An hour of sleep on the plane and a little conversation with my flight neighbors, an elderly woman and her son on their way back home from visiting family definitely made it easy. There was mind numbing tiredness this time. Therefore, the typical reverent beholding of a new cityscape (complete with mountains) did not stay inside of me for very long, but also because there was eagerness to practice Spanish with my fellow passengers. But very little came out of my mouth.



The whole trip has been earily absent of loose nerves, and all the limbic activity associated with, among many other things, airport security. Once on my way to Holland via Atlanta from Kansas City my girlfriend at the time, Eva and i discovered that that the airline had screwed up on our seating, attempts were made to get someone to trade me seats and every person asked was a major dick about saying no. As if they were being asked permission to pee in their mouths or something. finally when I asked this blonde somwhat older (late fifties early sixties) woman if she would trade me seats she replied, ¨what would you do if I said no?"

The blood rushed around my frontal cortex and I moved my head up close to hers and said, with throat tightening,¨I´d fucking kill you.¨



Keep in mind that this is shortly after September Eleventh, 2001. But it was also right after the worst of the recession, when airports became really busy again. In the end she traded seats with me, even though I ¨cursed at¨ her.



Most every flight I have taken has contained a little bit of that ugliness. I won´t go into the incident with the Dutch secuirty guards on the way back to the states.



This time on Taca airlines, there was an expectation of at least some quasi hostility from some passenger. That´s really the way it is with almost every large public venue in which i find myself. But no, every single individual with whom I have had to exchange words to get from A to B was extremely friendly. I was also surprised to find that there were very few Estadounidensians (gringos). There has been an undergoing of so much internalizing of the pressing duty to learn spanish that the result of this was immediate comfort. My sense of community is buttered up and not bothered by the fact that the felt confidence in speaking Spanish continues to exceed the acknowledged ability.



Okay, here is the arrival in Guate with my friend and longtime roommate, Jessica Molina. She hasn´t spoken or known Spanish on a regular basis since before kindergarten. Her dad is from here and half of his thirteen siblings still live within the city. His younger sister, Jessica´s aunt Telma picked us up at the airport and by the way of they embraced and recognized each other I thought she knew a lot of English. But she didn´t which was a relief since I need all of the immersion i can get. Still, it was easy to space off in the car while Telma pointed out to Jessica the surrounding sites, until Jessica had to spell out to me that she needed me to translate. The wonderful thing is that Telma doesn´t let up she comports with jessica as if she understands everything necessary. I have to ask her to repeat and slow down as with every one else here. Her brown eyes are extremely large, intense and rich.

The city streets are lined with rusty metal and brick facades (pictures will be sent since there is a vocabulary gap in terms of building, arcitecture and other things requiring physical description). There were many pedestrians all over the city, motorcycles and generally fast drivers. She was going 65 in the kind of street in the states which puts the limit to 45 Mph. Telma tells me that the speedometer of her 90s model Honda goes by kiliometers and not Mph, but that is hard to believe. Meaning that perhaps my question should have been clarified when the index finger was pointing at the speedometer. They do go fast and the steep hills enhance the perception of that speed.



Telma lives in a gated neighborhood. By gated, we simply mean protected. It is not a pretty suburb by any means. All of the houses have character and are pretty modest. The block that she is on also contains the house of other family members. It provides a colorful view of two of Guatemala´s 37 volcanoes, Pacaya and Auga. Both are surrounded by other mountains sides and are still imposingly gorgeous. Across the street is a little shack with markings on the outside advertising Maize and Pollo (corn and chicken). But when taking a walk over, it appeared abanndoned. Behind it was a very sad and tired looking Guatemalteca hanging laundry. There was definitely self consciousness being felt due to the fact that the skin my body ¨just happened to be¨ dressed in was conspicuously white. It still is. All of the houses are enclosed in concrete walls that only enhance the beauty of their patios and miniature gardens. It´s an intensely familiar place, but the source is not to be found in the memory banks.



It´s universally told and known: the things most striking about a foreign country one inhabits are all the very little things like light switches, toilet handles, standard lawn shapes and sizes. Or the presence, absence or size of guns that the police officers (and private guards) carry. There will be many photos. I´m also looking forward to incorporating into a poem the existence of all of the barbed wire topping (that word, ¨topping¨!) the exterrior walls. Telma also uses one of those bar locks you put over your steering wheel--as seen on late night american infomercials.



If you have people who care for you, you have to be a stubborn fool to have not already given a seasoned consideration of the dangers posed by a place like Guatemala. Gang violence is extremely common (this is also the only country in the western hemisphere in which a genocide occurred within the last hundred years). By the end of my first day here, there was the cogent perception that the physiological phenomena that accompanies what we refer to as fear is really unecessary. This is not meant to be boastful. There is simply nothing immediately frightening about the potential violence that may be about. The big guns carried by the guards are interesting to look at while the guards themselves are extremely likable. They carry their necessarily practical estrangement from the civillian populace with ease. Where as most US police officers tend to carry a little bit of persecution complex on their sleeves. That complex is very well known to my memory of me. It´s a matter of being able to read faces. The acts of being careful simply require mindfulness. There is of course a sheepish hope and fret that the eagerness for the body to demonstrate how much calmness exists underneath it doesn´t backfire.



At 1:12 PM Jessica was still asleep in our room which is actually Diego´s, her seventeen year old cousin who is currently traveling the states. Outside of hotel rooms, I haven´t been in a two bed bedroom since Nijmegan with Eva. More curious was the fact the two of the four walls of Diego´s room were covered in pinups and posters of his favorite band, ¨the Rasmus¨. They are from Finland and from the looks of them we are thinking that they sound like one of those balless neo metal bands that have been so popular in the last ten or so years. Jessica and myself were both curious to obtain a listen; Scandanavia has given up a lot of interesting and or good music.



While Jessica slept, I had my first meal in Guatemala--spaghetti with this wonderful bread baked with maize about the size and shape of a crepe. My body was the only one that belonged to a male, even including the Cocker Spaniel named Candy. Telma´s mother, Valentina (Mamatina), older Sister Carmen, grand neices Letia, Brenda (both beatuiful granddaughters of Carmen) and 3 year old great grand neice (Letia´s daughter) who also goes by the name of Valentina (Tina), were all very amiably inquiring into the rest of my trip. There was the ability to have a whole hour without giving them too much laughter at my expense, but it was fun. Most of the time I listened.