Que pasa: I was the earliest arrival, so the other students have been just leaking in. This morning/afternoon I went museum-going with three other early arrivals. We all hit it off very well. We just had the orientation today, and tomorrow we drive to Lake Atitlan, where we will be staying for the remainder of the program.
“My bag's gone,” Erin said softly.
“What?”
“It's gone. My bag's gone.”
Surely not, I thought. We were having lunch at a high table in an open-air touristy restaurant, Tacontento. All our bags were directly beneath us, under the table (my bag strap was wrapped around my leg). We looked all around and, sure enough, Erin's black backpack was nowhere to be found. Thankfully, she had had the wherewithal to remove her camera and her documents and stuff before she put her bag on the floor, so all that was stolen was a parka and a water bottle. “Ah! I'm so disappointed,” she kept saying. “I just thought I was paying more attention than that.”
I knew just what she meant. The last few days have been very humbling in general... getting used to the language, the way of life in the city. The other three of us at the table also felt disappointed in ourselves. It was very, very disconcerting to think that someone just walked up and swiped a bag from right under our noses. We decided that it must have been while one of the street vendors walked up to us (if you're in an open-air restaurant, yes, street vendors will walk up to you and try to sell you things, although only if you look like a tourist, i.e., are Caucasian). There was one guy who was selling CDs, one guy selling necklaces, and an entire band of guitarists (who will apparently perform for you and then ask you for money if you show interest). We tried to avoid eye contact with these people to show that we didn't want to buy anything. Maybe that's when it happened, during the diversions. But we were smart students, not clueless tourists; we were supposed to be ready for things like this!
The bottom line is that there's just no avoiding being the “Ugly American.” And the city continues to be precarious. At one point walking to the museum, we found ourselves balanced on an up-and-down sidewalk/dirt path about three feet wide with a bamboo fence on one side and fast traffic on the other, scooting sideways by a downed power line. A beast of a truck roared by us with a gust of wind and with a rush and black smoke spun out behind it. “Dios mio!” (my gods!) Derek shouted in an intentionally American accent. Appropriate: Americans trying to be Guatemalans (city-dwellers, anyway). I swear, the car horns are louder here than in the U.S.
As I'm writing this in the hotel room, Derek just dropped and broke his good luck rock. Bad omens bad omens.
Derek arrived yesterday. He's my age but looks like he could be 30. Athletic build, clean-cut, positive and humble. He and I have hit it off immediately. He's from West Virginia. We have a strange amount of similarities—we both played football from age 8 through high school, we both have evangelical Christian backgrounds, we both have poison ivy on our arms, we're both in anthropology for some of the same reasons, though we have a few idealogical differences. We talk right away for hours, and it doesn't take us long to get to the deep stuff. He's idealistic—he became a vegetarian a few months ago for reasons of humility, the same reason that he partakes in Ramadan each year, but he says he'll eat meat here as part of integrating into the culture. He has three tattoos under his shirt (you would never guess looking at him). They are all very personal and symbolic for him, and they are all in the same black and gray colors, all tasteful and well-done.
One reason that I'm excited to be here is to meet other anthro students from around the US (a small minority are from NC State). It's cool to see what other programs are like, and to meet other people who may very well be my future co-workers one day.
There are only four guys here (and like 30-something girls, ay caramba). About half of the students are in the anthropology program and half in a social work program. Most of the social workers are older, some married and with children, many working on M.S.W's. Most of the anthro students are upper class undergrads. But all this doesn't matter – I can have as much or as little contact with the other students as I wish, barring the fact that we will be spread out miles and miles apart from each other in villages around a lake. Some of them I won't see at all except for the group field trips.
Incidentally, you can generally tell a difference in the personalities of the social workers and the anthropologists. Ask me about this later if you want me to go into it.
As for Dr Wallace... he said that he didn't want to read what we say about him, and seeing as I may be using this as my journal, I have removed this section.
And Carla, if you're reading this, I've done the same for you.
So I've spent most of today socializing with different groups of the students here. There are certainly some cool folks, good company.
Let me again stress the hands-off attitude they have here. This being an introduction to fieldwork, a lot of what we will be learning is how to function on our own in an unfamiliar society. For example, some students will have to travel across the lake to get to class, and it's up to them to do so. I will probably see if I can rent or buy a bike. I will spend my time getting to know people in my town. I will have to learn the manners and customs myself. They only give a few pointers... most about health. A lot of us will get sick. That's part of the process. Carry some rocks around, and don't be afraid to throw them at belligerent stray dogs. Don't drink the water. That's about it.
I can't wait.
