Thursday was spent trying to get money to pay for school. I had paid the deposit through PayPal online with a credit card and figured that I would pay by the week that way as well, as it was extremely simple and did not require me to carry a lot of money or travelers checks. But when I arrived on Monday, I found that if I paid with credit card, there would be a 12% service charge for each payment or $19 more a week. My other options were to pay with cash, travelers checks or a personal check. Since I had read that travelers checks were not widely accepted, I had decided not to bring any, nor had a brought personal checks, leaving me with the final option of cash. But according to my teacher, the ATMs only allow you a maximum withdrawal per day of 500 quetzals or $64, which meant that I would have to go to three ATMs each week, paying $1 each time, which was much less than the $19 with a credit card, but also much more of a hassle. Extremely frustrated and not quite sure what to do, I talked with my teacher, who recommended buying travelers checks here with a one percent service charge and paying that way. Elated with that option, I asked him if he would go to the bank with me that morning to get the checks. One of the other staff members recommended a bank in a mall some distance away that offered a much better rate than local banks, so my teacher and I hopped on his motorcycle (bring back fond memories of SE Asia for me) and headed to the mall.
We arrived at the bank and my teacher excused himself to go to the bathroom while I waited in line. I was called before he returned and told the man who was helping me that I wanted to purchase traveler's checks. He said that he would be happy to get them for me but that his boss, who had to be present at such transactions, was not there and would not return until 2:00, and could I come back at that time. I agreed, and pleased with myself for conduction the entire, if brief, conversation in Spanish, went out to wait for my teacher. When he returned, I told him what happened and said that I did not mind coming back on my own in the afternoon. He said that I was welcome to do that, but that there were three other banks in the mall and that we could try all of them. I asked if he thought the rates would be the same and he said that the believed that they would be, so we went upstairs to Bank Number 2. After waiting in line for about ten minutes, we explained the situation and were told that I could not use a debit card there to purchase the checks, that I would need to get cash from the ATMs, with which I could purchase the checks. Looking a my teacher with a look of complete exasperation, I explained (what he already knew) that I could only get 500 Quetzales out of the ATM and there was no way I could get enough money for the month. He looked at me sympathetically, thanked the woman and lead me to Bank Number 3.
Bank Number 3 would take a debit card, but did not take VISA, only Master Card, leaving us to return to Bank Number 1, where I was going to ask if I could indeed use my card to get the exact amount of money that I needed, before I made the trip all the way back that afternoon.
On the way down the stairs, my teacher came up with the idea of simply taking all the cash that I needed in Quetzales directly from the teller and paying that way. Wondering why we hadn´t though of that before, I found myself back in Bank Number 1.
When we explained the situation to the man who had helped me earlier, he told us that I could take out up to 500 US DOLLARS out at the ATM, not 500 Quetzales and if I wanted I could take $500 out of the ATM and get the rest from him. Happy to finally have a solution, but incredulous that we had gone through so much when I could have simply taken $500 out of the ATM in the first place, I gave him my passport and my ATM and received enough for thee weeks tuition.
Saturday, March 11, 2006
Trabajadores y un poco Historia
Wednesday, I again arrived at the school sans notebook and pen only to find that the trip had again been canceled and that it would possibly be rescheduled for Friday. Again disappointed and a little frustrated, I sat down with my teacher for that days lesson. About hour into the lesson, we learn that we may be going to the village after all. After about half an hour of uncertainty, we learn that we are in fact going and we all pile into a mini-van for the trip.
The village we are going to is one that the school was working with in the past, providing school scholarships to students to purchase uniforms, books and school supplies. During the hurricane, the village which was situated in a valley surrounded by mountains, was flooded and completely destroyed. The people took what they could and moved to an area of land on top of one of the surrounding mountains and went about constructing a new village. Apparently, the government had promised to provide funding for new construction, but the village has yet to receive any assistance, while other villages which were not as affected, but voted for the current government, have received help (or so I have been told).
A previous student in the medical program at the school who was hear during the hurricane last October, has returned with his family to provide for their medical needs and to help with reconstruction. We rode with this family (three brothers and their parents) through smaller villages and finally up into the mountains, where we could see mountain top after mountain top in the distance.
When we neared the area of the village, we began to see other villages, made up of cinder block houses and populated by people in brightly colored clothing going about their daily chores. We rode past women walking along the side of the road pulling along reluctant sheep; and other women carrying loads of fire wood and baskets laden with other things on their head. When we pulled up in the village we were to be working in, the difference between those we had just past and the one we were now in was made immediately apparent by the lean-to structures of plywood and corrugated metal roofs in place of cinder-block houses, as well as the existence of a large US AID tent. Dogs, cats, goats and turkeys roamed free between the homes and we immediately acquainted ourselves with the outhouse on the side of the road.
When we reached the road down to where they were building the school, we found that a truck had gotten stuck in the soft dirt and there were about six men pulling a rope attached to the grill with another three in the back pushing as the drive gunned the engine. After few minutes of trial and error, one of the men from the states asked us if we wouldn´t mind sitting in the back, because the last time the truck had gotten stuck on the incline they were able to get it to move by weighing down the back with people. We all agreed and climbed aboard the back of the truck, which, with a new load and a few more infusions of gas, roared up the hill to the top.
After congratulating the men for their success, we made our way down the road to a flat area of land where they were going to build the school. The previous week, they had rented a tractor to clear the land, but they had been unable to get another one and were planning to clear what they could by hand until they could get another tractor.
They handed out hoes and shovels and we got to work. At first I wasn´t really sure what we were supposed to be doing, but after asking around, I learned that they had a lot more land to clear and anything we could dig out and cart away would be a great help. Faced with a six foot wall of dirt, I went to work with the hoe, chopping and shoveling the dirt towards me and away from the wall. One volunteer, got a shovel and began to shovel the dirt in and cart it away. After just a few minutes, I realized just how much more work could be done with only a few extra wheelbarrows and I was delighted with about ten minutes later, two local men arrived with four more.
We worked for a few hours, during which the blisters on my hands formed, broke and began to form again, but I was thrilled to actually be doing something tangible and enjoyed being outside and feeling the strain of manual labor. Unfortunately, we did not have long to work because some of the teachers had to be back for their afternoon students and, it seemed, soon after we began, we were told to stop and we packed up for the trip back to Xela.
That afternoon at five we had a speaker come to talk about the current socio-political situation in Guatemala. Before coming, I had read a little about Guatemalan history and how they had years of strife followed by a brief reprieve of real democracy that was summarily quashed by the US government in the interest of the United Fruit Company, followed by years of military rule and devastating civil war. None of this information was new to me, but it was still hard to hear, again, how the US has managed to make things worse for people around the world in the name of capitalism. He also talked about the current oligarchy of 35 families that rule Guatemala and his belief that they only thing that will ever change things is another revolution. It was a very interesting discussion and only made me want to know more, and of course, feel terrible for the people of Guatemala.
The village we are going to is one that the school was working with in the past, providing school scholarships to students to purchase uniforms, books and school supplies. During the hurricane, the village which was situated in a valley surrounded by mountains, was flooded and completely destroyed. The people took what they could and moved to an area of land on top of one of the surrounding mountains and went about constructing a new village. Apparently, the government had promised to provide funding for new construction, but the village has yet to receive any assistance, while other villages which were not as affected, but voted for the current government, have received help (or so I have been told).
A previous student in the medical program at the school who was hear during the hurricane last October, has returned with his family to provide for their medical needs and to help with reconstruction. We rode with this family (three brothers and their parents) through smaller villages and finally up into the mountains, where we could see mountain top after mountain top in the distance.
When we neared the area of the village, we began to see other villages, made up of cinder block houses and populated by people in brightly colored clothing going about their daily chores. We rode past women walking along the side of the road pulling along reluctant sheep; and other women carrying loads of fire wood and baskets laden with other things on their head. When we pulled up in the village we were to be working in, the difference between those we had just past and the one we were now in was made immediately apparent by the lean-to structures of plywood and corrugated metal roofs in place of cinder-block houses, as well as the existence of a large US AID tent. Dogs, cats, goats and turkeys roamed free between the homes and we immediately acquainted ourselves with the outhouse on the side of the road.
When we reached the road down to where they were building the school, we found that a truck had gotten stuck in the soft dirt and there were about six men pulling a rope attached to the grill with another three in the back pushing as the drive gunned the engine. After few minutes of trial and error, one of the men from the states asked us if we wouldn´t mind sitting in the back, because the last time the truck had gotten stuck on the incline they were able to get it to move by weighing down the back with people. We all agreed and climbed aboard the back of the truck, which, with a new load and a few more infusions of gas, roared up the hill to the top.
After congratulating the men for their success, we made our way down the road to a flat area of land where they were going to build the school. The previous week, they had rented a tractor to clear the land, but they had been unable to get another one and were planning to clear what they could by hand until they could get another tractor.
They handed out hoes and shovels and we got to work. At first I wasn´t really sure what we were supposed to be doing, but after asking around, I learned that they had a lot more land to clear and anything we could dig out and cart away would be a great help. Faced with a six foot wall of dirt, I went to work with the hoe, chopping and shoveling the dirt towards me and away from the wall. One volunteer, got a shovel and began to shovel the dirt in and cart it away. After just a few minutes, I realized just how much more work could be done with only a few extra wheelbarrows and I was delighted with about ten minutes later, two local men arrived with four more.
We worked for a few hours, during which the blisters on my hands formed, broke and began to form again, but I was thrilled to actually be doing something tangible and enjoyed being outside and feeling the strain of manual labor. Unfortunately, we did not have long to work because some of the teachers had to be back for their afternoon students and, it seemed, soon after we began, we were told to stop and we packed up for the trip back to Xela.
That afternoon at five we had a speaker come to talk about the current socio-political situation in Guatemala. Before coming, I had read a little about Guatemalan history and how they had years of strife followed by a brief reprieve of real democracy that was summarily quashed by the US government in the interest of the United Fruit Company, followed by years of military rule and devastating civil war. None of this information was new to me, but it was still hard to hear, again, how the US has managed to make things worse for people around the world in the name of capitalism. He also talked about the current oligarchy of 35 families that rule Guatemala and his belief that they only thing that will ever change things is another revolution. It was a very interesting discussion and only made me want to know more, and of course, feel terrible for the people of Guatemala.
Dias uno y dos
Monday began with an orientation in Spanish then translated into English about the activities for the week. On Monday there would be a movie, "El Norte" about a family´s experience getting from Guatemala to the US and all of the trials that come with the journey. On Tuesday, there would be an opportunity to help with the stove building project or to help build a school in a village destroyed by Hurricane Stan (and consequently moved). On Wednesday, there would be a conference about the current socio-political situation in Guateala. Thursday was the day to volunteer at the day care run by the school; and Friday there would be a student dinner.
My teacher is a Genetic Engineer in his forties, who teaches at the school during the day and at the University at night. We talked a while to enable him to determine my level of Spanish ability, me talking about my life in the states and him talking about his life and the situation in Guatemala (a topic he feels very strongly about and likes to talk about although it obviously upsets him). That aftenoon, I returned to my family`s house for almuerzo, spent the afternoon wandering around Xela, buying some books at a local book store (seemingly run by Americans) and then returning to school for the movie.
When I retuned to the school, I found that the gate at the door had been locked and there was no one around to let me in. After a few minutes of wondering what to do, I was able to get someone´s attention and have them come over to buzz me in. Unfortunately, the lock had apparently ceased to function and I was unable to enter and everyone inside was unable to exit. After another few minutes of discussing the situation, it was determined that 1) the lock was indeed not functioning, 2) this had happened numerous times in the previous week and 3) no one knew what to do to remedy the situation. One student was able to locate the number of one of the staff, none of whom was present, and contact him on his cell phone to appraise him of the situation. Just as he was hanging up, another student walked up behind me wanting to get in and when I told her about the lock, replied, "Oh, yeah, this happens all the time, you just need a fork." One of those locked inside heard this and went to get a fork with which we were able to pry open the lock. Twenty minutes after I arived, I was able to join the others watching the movie.
The movie was interesting and although I can´t say that it was a great movie in and of itself, it did have some interesting scenes and shed a little more light on the plight of the people of Guatemala.
Tuesday, I woke up to a breakfast of taquitos, jalapenos and salsa, something I thoroughly enjoyed and prepared for a day in the dirt, helping to clear the land for the school in the mountain village. When I arrived at the school, I was disappointed to find out that we would not be going to the village that day, but would be going the following day. Since my teacher heads the stove project, I had the choice of either going to help build the stove in a local child care center, or staying and studying with another teacher. As much as I wanted to help build the stoves, I also wanted to go to the village the following day, and knew that there was another trip that I wanted to participate in on Friday and did not want to miss so many days of class; so I decided to stay and study with another teacher, even though it meant more or less starting all over again.
I really enjoyed my lesson that day, even though I had not come prepared with either a notebook or a pen, and felt that I learned a lot. I was a little disappointed to find that I like this teachers methods of teaching better than my own, who I would be returning to on Thursday after the trip to the mountain village the following day.
My teacher is a Genetic Engineer in his forties, who teaches at the school during the day and at the University at night. We talked a while to enable him to determine my level of Spanish ability, me talking about my life in the states and him talking about his life and the situation in Guatemala (a topic he feels very strongly about and likes to talk about although it obviously upsets him). That aftenoon, I returned to my family`s house for almuerzo, spent the afternoon wandering around Xela, buying some books at a local book store (seemingly run by Americans) and then returning to school for the movie.
When I retuned to the school, I found that the gate at the door had been locked and there was no one around to let me in. After a few minutes of wondering what to do, I was able to get someone´s attention and have them come over to buzz me in. Unfortunately, the lock had apparently ceased to function and I was unable to enter and everyone inside was unable to exit. After another few minutes of discussing the situation, it was determined that 1) the lock was indeed not functioning, 2) this had happened numerous times in the previous week and 3) no one knew what to do to remedy the situation. One student was able to locate the number of one of the staff, none of whom was present, and contact him on his cell phone to appraise him of the situation. Just as he was hanging up, another student walked up behind me wanting to get in and when I told her about the lock, replied, "Oh, yeah, this happens all the time, you just need a fork." One of those locked inside heard this and went to get a fork with which we were able to pry open the lock. Twenty minutes after I arived, I was able to join the others watching the movie.
The movie was interesting and although I can´t say that it was a great movie in and of itself, it did have some interesting scenes and shed a little more light on the plight of the people of Guatemala.
Tuesday, I woke up to a breakfast of taquitos, jalapenos and salsa, something I thoroughly enjoyed and prepared for a day in the dirt, helping to clear the land for the school in the mountain village. When I arrived at the school, I was disappointed to find out that we would not be going to the village that day, but would be going the following day. Since my teacher heads the stove project, I had the choice of either going to help build the stove in a local child care center, or staying and studying with another teacher. As much as I wanted to help build the stoves, I also wanted to go to the village the following day, and knew that there was another trip that I wanted to participate in on Friday and did not want to miss so many days of class; so I decided to stay and study with another teacher, even though it meant more or less starting all over again.
I really enjoyed my lesson that day, even though I had not come prepared with either a notebook or a pen, and felt that I learned a lot. I was a little disappointed to find that I like this teachers methods of teaching better than my own, who I would be returning to on Thursday after the trip to the mountain village the following day.
Principios Nuevos
As my date of departure neared, people began to ask me if I was excited and I wanted to respond that I was, but I really wasn´t and did not want to lie. I just said that I was not excited, but that I knew I would enjoy the experience when I got there. I did not know why that was, but I knew it to be true. Now I understand why.
I forgot how difficult it is when you first find yourself in a new culture, not able to speak the language and not knowing how to get around. All the little things that you do so easily at home, like purchasing groceries or going to the bank, can take all afternoon. Studying a new language and just doing a few daily chores can be exusting.
But, there are those things that make all the early struggles worth it: the time you have to sit back and enjoy things you don´t make time for at home like relishing a cup of tea in the morning, and the satisfaction you get by turning the most suspicious glare into a smile with a simple, Buenas Dias. That is definitely my favorite part of being here.
I forgot how difficult it is when you first find yourself in a new culture, not able to speak the language and not knowing how to get around. All the little things that you do so easily at home, like purchasing groceries or going to the bank, can take all afternoon. Studying a new language and just doing a few daily chores can be exusting.
But, there are those things that make all the early struggles worth it: the time you have to sit back and enjoy things you don´t make time for at home like relishing a cup of tea in the morning, and the satisfaction you get by turning the most suspicious glare into a smile with a simple, Buenas Dias. That is definitely my favorite part of being here.
Monday, March 06, 2006
Hola de Xela
I was told my flight from Miami was to begin boarding at one forty five p.m. At two ten, I looked at my watch and panicked. I had been absorbed in a book and hadn´t heard the boarding call! Luckily for me, there hadn´t been a boarding call. We began boarding five minutes later.
The flight was short and uneventful. I think I saw the southern tip of Mexico from the plane and that was really neat to see. Guatemala is really a sight to see from the air. It is surrounded by mountains, made up of populated plains dotted with business and neighborhoods separated by deep canyons. It was like nothing I have ever seen. I thoroughly enjoyed our descent.
My flight arrived early and I was soon through customs and waiting outside the tiny airport with my bags. I searched the crowed for a woman with a sign with my name on it to no avail, so decided to park myself in the corner behind the passenger gate, trying my best not to look lost and forlorn. After twenty minutes, I began to think that it might have been smart to have purchased a phone card ahead of time or to have called the woman who was to pick me up from the states before I left and began to wonder how I should go about getting a cab and a room without looking like a complete tourist (i.e. pulling out my Lonely Planet). Luckily for me, just as a plan began to form, I saw a woman walk up to the railing and pull out a sign that said¨, ´´Sharon Brown.¨ I was thrilled. No extra effort required.
Maria introduced herself and her daughter Monica, who proceeded to accompany me to exchange dollars to curtails (7.5 to one USD) and talk to me all about her three brothers, two sisters´-in-law, niece and new born nephew and her desire to study to be a chef. We returned to the car to find Maria in the back seat, remaining there despite my protestations, so I sat in the front next to Monica. Guatemala City, as everywhere I´ve been, reminded me of other places I´ve been, most like Mexico City with touches of Ecuador (trees with their bases painted white, homes behind high walls, thrown in). There were also reminders of Thailand in the form of metal crosswalk bridges. I felt completely safe with Monica driving, but a few times I noticed that we were driving in lanes with arrows going the opposite direction and wondered if we just might be heading into oncoming traffic. Fortunately, it seems those arrows are painted backwards and we arrived at Maria´s son´s house with out altercation.
There was no explanation made to me as the reason for this stop, so I simply followed them in and met Maria´s son, his wife and their beautiful new born baby boy. We were soon joined by Maria´s youngest son. The family chatted for about 30 minutes, with me sitting looking on. A few times, a question was directed at me, but for the most part, I was mute, trying in vain to discover the topic of a an ever changing conversation.
I have to interject an admission of ignorance on my part here. Coming from South Florida where my only knowledge of Guatemalans is of the small, dark men who work cutting people´s lawns, I was surprised to find Maria´s family to be lighter skinned than me and no shorter than most American families. I should have anticipated the diversity of the population given the history of Spanish Conquistadors, but I did not, and hope to be more aware in the future.
After a brief visit, we left Maria´s son´s house and headed for her home, making one stop at a small panaderia for breakfast buns and another at a road side DVD stand for a copy of the newest pirated DVDs. Monica had wanted the latest Jennifer Aniston
movie, but wound up getting ¨40 year-old Virgin¨ instead.
When we arrived at their home, I met Simon, their mini-chiuaua, and was shown to my room (a bed at the end of a hall used as a washroom). Maria asked me if I would mind waiting a while to eat and I said that that would be fine even though I was slightly
hungry. They put in the movie and we proceeded to watch it in English with Spanish subtitles (all of Maria´s family is fluent in both languages). It was somewhat surreal, watching an American movie on DVD in the home of a middle-class Guatemalan family, a night after I had left my home for an adventure in a new culture, but it was a welcome break for the evening.
During the movie, Maria made dinner of some sort of vegetarian omelet on a bun, spread with black bean paste. It was very tasty.
Afterwords, I excused myself to my room and Monica and Maria went back to the airport to pick up another student who would be traveling with me to
the school in Xela the following morning.
I did not sleep well, woken often from disturbing dreams, only to find myself under full attack by the resident bed bugs. I hate bed bugs and repeated this sentiment over and over in my head as I got out the bug spray and sprayed down my sheets hoping to soon fall fast asleep and wake only when the bugs had burrowed back into their mattress home.
I awoke at six thirty, thankfully free of all signs of my late night visitors, and met Sally, a medical student from Kentucky who had arrived the night before. Maria and Monica drove Sally and I to the bus station, where we met Bob and Ross, who were
also going to Xela. We all talked while we waited for the bus and then Sally and I spent the ride on the bus chatting and watching the scenery from the windows. We drove past sprawling farm land bordered by mountains punctuated with the occasional farm house. Cows, pigs, sheep and chickens grazed by the roadside and every so often, an indigenous woman could be seen in the distance, distinguished by her brightly colored garments and the impossibly large bag carried on her back.
We arrived in Xela at twelve thirty and found it to be a relatively small city, its size most likely found in its sprawl, made up of old one story cement buildings and countless shops closed up in observance of the Sunday day of rest. We parted ways
with Bob and Ross and went straight to the school, conveniently located around the corner from the bus stop, to settle in and find something for lunch. We
were greeted by a man who introduced himself and told us that our families would come to meet us and would serve us lunch.
My new ¨mother¨ is Marina and she (now we) lives in a house with 13 other people. Marina, her spouse, her three children and nine grandchildren. And two dogs. We talked as we walked and I found that my past few months of Spanish review had served me well and I was able to carrying on a conversation about her family and our surroundings without missing a beat.
My new house is an interesting set up of rooms surrounding an inner courtyard with cement floor and a wash basin tucked in the corner. My room is big enough to house three students, but at the time only houses me. Among the rooms in the house are a kitchen, dining room, bathroom and, I presume, a whole bunch of bedrooms. I am not quite sure if there is enough room for all of those people in that house with me taking up a room all to myself, but I figure that I am not there to pass judgment and will hopefully contribute needed income. I am a little anxious about sharing a house with fourteen people and being able to get in needed study and down time without coming across as unfriendly, but I have decided that I will try to spend my time at the house being social and visit a local cafe when I need time on my own. I think it will be an interesting experience. I just hope there are no bed bugs!
Tomorrow, we will attend an orientation at eight o´clock in the morning and will then be assigned to a teacher. There are activities scheduled every day of the week - Mondays are movie afternoon, Tuesdays are for stove construction in the local villages, Wednesday are for conferences about Guatemala and the social and political issues it faces, Thursdays are for volunteering at the day care connected with the school and Fridays are all day field trips to surrounding areas. Weekends are reserved for rest or travel. I have already found a restaurant with notices posted for local activities and events that sound like a lot of fun. I am looking forward to getting into a routine and seeing if my dream of finally being able to hablar Espanol will finally be a reality.
The flight was short and uneventful. I think I saw the southern tip of Mexico from the plane and that was really neat to see. Guatemala is really a sight to see from the air. It is surrounded by mountains, made up of populated plains dotted with business and neighborhoods separated by deep canyons. It was like nothing I have ever seen. I thoroughly enjoyed our descent.
My flight arrived early and I was soon through customs and waiting outside the tiny airport with my bags. I searched the crowed for a woman with a sign with my name on it to no avail, so decided to park myself in the corner behind the passenger gate, trying my best not to look lost and forlorn. After twenty minutes, I began to think that it might have been smart to have purchased a phone card ahead of time or to have called the woman who was to pick me up from the states before I left and began to wonder how I should go about getting a cab and a room without looking like a complete tourist (i.e. pulling out my Lonely Planet). Luckily for me, just as a plan began to form, I saw a woman walk up to the railing and pull out a sign that said¨, ´´Sharon Brown.¨ I was thrilled. No extra effort required.
Maria introduced herself and her daughter Monica, who proceeded to accompany me to exchange dollars to curtails (7.5 to one USD) and talk to me all about her three brothers, two sisters´-in-law, niece and new born nephew and her desire to study to be a chef. We returned to the car to find Maria in the back seat, remaining there despite my protestations, so I sat in the front next to Monica. Guatemala City, as everywhere I´ve been, reminded me of other places I´ve been, most like Mexico City with touches of Ecuador (trees with their bases painted white, homes behind high walls, thrown in). There were also reminders of Thailand in the form of metal crosswalk bridges. I felt completely safe with Monica driving, but a few times I noticed that we were driving in lanes with arrows going the opposite direction and wondered if we just might be heading into oncoming traffic. Fortunately, it seems those arrows are painted backwards and we arrived at Maria´s son´s house with out altercation.
There was no explanation made to me as the reason for this stop, so I simply followed them in and met Maria´s son, his wife and their beautiful new born baby boy. We were soon joined by Maria´s youngest son. The family chatted for about 30 minutes, with me sitting looking on. A few times, a question was directed at me, but for the most part, I was mute, trying in vain to discover the topic of a an ever changing conversation.
I have to interject an admission of ignorance on my part here. Coming from South Florida where my only knowledge of Guatemalans is of the small, dark men who work cutting people´s lawns, I was surprised to find Maria´s family to be lighter skinned than me and no shorter than most American families. I should have anticipated the diversity of the population given the history of Spanish Conquistadors, but I did not, and hope to be more aware in the future.
After a brief visit, we left Maria´s son´s house and headed for her home, making one stop at a small panaderia for breakfast buns and another at a road side DVD stand for a copy of the newest pirated DVDs. Monica had wanted the latest Jennifer Aniston
movie, but wound up getting ¨40 year-old Virgin¨ instead.
When we arrived at their home, I met Simon, their mini-chiuaua, and was shown to my room (a bed at the end of a hall used as a washroom). Maria asked me if I would mind waiting a while to eat and I said that that would be fine even though I was slightly
hungry. They put in the movie and we proceeded to watch it in English with Spanish subtitles (all of Maria´s family is fluent in both languages). It was somewhat surreal, watching an American movie on DVD in the home of a middle-class Guatemalan family, a night after I had left my home for an adventure in a new culture, but it was a welcome break for the evening.
During the movie, Maria made dinner of some sort of vegetarian omelet on a bun, spread with black bean paste. It was very tasty.
Afterwords, I excused myself to my room and Monica and Maria went back to the airport to pick up another student who would be traveling with me to
the school in Xela the following morning.
I did not sleep well, woken often from disturbing dreams, only to find myself under full attack by the resident bed bugs. I hate bed bugs and repeated this sentiment over and over in my head as I got out the bug spray and sprayed down my sheets hoping to soon fall fast asleep and wake only when the bugs had burrowed back into their mattress home.
I awoke at six thirty, thankfully free of all signs of my late night visitors, and met Sally, a medical student from Kentucky who had arrived the night before. Maria and Monica drove Sally and I to the bus station, where we met Bob and Ross, who were
also going to Xela. We all talked while we waited for the bus and then Sally and I spent the ride on the bus chatting and watching the scenery from the windows. We drove past sprawling farm land bordered by mountains punctuated with the occasional farm house. Cows, pigs, sheep and chickens grazed by the roadside and every so often, an indigenous woman could be seen in the distance, distinguished by her brightly colored garments and the impossibly large bag carried on her back.
We arrived in Xela at twelve thirty and found it to be a relatively small city, its size most likely found in its sprawl, made up of old one story cement buildings and countless shops closed up in observance of the Sunday day of rest. We parted ways
with Bob and Ross and went straight to the school, conveniently located around the corner from the bus stop, to settle in and find something for lunch. We
were greeted by a man who introduced himself and told us that our families would come to meet us and would serve us lunch.
My new ¨mother¨ is Marina and she (now we) lives in a house with 13 other people. Marina, her spouse, her three children and nine grandchildren. And two dogs. We talked as we walked and I found that my past few months of Spanish review had served me well and I was able to carrying on a conversation about her family and our surroundings without missing a beat.
My new house is an interesting set up of rooms surrounding an inner courtyard with cement floor and a wash basin tucked in the corner. My room is big enough to house three students, but at the time only houses me. Among the rooms in the house are a kitchen, dining room, bathroom and, I presume, a whole bunch of bedrooms. I am not quite sure if there is enough room for all of those people in that house with me taking up a room all to myself, but I figure that I am not there to pass judgment and will hopefully contribute needed income. I am a little anxious about sharing a house with fourteen people and being able to get in needed study and down time without coming across as unfriendly, but I have decided that I will try to spend my time at the house being social and visit a local cafe when I need time on my own. I think it will be an interesting experience. I just hope there are no bed bugs!
Tomorrow, we will attend an orientation at eight o´clock in the morning and will then be assigned to a teacher. There are activities scheduled every day of the week - Mondays are movie afternoon, Tuesdays are for stove construction in the local villages, Wednesday are for conferences about Guatemala and the social and political issues it faces, Thursdays are for volunteering at the day care connected with the school and Fridays are all day field trips to surrounding areas. Weekends are reserved for rest or travel. I have already found a restaurant with notices posted for local activities and events that sound like a lot of fun. I am looking forward to getting into a routine and seeing if my dream of finally being able to hablar Espanol will finally be a reality.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Voy a Guatemala
After five months back in the states, I have decided that it is time for another trip. I had returned to the states with the idea of settling down and getting a full time job, but I have found that so many of the jobs that I am interested in either require, or prefer, bilingual candidates. Instead of settling for an unrelated job, I have decided to attempt to make myself more qualified by spending three months at a Spanish language school in Guatemala (much more exciting than spending three months with Spanish language cds...).
I will leave for Guatemala on March 4, 2006 and spend 14 weeks in Quetzaltenango, Guatemala. I plan to spend 10-12 weeks studying Spanish and working on local social projects at the Asociación Centro de Estudios de Español Pop Wuj
I hope to return to the states able to work with our Hispanic population and hopefully, finally, to get a job.
For those of you who are interested in my travel stories, I will try to keep up a regular series of trip reports. For those of you who do not speak Spanish, I apologize ahead of time because as I will be immersed in the language and the culture, I am going to try to avoid writing long stories in English until I return, assuming that is possible. Feel free to translate anything you do not understand.
Gracias!
If you have anything that you would like to donate to the families and communities of Guatemala, the following list is a wishlist provided by the school. I will not have extra room in my bag, but I may be able to bring a separate bag of donations.
Our wish list includes the following items because they are in high
demand, hard to come by and more expensive than in other countries.
For our projects: daycare children, scholarship recipients, and
latrine construction project
* Used/new clothing and shoes-for babies, children, adolescents, and
medium-sized adults (things XXL are less useful)
* Lice treatment-NIX, one-application type
* Adult Tylenol
* Children's Tylenol-either chewable or in liquid form
* Children’s Cough Syrup
* Nutritional supplements
* Vitamins-for either children or expecting mothers (especially needed as
vitamins and minerals are prohibitively expensive in Guatemala):
* Calcium/magnesium, Vitamin D for older women, Folic Acid, Multi-vitamins for
children, Pre-natal vitamins.
* Cortisone cream-for one of our scholarship recipients who has a chronic
dry skin rash
* Cassettes-for one of our blind scholarship recipients to use in his studies
* Toys
* Children's books in Spanish
I will leave for Guatemala on March 4, 2006 and spend 14 weeks in Quetzaltenango, Guatemala. I plan to spend 10-12 weeks studying Spanish and working on local social projects at the Asociación Centro de Estudios de Español Pop Wuj
I hope to return to the states able to work with our Hispanic population and hopefully, finally, to get a job.
For those of you who are interested in my travel stories, I will try to keep up a regular series of trip reports. For those of you who do not speak Spanish, I apologize ahead of time because as I will be immersed in the language and the culture, I am going to try to avoid writing long stories in English until I return, assuming that is possible. Feel free to translate anything you do not understand.
Gracias!
If you have anything that you would like to donate to the families and communities of Guatemala, the following list is a wishlist provided by the school. I will not have extra room in my bag, but I may be able to bring a separate bag of donations.
Our wish list includes the following items because they are in high
demand, hard to come by and more expensive than in other countries.
For our projects: daycare children, scholarship recipients, and
latrine construction project
* Used/new clothing and shoes-for babies, children, adolescents, and
medium-sized adults (things XXL are less useful)
* Lice treatment-NIX, one-application type
* Adult Tylenol
* Children's Tylenol-either chewable or in liquid form
* Children’s Cough Syrup
* Nutritional supplements
* Vitamins-for either children or expecting mothers (especially needed as
vitamins and minerals are prohibitively expensive in Guatemala):
* Calcium/magnesium, Vitamin D for older women, Folic Acid, Multi-vitamins for
children, Pre-natal vitamins.
* Cortisone cream-for one of our scholarship recipients who has a chronic
dry skin rash
* Cassettes-for one of our blind scholarship recipients to use in his studies
* Toys
* Children's books in Spanish
Reflections
Because of the illness that followed me home and the necessity of dealing with it upon my return, I did not have much time to reflect on my trip. After leaving the hospital, I was so swept up in my desire to find a job, visit friends and family, and figure out what path the next segment of my life would take, that I easily fell back into the conveniences of daily life in the States, picking right up where I left off, so easily that I barely noticed the transition. My only recollection of any impact my six months abroad had on my immediate homecoming was the pleasure I gained from driving to the supermarket for the first time and being amazed at the cleanliness and orderliness, and the abundance of food at my fingertips, such a thing, unknown in so many parts of the world and so taken for granted by so many in industrialized countries.
I decided to take this trip abroad for various reasons, one being to see the world and to broaden my knowledge about the lives of people in other parts of the world and another, to take back the lessons that I learned, both from what I saw and what I experienced firsthand, and to incorporate them into my life at home. I wanted the trip, not simply to be a trip, but to be an experience that would help me to lead a more fulfilling and internationally conscious life. I have learned that it is easy to fall into the routine of the immediate every day and to discount things that do not directly impact this reality, but I hope that this trip will allow me to make positive changes, even if small, to be sure that my experiences truly become a part of me, and not merely a part of my past.
I hope to remember the lessons I learned about perception and how much it can affect your view of reality, not only to temper my reactions to people and situations, but to understand how others can think and feel and behave the way they do.
I want to hold on to the loneliness of being on the road for so long in a new place with no familiar faces, to remind me of the importance of family and friends.
I will remember and utilize that knowledge that any visit to a new place is immeasurably enhanced by leaving your hotel room and getting to know the people and the culture of your surroundings.
Many times, I learned the lesson of patience and optimism and the need for both in all things, because no matter how dark the night is, there is always a new day of possibility ahead.
I want to remember never to take for granted the people in my life and the freedoms and blessings that I enjoy everyday, simply for being healthy and born in a country where I do not have to worry about war and famine. I can also look now with a more critical eye, on our country and our place in the world, and our duties, not only to our own citizens, but to the citizens of the world, at the least in the sense of “do no harm,” an area in which we have a long way to go.
I want to remember that sometimes, simply being, is enough.
I am grateful for the experiences that I had and the people who supported me through it all. I want to thank those of you who kept up with my travel stories. I have always loved to write and it is great to be able to have an avenue to share my stories with friends and family, as well as sharing a big part of my life. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoy writing them.
Thanks again!
I decided to take this trip abroad for various reasons, one being to see the world and to broaden my knowledge about the lives of people in other parts of the world and another, to take back the lessons that I learned, both from what I saw and what I experienced firsthand, and to incorporate them into my life at home. I wanted the trip, not simply to be a trip, but to be an experience that would help me to lead a more fulfilling and internationally conscious life. I have learned that it is easy to fall into the routine of the immediate every day and to discount things that do not directly impact this reality, but I hope that this trip will allow me to make positive changes, even if small, to be sure that my experiences truly become a part of me, and not merely a part of my past.
I hope to remember the lessons I learned about perception and how much it can affect your view of reality, not only to temper my reactions to people and situations, but to understand how others can think and feel and behave the way they do.
I want to hold on to the loneliness of being on the road for so long in a new place with no familiar faces, to remind me of the importance of family and friends.
I will remember and utilize that knowledge that any visit to a new place is immeasurably enhanced by leaving your hotel room and getting to know the people and the culture of your surroundings.
Many times, I learned the lesson of patience and optimism and the need for both in all things, because no matter how dark the night is, there is always a new day of possibility ahead.
I want to remember never to take for granted the people in my life and the freedoms and blessings that I enjoy everyday, simply for being healthy and born in a country where I do not have to worry about war and famine. I can also look now with a more critical eye, on our country and our place in the world, and our duties, not only to our own citizens, but to the citizens of the world, at the least in the sense of “do no harm,” an area in which we have a long way to go.
I want to remember that sometimes, simply being, is enough.
I am grateful for the experiences that I had and the people who supported me through it all. I want to thank those of you who kept up with my travel stories. I have always loved to write and it is great to be able to have an avenue to share my stories with friends and family, as well as sharing a big part of my life. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoy writing them.
Thanks again!
Home Sweet Home
Steven picked me up at the airport in Atlanta and brought me home where he had the kitchen stocked with all of my favorite foods. I spent the next few days eating everything in sight, hungry or not, inundated with delicious foods that I had not tasted in six months. I even baked myself a welcome home cake. During the weeks that I was sick, I had dropped 20 pounds, going from a healthy 140 to a scary 120 and I was determined to put it all back on.
The day after I arrived back home I contacted the Travelwell Clinic at Crawford Long Hospital in Atlanta and talked to a doctor who agreed to see me that morning. After a brief examination, he suggested that I immediately check myself in to the hospital where I would receive a seven day intravenous antibiotic treatment. My mind immediately went into rebellion mode with rapid fire questions: Seven days? Days? Isn’t that going to be expensive? Can I even afford that? Did I hear you correctly? Seven days? The Gators play Tennessee tomorrow. I did not come all this way to spend game day in the hospital! Seven days. Really?
He confirmed that the treatment lasted seven days and agreed to let me check in two-days later so that I could attend a “previously scheduled event.” Because my health insurance only covered my post-travel expenditures up to $10,000, I inquired about the possibility of checking into Grady, a hospital that bases fees on a sliding scale. He agreed that that was a good option and informed me that the same immunology team that works at Crawford Long, also does rounds at Grady, so I would receive the same treatment at a lower cost. I thanked him and agreed to check myself in at the emergency room at Grady (the only way to be admitted) on Sunday morning.
Sunday afternoon around 1:00 p.m., after watching the Gators beat the Vols 16 – 7 from my perch on the couch beneath a wool blanket, Steven accompanied me to the Emergency room at Grady Hospital. 12 hours later at 1:00 a.m., he finally went home to get some sleep, while I wanted until 8:00 the following morning to be called. After a total of 19 hours in the waiting room, I was finally given a bed, in the hall.
The next four days passed somewhat enjoyably, spending hours talking and playing cards with my mom, who had flown up from Florida on Monday, and enjoying the friendly hospitality of the hospital staff. I continued to have mild symptoms, but by the forth day, my tests had come back negative and the doctors decided that I was well enough to go home. My long ordeal was finally over...or so I thought.
On Sunday November 6th, just before I was to get results from the final test, the Typhoid came back and I was put on a 30 day dose of antibiotics to get rid of it once and for all. As of January 2006, I was declared Typhoid free. The adventure that I had begun on March 12th, 2005 and all that came with it, was officially over.
The day after I arrived back home I contacted the Travelwell Clinic at Crawford Long Hospital in Atlanta and talked to a doctor who agreed to see me that morning. After a brief examination, he suggested that I immediately check myself in to the hospital where I would receive a seven day intravenous antibiotic treatment. My mind immediately went into rebellion mode with rapid fire questions: Seven days? Days? Isn’t that going to be expensive? Can I even afford that? Did I hear you correctly? Seven days? The Gators play Tennessee tomorrow. I did not come all this way to spend game day in the hospital! Seven days. Really?
He confirmed that the treatment lasted seven days and agreed to let me check in two-days later so that I could attend a “previously scheduled event.” Because my health insurance only covered my post-travel expenditures up to $10,000, I inquired about the possibility of checking into Grady, a hospital that bases fees on a sliding scale. He agreed that that was a good option and informed me that the same immunology team that works at Crawford Long, also does rounds at Grady, so I would receive the same treatment at a lower cost. I thanked him and agreed to check myself in at the emergency room at Grady (the only way to be admitted) on Sunday morning.
Sunday afternoon around 1:00 p.m., after watching the Gators beat the Vols 16 – 7 from my perch on the couch beneath a wool blanket, Steven accompanied me to the Emergency room at Grady Hospital. 12 hours later at 1:00 a.m., he finally went home to get some sleep, while I wanted until 8:00 the following morning to be called. After a total of 19 hours in the waiting room, I was finally given a bed, in the hall.
The next four days passed somewhat enjoyably, spending hours talking and playing cards with my mom, who had flown up from Florida on Monday, and enjoying the friendly hospitality of the hospital staff. I continued to have mild symptoms, but by the forth day, my tests had come back negative and the doctors decided that I was well enough to go home. My long ordeal was finally over...or so I thought.
On Sunday November 6th, just before I was to get results from the final test, the Typhoid came back and I was put on a 30 day dose of antibiotics to get rid of it once and for all. As of January 2006, I was declared Typhoid free. The adventure that I had begun on March 12th, 2005 and all that came with it, was officially over.
Halfway Around the World
I left Mark and Erica at the entrance of the airport and got in line to check my baggage. I felt fine until I walked up to the next counter to have my passport checked, but as I laid my passport on the counter, I felt my knees get weak and my head start to spin. Breathing deeply, I slowly regained my composure before I lost my grip and thanked the man before walking to my exit. I hoped that incident was not a sign that I should have postponed the trip after all.
My seat on the plane was at the very back in the seats that did not recline. I was disappointed that I would not be able to get comfortable, but glad that I had such easy access to the bathroom. Knowing that the dry air on airplanes could further dehydrate me, I had come prepared with a large bottle of water and it kept me running to the bathroom throughout the flight. Luckily, I was the only one in my row for the leg from Dhaka to Kuala Lumpur and I was able to lay down and sleep.
My stop over in Kuala Lumpur was over six hours and I was not looking forward to walking around the airport all that time. I had spent a good deal of time in airport on the trip over and was pretty familiar with it as it is not that big. I thought I remembered seeing a sign for a hotel, so I decided to see if there was a hotel connected to the airport where I could rent a room for the duration of my layover. I figured that any hotel connected to an airport had to be prohibitively expensive, but I was feeling so drained that I was willing to pay for the privacy and opportunity to rest that such a room would afford.
Sure enough, there was a hotel attached to the airport and they rented rooms by the hour. I thought that this was a wonderful idea and wondered why airports in the states do not have such conveniences. When I asked the woman behind the counter how much it would cost me for a six hour stay, she pointed to a list of prices on the counter, revealing that a stay of six hours would cost over $150! I was startled at the price, but had begun to consider putting the room on my credit card, when she explained that the prices were in Malaysian Ringgits, not US dollars, bringing the six hours stay down to a more reasonable 45 US dollars. Relieved, I handed over my credit card.
The room was luxurious and the bed, with its down pillows and feather soft mattress, was a treat. For the first few hours, I slept, but once I woke, I found that I could not go back to sleep and began to get restless. I put on the television and alternated between watching a program about elephants in Thailand and bordering on sleep for the next few hours. Finally at noon, I decided that I’d better try to get something to eat before catching my next flight at 1:30.
The KL airport boasts numerous dining establishments, but none that appealed to me due to my continued lack of appetite. I decided on a Chinese style restaurant where I ordered a bowl of soup.
On the next leg of my trip from Kuala Lumpur to Taipei, I was in the same un-reclining seat, but this time I had seatmates. A woman and her husband were seated in the seats next to my seat on the isle. I settled in for what I thought would be a most uncomfortable flight, when I noticed a girl a few rows in front of me get up and move to an empty seat. Even though the flight attendant came by and asked her to remain in her assigned seat until take off, the realization that I could move to another seat was a boon.
Once we were off and the seatbelt sign had been turned off, I left my seat in the back and found an unoccupied seat a few rows up on the other side of the plane. Partway through the flight, the woman who had been seated next to me disappeared and the woman who had been seated in the middle, stretched out over all of the four other seats to sleep. After a few hours, the woman, got back up and I decided to utilize the seat next to me just to change position for a few hours, but when I laid down, I immediately felt an elbow crack against my head. Knowing it was the woman next to me, but being entirely too exhausted to sit up and argue that she had no more right to the seat than I did, each of us only having paid for one seat, I decided to simply stay where I was and let my inaction speak for me.
Apparently inaction does not come across as well as action, because a few minutes later, she forcibly elbowed my head again. Incredulous, but now determined more than ever not to move, I held my ground. After one more vicious elbow to my head, she gave up and let me have the seat. Unfortunately, my victory was short lived, as soon after the elbowing stopped, I decided that the position was too uncomfortable to stay in and wound up sitting up anyway.
We landed in Taipei and deplaned for an hour for the crew shift change and then re-boarded for the final leg to Los Angeles. When we finally arrived in Los Angles, more than 36 hours after I had boarded in Dhaka, I could not believe I was finally home. I practically floated out of the terminal and into the cool September air. After waiting in line for abotu 15 mintues, I was able to get on the next flight out to Atlanta, and after another three and a half hours, I was home.
My seat on the plane was at the very back in the seats that did not recline. I was disappointed that I would not be able to get comfortable, but glad that I had such easy access to the bathroom. Knowing that the dry air on airplanes could further dehydrate me, I had come prepared with a large bottle of water and it kept me running to the bathroom throughout the flight. Luckily, I was the only one in my row for the leg from Dhaka to Kuala Lumpur and I was able to lay down and sleep.
My stop over in Kuala Lumpur was over six hours and I was not looking forward to walking around the airport all that time. I had spent a good deal of time in airport on the trip over and was pretty familiar with it as it is not that big. I thought I remembered seeing a sign for a hotel, so I decided to see if there was a hotel connected to the airport where I could rent a room for the duration of my layover. I figured that any hotel connected to an airport had to be prohibitively expensive, but I was feeling so drained that I was willing to pay for the privacy and opportunity to rest that such a room would afford.
Sure enough, there was a hotel attached to the airport and they rented rooms by the hour. I thought that this was a wonderful idea and wondered why airports in the states do not have such conveniences. When I asked the woman behind the counter how much it would cost me for a six hour stay, she pointed to a list of prices on the counter, revealing that a stay of six hours would cost over $150! I was startled at the price, but had begun to consider putting the room on my credit card, when she explained that the prices were in Malaysian Ringgits, not US dollars, bringing the six hours stay down to a more reasonable 45 US dollars. Relieved, I handed over my credit card.
The room was luxurious and the bed, with its down pillows and feather soft mattress, was a treat. For the first few hours, I slept, but once I woke, I found that I could not go back to sleep and began to get restless. I put on the television and alternated between watching a program about elephants in Thailand and bordering on sleep for the next few hours. Finally at noon, I decided that I’d better try to get something to eat before catching my next flight at 1:30.
The KL airport boasts numerous dining establishments, but none that appealed to me due to my continued lack of appetite. I decided on a Chinese style restaurant where I ordered a bowl of soup.
On the next leg of my trip from Kuala Lumpur to Taipei, I was in the same un-reclining seat, but this time I had seatmates. A woman and her husband were seated in the seats next to my seat on the isle. I settled in for what I thought would be a most uncomfortable flight, when I noticed a girl a few rows in front of me get up and move to an empty seat. Even though the flight attendant came by and asked her to remain in her assigned seat until take off, the realization that I could move to another seat was a boon.
Once we were off and the seatbelt sign had been turned off, I left my seat in the back and found an unoccupied seat a few rows up on the other side of the plane. Partway through the flight, the woman who had been seated next to me disappeared and the woman who had been seated in the middle, stretched out over all of the four other seats to sleep. After a few hours, the woman, got back up and I decided to utilize the seat next to me just to change position for a few hours, but when I laid down, I immediately felt an elbow crack against my head. Knowing it was the woman next to me, but being entirely too exhausted to sit up and argue that she had no more right to the seat than I did, each of us only having paid for one seat, I decided to simply stay where I was and let my inaction speak for me.
Apparently inaction does not come across as well as action, because a few minutes later, she forcibly elbowed my head again. Incredulous, but now determined more than ever not to move, I held my ground. After one more vicious elbow to my head, she gave up and let me have the seat. Unfortunately, my victory was short lived, as soon after the elbowing stopped, I decided that the position was too uncomfortable to stay in and wound up sitting up anyway.
We landed in Taipei and deplaned for an hour for the crew shift change and then re-boarded for the final leg to Los Angeles. When we finally arrived in Los Angles, more than 36 hours after I had boarded in Dhaka, I could not believe I was finally home. I practically floated out of the terminal and into the cool September air. After waiting in line for abotu 15 mintues, I was able to get on the next flight out to Atlanta, and after another three and a half hours, I was home.
Saturday, January 07, 2006
Difficulties Remaining Upright
Later that morning, I awoke feeling weak, but rested. I got up to get some water from the kitchen and halfway there, I began to feel faint and quickly laid down on the couch before the blackness took over. Seeing my state, Mark offered to take me to the doctor, but I politely refused, saying that I was probably just weak from not having eaten and that once I had eaten, I would be fine. When I was feeling better a few minutes later, I went into the kitchen to find something to eat, but nothing looked appealing. Knowing I had to eat something, I made myself some eggs and toast and spent the morning reading email and watching TV.
Later that afternoon, I was in the hallway between my room and the bathroom when I began to feel faint again. This time there was no easily accessible couch, and before I knew it, I went crashing down, my head hitting the tile floor with a loud crack. Mark rushed in to make sure I was okay. From my position on the floor, I reluctantly admitted that I should probably go to see a doctor. He nodded in agreement.
That afternoon, Mark drove me to Dr. Wahab, a Bangladeshi doctor, educated in Germany, who Erica had recommended through the Embassy. When we arrived, there were a few people seated in the waiting room, but the doctor saw me right away. He asked me about my symptoms and my visit to the hospital in India. I relayed my initial illness in Varanassi and the weakness, dehydration and lack of appetite that had persisted for the next few weeks, finishing with the fainting episodes of that morning. He asked if I had gotten the results from the hospital in India and I told him that I had been unable to reach them, but that I would do what I could to get them as soon as possible. He then took some blood for testing and hooked me up to an IV for some rehydration.
When we returned to the apartment, we attempted to contact the hospital in India again, but found that we were still unable to connect to India from the phone in the apartment, nor could we get the Embassy to connect us. I finally go ahold of my brother and asked him to contact the hospital and have them fax the reports to him. I had put him down as an emergency contact and hoped that he would be able to get the reports.
The next day he called me to let me know that he had contacted the hospital and, unable to understand the man on the other end, had an Indian friend at work call to have the results faxed. According to the tests that they performed in India, I was perfectly healthy.
The next few days continued to prove the Indian doctors wrong, as my lethargy and lack of appetite increased and I began to get feverish, first wracked with uncontrollable chills and soon after, burning with fever. After another visit to Dr. Wahab, we learned that I had come down with Typhoid fever. The doctor told me that the strain that I had was not responsive to most of the common anti-biotics and that my options were to receive anti-biotic shots, which were extremely painful, or to receive antibiotics via IV at the Embassy. He recommended the IV anti-biotics, but since he did not have them in stock, he suggested that we see if they would treat me at the Embassy clinic. My other option would be to go to the local hospital, but the doctor strongly recommended against it, to the point of telling me not to go at all if I could help it, because of their lack of safety standards and their poor record for patient recovery. We decided to go with the Embassy.
On the way to the Embassy, I laid down in the back seat of the car and when we arrived, I followed Mark past security, where we were met by a US doctor, who immediately remarked that I looked terrible. Thanking her, I explained my situation and was seated in the examining room before she thought to ask who I was. When I admitted that I was merely a friend of a diplomat, she responded that they were unable to treat me and that I would have to go to the hospital that Dr. Wahab had warned us against. Frustrated to the point of tears, I told her that I was not going to risk my health in a hospital with such poor safety records. I wondered what the point was of being an American citizen if the government refused to treat sick Americans in countries where there was no comparable quality health care. We decided to go back to Dr. Wahab to see what he could do.
When we returned, the doctor told me that he could put me on the oral antibiotics and monitor my progress to see if my condition improved. I agreed and the next few days were a blur of lethargic days and restless, feverish nights. At one point the doctor contacted us to let us know that I had also tested positive for Dengue, the condition I had believed I had at the onset of my symptoms, for which there was no cure. He said that I would just have to let it run its course.
As happy as I was to be spending time with friends I rarely see, my stay in Dhaka post-India, was not exactly quality time and I was anxious to get home where I could walk into a grocery store and find a myriad of things to pique my appetite and a familiar bed surrounded by friends and family. Mark was doing everything he could, from bringing me food back from the American club, to purchasing special requests at the commissary, but I was still reduced to a diet of eggs and applesauce, and unable to force down much else. Because I was so tired, I was also not able to spend much time visiting with my friends. I had not revealed my condition to my parents, not wanting to worry them unnecessarily, but when the Dengue diagnosis came in, I broke down and rationalizing that if they were sick, I would want to know, I called my mother, sobbing and miserable, begging her to medivac me home as soon as she could.
My parents were worried and sympathetic. I eventually agreed that my situation was not dire enough to warrant a medivac, but was still determined to get home. My flight was to leave the coming Tuesday and in my current state, it was obvious that it would not be a good idea to be on that flight, but I refused to postpone it, preferring to wait until the last minute to see how I was feeling. Had I been given the IV antibiotics, postponement would have been inevitable, but because I was on the pills, as long as I was feeling up to it, I would be able to fly.
Two days before my planned departure, I was saddened to find that my condition had not improved and I began to resign myself to the fact that I would have to continue my recovery in Bangladesh. I had planned to fly home in time to watch the Florida/Tennessee College Football game in California with fellow Gators and close friends, as the start of my two week stay at the beach. Now in my current state, my plans were to get back to Atlanta and check into a hospital as soon as I could, but at least I would be home.
Finally, on the morning of my departure, I began to feel somewhat better and I decided to pack just in case. My condition continued to improve over the course of the day and I contacted the doctor who gave me his travel blessing.
That evening, my friends drove me to the airport. Although I was sad to leave them and sorry I had spent the majority of my visit in bed, I was looking forward to getting home and getting better. It had been six months since I had boarded the plane from Atlanta to Bangkok and, now with six months of adventure, memories and experiences behind me, I was ready to come home.
Later that afternoon, I was in the hallway between my room and the bathroom when I began to feel faint again. This time there was no easily accessible couch, and before I knew it, I went crashing down, my head hitting the tile floor with a loud crack. Mark rushed in to make sure I was okay. From my position on the floor, I reluctantly admitted that I should probably go to see a doctor. He nodded in agreement.
That afternoon, Mark drove me to Dr. Wahab, a Bangladeshi doctor, educated in Germany, who Erica had recommended through the Embassy. When we arrived, there were a few people seated in the waiting room, but the doctor saw me right away. He asked me about my symptoms and my visit to the hospital in India. I relayed my initial illness in Varanassi and the weakness, dehydration and lack of appetite that had persisted for the next few weeks, finishing with the fainting episodes of that morning. He asked if I had gotten the results from the hospital in India and I told him that I had been unable to reach them, but that I would do what I could to get them as soon as possible. He then took some blood for testing and hooked me up to an IV for some rehydration.
When we returned to the apartment, we attempted to contact the hospital in India again, but found that we were still unable to connect to India from the phone in the apartment, nor could we get the Embassy to connect us. I finally go ahold of my brother and asked him to contact the hospital and have them fax the reports to him. I had put him down as an emergency contact and hoped that he would be able to get the reports.
The next day he called me to let me know that he had contacted the hospital and, unable to understand the man on the other end, had an Indian friend at work call to have the results faxed. According to the tests that they performed in India, I was perfectly healthy.
The next few days continued to prove the Indian doctors wrong, as my lethargy and lack of appetite increased and I began to get feverish, first wracked with uncontrollable chills and soon after, burning with fever. After another visit to Dr. Wahab, we learned that I had come down with Typhoid fever. The doctor told me that the strain that I had was not responsive to most of the common anti-biotics and that my options were to receive anti-biotic shots, which were extremely painful, or to receive antibiotics via IV at the Embassy. He recommended the IV anti-biotics, but since he did not have them in stock, he suggested that we see if they would treat me at the Embassy clinic. My other option would be to go to the local hospital, but the doctor strongly recommended against it, to the point of telling me not to go at all if I could help it, because of their lack of safety standards and their poor record for patient recovery. We decided to go with the Embassy.
On the way to the Embassy, I laid down in the back seat of the car and when we arrived, I followed Mark past security, where we were met by a US doctor, who immediately remarked that I looked terrible. Thanking her, I explained my situation and was seated in the examining room before she thought to ask who I was. When I admitted that I was merely a friend of a diplomat, she responded that they were unable to treat me and that I would have to go to the hospital that Dr. Wahab had warned us against. Frustrated to the point of tears, I told her that I was not going to risk my health in a hospital with such poor safety records. I wondered what the point was of being an American citizen if the government refused to treat sick Americans in countries where there was no comparable quality health care. We decided to go back to Dr. Wahab to see what he could do.
When we returned, the doctor told me that he could put me on the oral antibiotics and monitor my progress to see if my condition improved. I agreed and the next few days were a blur of lethargic days and restless, feverish nights. At one point the doctor contacted us to let us know that I had also tested positive for Dengue, the condition I had believed I had at the onset of my symptoms, for which there was no cure. He said that I would just have to let it run its course.
As happy as I was to be spending time with friends I rarely see, my stay in Dhaka post-India, was not exactly quality time and I was anxious to get home where I could walk into a grocery store and find a myriad of things to pique my appetite and a familiar bed surrounded by friends and family. Mark was doing everything he could, from bringing me food back from the American club, to purchasing special requests at the commissary, but I was still reduced to a diet of eggs and applesauce, and unable to force down much else. Because I was so tired, I was also not able to spend much time visiting with my friends. I had not revealed my condition to my parents, not wanting to worry them unnecessarily, but when the Dengue diagnosis came in, I broke down and rationalizing that if they were sick, I would want to know, I called my mother, sobbing and miserable, begging her to medivac me home as soon as she could.
My parents were worried and sympathetic. I eventually agreed that my situation was not dire enough to warrant a medivac, but was still determined to get home. My flight was to leave the coming Tuesday and in my current state, it was obvious that it would not be a good idea to be on that flight, but I refused to postpone it, preferring to wait until the last minute to see how I was feeling. Had I been given the IV antibiotics, postponement would have been inevitable, but because I was on the pills, as long as I was feeling up to it, I would be able to fly.
Two days before my planned departure, I was saddened to find that my condition had not improved and I began to resign myself to the fact that I would have to continue my recovery in Bangladesh. I had planned to fly home in time to watch the Florida/Tennessee College Football game in California with fellow Gators and close friends, as the start of my two week stay at the beach. Now in my current state, my plans were to get back to Atlanta and check into a hospital as soon as I could, but at least I would be home.
Finally, on the morning of my departure, I began to feel somewhat better and I decided to pack just in case. My condition continued to improve over the course of the day and I contacted the doctor who gave me his travel blessing.
That evening, my friends drove me to the airport. Although I was sad to leave them and sorry I had spent the majority of my visit in bed, I was looking forward to getting home and getting better. It had been six months since I had boarded the plane from Atlanta to Bangkok and, now with six months of adventure, memories and experiences behind me, I was ready to come home.
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