At Your Service
When Allison told people she and I were going to Guatemala for spring break, almost everyone she talked to made the assumption that we were going as part of a mission trip. At first it made her laugh, because she’d never suggested that to be the case. We were looking forward to a fun and adventurous vacation that was decidedly not a service project!
When it kept happening, though, she started to think more deeply about it. She didn’t tell me about it until we were on our way to Chicago, and when she did, she told me about her surprise that no one seemed to think you might just go there for vacation.
Guatemala has old ruins, cities of thriving culture, vibrant cloudforests, beautiful lakes, and volcanoes, to name a few attractions. Beyond that, we’ve been looking forward to seeing our former exchange student Natalia, as well as her mother and sister who visited us at the end of Natalia’s time with us. Why wouldn’t we want to vacation here?!
After a taxi ride from the Guatemala City airport that would make both Dale Earnhardts proud, these first few days we’ve been on our own, poking around the lovely, humming city of Antigua. The old town is just gorgeous, with active churches of every stripe, and old colonial buildings—some with a worn patina and some getting a fresh coat of paint as we walked by. The city overflows with great restaurants, and on Saturdays the markets spill into the streets in a colorful patchwork of goods spread out for sale. It’s an international city filled with both native Guatemalans and people from all over the world.
We are staying a bit on the outside of town, at a coffee plantation that also runs a hotel on the premises. We have been watching workers spread coffee beans to dry outside our window. It’s a lovely spot with a pool and a great restaurant, though a bit ironic that we are surrounded with some of the best coffee in the world when neither of us drinks coffee! The room is spacious and the bathroom even has a bidet, which almost gave me a face wash as I curiously peered into it and turned the handles. Pearls thrown before swine.
For two days we’ve been getting rides into town (either with the free scheduled hotel shuttle or with Uber if we aren’t timing it well for the shuttle). We stumble over our limited Spanish while our gracious waiters/clerks/drivers help us out in English as much as they can. I think Allison is learning one of the first lessons of traveling in a new place, especially another country—you have to be willing to feel stupid. You have to be willing to ask the most basic questions, even if it’s embarassing, or you will never get anywhere.
In the process, one dumb question at a time, we’ve found markets full of arts and crafts, excellent food, a tuk-tuk ride to the top of a hill for an overview of the city, and a church that celebrated 800 years last year. When I think of how excited our church was to make it to 100 years, seeing a church established in 1218 is pretty humbling!
The follow-up question to “is it a service project?” was often “is it safe?” Well, probably not 100% safe. Then again nothing is. We take precautions—we don’t walk in unknown places around the city late at night, we don’t flash all the bling, we stick to more populated areas. Not that much different than walking around big US cities that I don’t know well, to be honest. I wonder if people sending their students to exchange programs in the US worry that their child might experience a school shooting? It seems like it would cross their minds—it’s always the worst events that you hear about the most.
But as we sometimes clumsily make our way through a different place and culture, it’s clear to me that Allison and I are the ones who need help, who require service. We depend on people who can speak our language even though we are in their country. We need drivers who know these streets and this traffic. We are so ignorant of the history or the current state of things here unless someone is willing to take the time to share it. Every time we turn the corner we are confronted with something new, and we need someone to point the way or interpret the situation. So far the Guatemalans have been doing us a great service as we learn about their culture and our own in the process.
When it kept happening, though, she started to think more deeply about it. She didn’t tell me about it until we were on our way to Chicago, and when she did, she told me about her surprise that no one seemed to think you might just go there for vacation.
Guatemala has old ruins, cities of thriving culture, vibrant cloudforests, beautiful lakes, and volcanoes, to name a few attractions. Beyond that, we’ve been looking forward to seeing our former exchange student Natalia, as well as her mother and sister who visited us at the end of Natalia’s time with us. Why wouldn’t we want to vacation here?!
After a taxi ride from the Guatemala City airport that would make both Dale Earnhardts proud, these first few days we’ve been on our own, poking around the lovely, humming city of Antigua. The old town is just gorgeous, with active churches of every stripe, and old colonial buildings—some with a worn patina and some getting a fresh coat of paint as we walked by. The city overflows with great restaurants, and on Saturdays the markets spill into the streets in a colorful patchwork of goods spread out for sale. It’s an international city filled with both native Guatemalans and people from all over the world.
We are staying a bit on the outside of town, at a coffee plantation that also runs a hotel on the premises. We have been watching workers spread coffee beans to dry outside our window. It’s a lovely spot with a pool and a great restaurant, though a bit ironic that we are surrounded with some of the best coffee in the world when neither of us drinks coffee! The room is spacious and the bathroom even has a bidet, which almost gave me a face wash as I curiously peered into it and turned the handles. Pearls thrown before swine.
For two days we’ve been getting rides into town (either with the free scheduled hotel shuttle or with Uber if we aren’t timing it well for the shuttle). We stumble over our limited Spanish while our gracious waiters/clerks/drivers help us out in English as much as they can. I think Allison is learning one of the first lessons of traveling in a new place, especially another country—you have to be willing to feel stupid. You have to be willing to ask the most basic questions, even if it’s embarassing, or you will never get anywhere.
In the process, one dumb question at a time, we’ve found markets full of arts and crafts, excellent food, a tuk-tuk ride to the top of a hill for an overview of the city, and a church that celebrated 800 years last year. When I think of how excited our church was to make it to 100 years, seeing a church established in 1218 is pretty humbling!
The follow-up question to “is it a service project?” was often “is it safe?” Well, probably not 100% safe. Then again nothing is. We take precautions—we don’t walk in unknown places around the city late at night, we don’t flash all the bling, we stick to more populated areas. Not that much different than walking around big US cities that I don’t know well, to be honest. I wonder if people sending their students to exchange programs in the US worry that their child might experience a school shooting? It seems like it would cross their minds—it’s always the worst events that you hear about the most.
But as we sometimes clumsily make our way through a different place and culture, it’s clear to me that Allison and I are the ones who need help, who require service. We depend on people who can speak our language even though we are in their country. We need drivers who know these streets and this traffic. We are so ignorant of the history or the current state of things here unless someone is willing to take the time to share it. Every time we turn the corner we are confronted with something new, and we need someone to point the way or interpret the situation. So far the Guatemalans have been doing us a great service as we learn about their culture and our own in the process.
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