement instantly turned to disappointment when I received a text from our tour company that they were cancelling our hike due to the eruption. We quickly scrambled to find a new tour company to take us, but they were all canceled or booked for the whole week. After consulting a few agencies and friends, we decided to hike another Volcano along with the countless travelers whose plans were destroyed due to the eruption. While I knew I’d have future chances to return, I was disappointed this was my friends’ first impression of Guatemala.

The visit didn’t improve much from there. After a somewhat underwhelming and overpriced backup Volcano hike, we Ubered three hours to my place, arriving in Quiché at midnight. While my friends passed out in the back seat, I spent three hours chatting with our driver, trying to keep him awake, fearful of revisiting my Albania experience. I gave my friends an ideal tour of my town the next day, exploring the ruins, ecopark, and some of my favorite restaurants and cafés. It was a pleasant pause from the chaos before we returned to the tourist life in one of the most tourist towns in Guatemala: San Pedro la Laguna.

After arriving in San Pedro and enjoying some delicious Mediterranean food— influenced by the plethora of Israelis who live in or pass through the town—we kicked back at our hotel’s pool overlooking the lake. Unfortunately, that was about as good as the trip got. One friend came down with food poisoning. The next day, another friend and I were hit with the flu. And to wrap things up nicely, the only one who’d stayed healthy the entire time threw up the last night. It definitely wasn’t the perfect week, but we made the most of it, shared plenty of laughs, and I came away with some solid lessons on where not to take visitors—and what foods to warn them about.

My parents arrived in Quiché three days after my friends left, giving me just enough time to rest and ease back into work. I gave them a tour of Santa Cruz del Quiché, similar to the one I had given my friends. While I thought repeating the same tour was a good idea—especially since my friends had enjoyed it—I quickly realized the importance of tailoring experiences to different visitors. My parents were more interested in seeing the ins and outs of my work. That proved a bit tricky, though, with Noberto on vacation and Marco Tulio caught up in other commitments.

We invited my host parents for dinner at one of my favorite restaurants on the first night. Despite my tiresome role as translator for both sets of parents, it was gratifying to watch them interact. My mother and I cooked a Shabbat meal for my host family the next night, introducing them to this custom for the first time. They were engaged and curious. My parents and I adventured to Xela, Chichi, and the lake for relaxing, joy-filled days, before driving to Antigua. I brought them to the Peace Corps office headquarters and introduced them to Doña Lupe, Silvia, and Carlitos, who were delighted to see me after so long and warmly welcomed my parents. Once again, I was left to act as translator. Before dining with family friends back in Antigua, I took my parents to Fabi’s—an important space during training that, while short-lived, meant a lot to me. I was thrilled they experienced that piece of my Peace Corps journey.

The next day, we made our way to the airport to catch a flight to Flores—a lakeside town that serves as the gateway for travelers eager to explore the awe-inspiring ruins of Tikal and Yaxha. The journey to both ruins is long and the roads are rough, but this bumpy ride was worth the stunning structures and panoramic vistas. Tikal is the better-known of the two, much larger in scale and home to taller, more recently constructed temples. While we encountered a variety of monkeys and birds along the way, I was disappointed to miss the one animal I had most hoped to see: the jaguar, a creature deeply significant to the ancient Maya.

We returned to Antigua after the wonderful three-day visit to the Peten region, saddened by my departure back to Quiché, as I had to return to do actual work. Still, I was glad to be back in my bed and catch up with Noberto and Marco. My rest was short-lived, though, as I only had until Wednesday before hosting a site visit for a Peace Corps trainee, just like I had done at George’s site during my training. I had scheduled work and fun-related activities to keep us busy, expecting someone fresh out of college like myself. So when I showed up at the bus terminal and was greeted by a white-haired, 75-year-old man named Chris, I was surprised. But Chris turned out to be active, full of energy, and completely down to do whatever I asked.

After a lunch with other trainees and Quiché volunteers at our beloved Regis Cafe in the park, we rode with Noberto to Choacaman IV for a CADER meeting. Despite being drained from his long journey up from the office, Chris didn’t show it, as I wasted no time putting him to work the moment we arrived. I was scheduled to lead a group of 25 CADER women in a Ciclo Participativo tool, analyzing their resources and deficiencies at the community and personal level. The goal of the exercise was to determine how the resources at their disposal could be leveraged to tackle the challenges they face. Chris’s Spanish prowess from his years living in Costa Rica, Mexico, and Colombia proved invaluable during the activity. Participation was slow to start, but by the end, we’d collected thoughtful lists from both the personal and community groups.

The activity proved successful, especially as we transitioned into the training on growing oyster mushrooms. Noberto explained how, since a few of the women had already received training on this process, they could support the instruction of the lesson. Chris was impressed by the attentiveness of the women who had not received the lesson before.

After the session, I brought Chris to a Chinese restaurant near my house—a place he’d been eager to try after a month of nothing but Guatemalan food. Over dinner, he launched into his life story, sharing one tale after another. His experiences were fascinating, especially since he’d worked in project development finance, an area of high interest to me. Sadly, I was wiped and my eyes grew heavy. We picked up the conversation the next day, starting at the Ministry of Agriculture office where he met and interviewed a few of my co-workers before making our way to the ruins. We got lucky with the weather and the scene: a group of women from Huehuetenango were filming a promotional video, and nearby, a family was holding a Mayan ceremony that captivated Chris.

Just like I did with my parents, I took Chris to visit Marco’s fish farm. Given his wide-ranging experience—including a stint working with a shrimp farm in Honduras—he had plenty of great advice, which he generously shared with Marco the next morning at a community promoter’s house in Choacaman II. We were helping prepare for an event she would host on Tuesday by clearing weeds from the garden. The energy we arrived with quickly faded after the grueling work. That evening, Chris had a final craving for Chinese food, so we went to one of the other Chinese spots. After dinner, we said our goodbyes—he’d be heading out early the next morning. I was also leaving early to join my friends for a goodbye celebration honoring the volunteers finishing their service in May. It was the perfect, much-needed end to a busy week—until I realized my hosting duties weren’t quite over.

Que Les Vaya Bien,

Josué