Many Celebrations on the 25th

It has been quite lively here in town for some time now. We have just finished the week-long celebration that culminates in the annual festival for San Marcos (St. Mark?) on April 25 (Abril venti y cinqo). Someone with more journalistic acumen (and internet access) would now insert some background information regarding the history and rationale for the celebration, in order to ground this post and to further entice the reader. I hope that my wit will carry you through. For those that recognize that calendar day as a special one, well, you’re right, that is also the birth date of the infamous Esteban Gervais. As a side note, we have now witnessed two celebrations in our travels that land on April 25: San Marcos here in Gutemala and ANZAC day in Australia, both considered very important to their local cultures. Again, make what judgement you wish regarding coincidences.

The whole (small) town was abuzz for two weeks leading up to the festival – the first week was preparation and setup as stalls and vendors literally rolled into town and local workers hurried to finish a new amphitheatre in the town square. This was to be a place of great importance to the festival and the men and women worked tirelessly to get it completed, which they succeeded at. The following week was the festival, starting on Monday the 19th. Apparently each of the towns that surround Lake Atitlan (San Juan, San Pedro, Panahachel, Santa Cruz etc..) all have their own annual celebration and these festivals are all spaced out throughout the year. This allows the people from neighbouring villages around the lake to gather together frequently and have some fun. As it was San Marcos’ turn, people poured into the village each day, with the culmination on Sunday the 25th bringing the largest crowd. (For the record, we were in the forest for the 25th, which is a shame, but all was not lost and I had a great birthday regardless.) We were only able to witness the evenings of the 21st to 23rd in person, but the jubilance grew each day and I can imagine how grand a party was held here on my birthday.

The main street of the town was lined with stalls all week selling pizzas, tacos, churros, peanuts, cookies, cotton candy, and ice cream. We tried some of the fresh tacos and Robyn made herself sick on a microwaved churro. People were also able to take part in games of ‘chance’ such as kicking a ball to knock over bottles or throwing rings to try to win prizes. There were plenty of vendors selling clothes too, and Robyn and I wouldn’t help but chuckle when looking through the selection: everything was either American Eagle or Abercrombie or Diesel. I am sure the prices of these clothes were not even comparable to those that they’d fetch in North America, but it was interesting to see that this is what retailers found the local communities demanded.

Seeing these stalls had me take a closer look at the clothing of everyone around me and I came to an interesting observation: the foreigners (gringos), if they had been in the area for a long time and adopted one of these villages as their new home, typically dressed in very simple, loose clothing made of natural fibres with no logos to be seen. One could easily describe them as hippies but they dress in order to reflect their appreciation of a simpler life, a life that they likely feel is more in tune with the Guatemalan way of being. This is reinforced by the traditional local Mayan people who wear clothes that are very functional and natural but intricately ornate: clothes are made by hand and the multitude of colours serves to decorate their garb, as opposed to any brand or label. The interesting thing about this is that the younger generation of indigenous people are obviously demanding these American labels and brands, likely in an effort to be more ‘Westernized’. Images of cool are transmitted, regardless of the number of televisions in an area, and young people around the globe are being drawn into the race to attain it. To sum this all up in more simpler terms; it is fascinating to see foreigners flock to these remote Gutemalan villages to escape elements of the Western world while the youth of these secluded towns spend whatever money they can spare in order to grasp a small piece of the ‘American dream’.

There was also a Ferris wheel at the festival! While seeing it’s construction during the previous week, Robyn and I swore that we would not let the festival pass us be without taking a ride. Our excitement waned heavily, though, when we watched the apparatus in action – I am reasonably sure that this was the fastest moving, least structurally sound piece of amusement equipment I have ever seen. The screams of glee emanating from the young riders of the wheel could easily have been shrieks of terror from the parents that watched at the base of the ride. Nobody was ever hurt though. Somehow carnies, regardless of the market in which they operate, always seem to keep things running without problems. Go figure.

The week was punctuated daily by the loud banging of drum bands, who seemed to be in a constant state of warming up, or else the requirement in order to wield the loudest instruments is a deafness to tune. To be fair, though, there were a lot of young people who displayed a great deal of talent and dedication to their music. In fact, on Saturday morning (the 24th) we were held up from departing for the forest for 45 minutes because our driveway was the rallying point for a large parade of instruments that descended into town. Because there were a few different band groups they were able to march in unison but made no effort to all play as such. From what we heard from the locals, we also apparently missed out on the tour of the reigning beauty queens from all of the lake villages, but it was probably best for our relationship that we didn’t witness that.

No synopsis of the festival would be complete, though, without an account of the bombs. These began to explode down at the waterfront during the evening of the first day of the festival. When our group heard the first ones we all looked at each other and didn’t know whether to run for cover or look for fireworks. Fortunately(?) we didn’t need to do either. Described to us as simply ‘bombas’, they were fireworks, but unlike anything I’ve seen or heard in my life. When lit they emit a low, powerful thump as the firework is launched into the air, which we learned to use as a gauge for the level of violence we were about to endure. Two seconds after ignition the bomb would burst in the air, but not in a shower of brilliant colours and geometrics, but simply as an extremely loud BANG that resembled a cannon blast. Because of the proximity to the town, these things would shake the room slightly and resonate within our chests. It was an odd was to celebrate, but who are we to tell them how to do it? These displays of joy were made more perplexing by the schedule in which they’d be ignited: they seemed to follow no pattern and no time of the day or night was safe from their intrusion. We heard four of them explode within two minutes, and also we’d go hours without hearing one. We were also woken up more than a few times by ‘bombas’ signifying the significance of 3:37am on April 21st or 12:15am on the 23rd. What started out as a quirky means of celebrating quickly became a source of frustration, but we seemed to be the ones who noticed them, let alone minded their existence.

While in the forest on the 25th, the bombs were the only reminder of the festival taking place in the town below us, but that didn’t stop us from celebrating my birthday. We have been sticking to a very simple, very healthy diet during this expedition which severely limits our refined sugar intake. I have really been enjoying the food and how I feel as a result, for what it’s worth. Despite the intended diet our group leaders Brooke and Anjeli bought for us some marshmallows and popcorn to cook over the campfire in celebration of my birthday. They did not disclose this until after dinner, and were met with a chorus of cheers from us all. The marshmallows were strange in that they were multi-coloured and only seemed to expand when heated, but we still managed to eat the whole bag. It was a simple way to celebrate my 28th, but it was perfect for the occasion. Unfortunately our collective stomachs did not share our enthusiasm for the party and we all felt terrible while going to bed and during the next morning. I had not taken full stock of how well my body had been feeling until I was subjected to the pains caused by the sugars, which was a clear representation to me of how much refined foods can negatively affect the body. Regardless, the discomfort passed and I would likely do it again in a heartbeat if I had to do it over.

Between the festival, the campfire, and all of the well wishing I sensed from around the world, I can honestly say that this was one of the most memorable and happy birthdays I’ve ever had.

Andele, Andele, Amoebas, Amoebas!

This past week on Thursday night, Robyn did something that is a complete rarity – she didn’t sleep through the night in a state of pseudo-death. The ability to sleep deeply is a valuable commodity around here because each night my open-air room hosts concerts from the local wildlife – hens squawk until their hearts’ content, dogs bark and fight each other constantly, and even the crickets seem to reach deafening pitches. Typically Robyn can sleep through a brick wall, but she was extremely fitful that night, starting at about 3am. Being the caring provider that I am and sensing something was wrong I quickly pulled out my ear plugs at 6:45 and immediately asked her what was wrong. She had been writhing in stomach pain and unable to sleep. We had visited the festival the previous night and she had insisted on getting a churro in order to relive the deliciousness that we first experienced in Spain. Of course this churro was not nearly of the same quality as previous ones, and microwaving it until it was too hot to hold did not help matters. Robyn is sensitive to gluten and we have been eating a very gluten-light diet since arriving, so we figured that the gluten-rich radiation log that she ate had been the culprit. We prepared for the day and made it back to Soul Projects base, Robyn not eating any breakfast.

When we arrived at base we were told that Brooke had gone to neighbouring San Pedro in order to get some medicine to help combat the stomach parasites that she was sure she had. Apparently she had been up all of the previous night with stomach pains also. We were told that, in their infancy, the parasites are tiny amoebas that frequent the water from the area. The last time I had heard the word amoebas was in grade 9 science class, and I had known well enough then not to drink from the petri dish. Robyn is a devout non-hypochondriac so she obviously scoffed at the possibility that this was plaguing her too, but I was able to talk some sense into her in short order. We had the morning free on Friday so we set off to San Pedro to get some of the cure for ourselves. In order to lend some flavour to this piece, it is worth noting that by mid-morning Robyn had already had ‘symptoms’ of her stomach problems multiple times.

We arrived in San Pedro and flocked to the local health-food store, partly in hopes of some help but mostly because we knew the owner spoke English. We were engaged in a conversation with him regarding Robyn symptoms and probable remedies, obviously a little too vocally, when we were interrupted by a middle-aged couple sitting at the coffee bar at the front of the store. They broke in in order to ask Robyn about her problem and to offer the name of Amoxicillan as the antibiotic solution that they “always take” whenever they have similar problems. This advice was greeted by an American woman on a computer near the back of the store who shook her head and said that Amoxicillan was useful for problems from the chest up, but not good for stomach ailments. She recommended a different course of treatments. Apparently we had stumbled into a pharmacists convention in a tiny town in Guatemala. Either that or everyone has had similar problems and, in typical local-friendly fashion, people just wanted to help. We thanked everyone for their interest and care and made our way to the closest Farmacia.

Luckily the attendant at the Farmacia spoke reasonable English, and we were able to get answers to all of the questions we had. The problem was amoebas, yes; they don’t require antibiotics because it’s not an infection; everyone in the area gets them from the water, whether off unwashed food or simply from brushing your teeth so it’s not rare at all; they needed to be treated but the treatment works quickly and you will be fine; the treatment seems to have a lasting effect and you shouldn’t need it again within the next two months. Robyn was handed four pills and instructed to take two right then and then the other two in 12 hours. We got an extra batch of pills (if EVERYONE gets them, then I likely will before we leave) and paid a total of 40Q for both treatments. Guatemala uses the Quetzal as currency, and the rough exchange is 8Q to 1CAD. So we paid $5CAD to fix the problem, and prevent further complications. How sweet is that. We thanked and bid adieu to the nice ladies that helped us and went back home to San Marcos.

Because of our schedule Robyn was forced to sweat out the rest of the problem in the forest. As an aside, I thought I’d let you in on the big secret of how we go to the bathroom in the forest: we dig a ditch about 8 feet long, 1 foot wide, and 3 feet deep and then that’s our bathroom. We cover anything that we deposit in the toilet with dirt and use the ditch until it is full. You can imagine the rough time Robyn had in ridding her body of the parasites, but she persevered and can proudly say, now that she’s endured them, she’s more like the locals than I am. Mind you, that might be one title that I’ll let her hold uncontested.

Sport as Meditation

Each day in the forest we spend three hours in some form of meditative state. When we wake we spend two hours doing Asana, which are postures and sequences and typically described as ‘yoga’ in North America. The full extent of the yogic philosophy is that there are 8 ‘limbs’ to yoga, and Asana is only one of the facets. The Asana are meant to be a rhythmic form of meditation, where the mind is focused on the movements and the physical exertion of the body. Asana is also designed to form the body into a state that can withstand meditative postures. Asana strengthen the core and back and create flexibility in the joints in order to sustain long periods of time sitting in the same position while the mind is freed. The classic seated posture for meditation (Lotus) is to be seated with your legs crossed and your feet intertwined on your lap. The back must remain straight: the whole purpose of the posture is to maintain alignment of the spine from the tailbone to the crown of the head in order for energy to flow up and down the spine through the chakras.

Meditation is another limb of Yoga and I’d define it as an intentional effort to clear the mind of external and internal influence, creating calm and peace within thoughts, feelings and emotions. Meditation is an active effort to begin with, but with practice and the passage of time becomes more routine. I still struggle with both the physical aspects of meditation (sitting for long periods of time, and the I can’t even pull myself into Lotus let alone stay seated for extended period of time) and the mental, which is to accept that the mind wanders but not allow stories to develop inside your mind. The effort is to ‘see’ your thoughts enter your consciousness and not attach a story or emotion to them such that you are aware of your thoughts but are in control of where they do or do not go. Through these efforts, you can calm the constant chattering and distraction of your own thoughts and truly ‘listen’ to how you are feeling, both physically and emotionally. The success of my meditative efforts varies greatly each day – some days I am distracted and uncomfortable while others I am barely aware of my own body and I am witnessing incredible things within my closed eyelids, emerging from the session feeling energized and lightened. I have found, though, that there are a few thoughts/sensations that I can rely on to help me become more centred, and they all revolve around sports.

When I am trying to quiet my cerebral dialogue, I have found that thinking of sporting moments allows me to focus on small slices of time in which I have felt pure joy and calm. The moments that I recall are not concrete events – although I have had some success in sports I do not think of specific goals or hits. Instead, the moments that I recall are abstract events that I have experienced countless times, without attaching a specific time frame to any of them. For example, I focus on the physical and mental feeling of hitting a baseball squarely and purely. I visualize this repeatedly in an effort to see and feel the event from any angle possible. Or I ‘remember’ making a clean pass in hockey, moving the puck to a team mate in an effort to neutralize an oncoming attack and create a scoring chance for my ‘team’. My ability to draw on these memories, which are ingrained in both my muscles and grey matter, always bring a sense of peace and have allowed me to make positive strides in my meditation in a relatively short period of time. If you go back to my crude definition of meditation you’ll notice that I made no mention of sitting or quiet or incense or candles. You do not need to circle a time frame within a day or week and set it aside to meditate, although it is recommended, you just need to make a conscious effort to fulfill your daily activities in a mindful, meditative state. For example, vacuuming the floor can be a meditative activity, as can walking the dog or doing the dishes. This makes sense to me, too, as I reflect on the people I know that find comfort and peace in their cleaning duties. These tasks allow them to focus their mind on a task which does not require cognitive thought, creating a haven of peace, tranquility, and accomplishment. Those that know me know that I do not find the same peace in cleaning activities, but I do now recognize that sports have always been my oasis of mental tranquility.

When playing sports I am wholly invested, both physically and mentally, in the game that I am playing. I am not worried about the time of day, my job, my bills, or anything outside of the playing surface. I am the most present, out of all activities in my life, when I am playing a sport. I think this has been the reason that, until recently, I could never define why I love sports so much – I have never been able to understand what they provide for me. When playing a sport I will rarely smile and I don’t often take the time, mid-game, to reflect on how much fun I’m having or how alive I feel. This is because I am too busy living, experiencing, and competing, and I do not need to take a step back to appreciate anything. For me to step back and appreciate the high I get from sport is to acknowledge that there are other aspects of my life that provide the counterbalancing lows. The highest compliment I can pay to my sports is to stay focused, intent, and in the moment for the duration of my playing time because then I do not poison my mindful joy with negative, defeatist thoughts. This takes me back to my own definition of meditation. Through this journey both Robyn and I have accepted that, at our core, we are both athletes and we are entitled to wear that emblem with pride. This does not mean we fancy ourselves elite athletes, but rather we understand that athletic activity helps bring ourselves in focus. So we must ensure that we allow the proper time within our schedules to take part in these activities and grant them the significance they deserve.


What are your meditative activities, and are you doing them often enough?

An Earthling, More Aware

I am embarrassed.

As the second portion of our day today, after lunch, we watched an documentary called Earthlings and I felt embarrassed ten minutes in, and still feel the lingering effects now, 3 hours later.

The documentary outlines five of the ways that humans exploit the other living things, the animals, on our planet. These ways are: as pets, as food, as entertainment, for science, and clothes. It is a very powerful and sometimes graphic representation of the harm that we are doing to our fellow inhabitants and the planet we share. I HIGHLY recommend it to everyone, and have provided a link to it above. Please, spare 90 minutes and watch it if you have not. You will not regret it.

The central thesis that I took away from the movie is that we, humans, are but one of millions of species on the planet but we are the only one that is exacting calculated and vicious effects as a result of our own speciesism. This was a new word and concept to me (and is not recognized by the latest version of Word) but it follows along some of the other heinous ‘isms’ that we have tried to put in our past. Speciesim is the belief that we are justified to take whatever means necessary to ensure the survival and growth of our species, regardless of the cost to others. In essence, by entrenching ourselves as the most important species we have granted the mental freedom to trounce on every other living thing on the Earth in the name of our benefit, even though we are all, actually, Earthlings. The movie outlined this ‘ism’ in parallel with racism and sexism as misguided patterns of thought that require understanding and then conquering. It provided hope that we will be able to do so before it is too late for our world, and I share that hope.

Needless to say, the images and concepts that were presented in the documentary were powerful and hard to stomach. My first embarrassment in watching was a result of the dissolution of my first emotive reaction: anger. Ten minutes into the movie I was angry at Brooke, our expedition leader, for putting the movie on and forcing our exposure to the thoughts and images. I asked myself ‘what right do they think they have in making this some kind of requirement of the course, forcing me to sit through their preaching.’ But I kept watching. And within the next five minutes my anger turned into embarrassment and gratitude. While chewing on my hatred I realized that the anger I felt could not be directed anywhere but at myself, for wanting to turn the movie off and my mind out. I felt embarrassed for having the initial call to arms that I did, and for not immediately understanding that any internal friction I felt was my guilt and not something to blame others for. I was also beginning to develop a sense of gratitude to Brooke and to Soul Projects as a whole, for holding and forcing my hand through this realization.

The movie is difficult to watch, especially for someone who enjoys eating meat. The methods and manner in which a large portion of our meat is produced is mind-boggling and disturbing. The scariest part about the equation, though, is that everyone is, on some level, completely aware that there is something glaringly wrong with the way we eat and yet we all choose to bury our heads in the smoked-meat sandwiches.

My second-level embarrassment is that I chose, for a very long time, to be one of the ignorant masses, mindlessly consuming other species, even though a part of me prevented total bliss. The movie discusses the disconnect, both physically and mentally, that the meat industries thrive within: the farms in which animals are mass produced for mass consumption are tucked out of sight and imagery of slaughterhouses rarely make the news or other programming because people don’t want to see them and eyeballs sell ad space. By the time meat makes it to our grocery aisles or plates the packaging, pricing, preparation, and presentation prevent us from having to ingest the realities of the process of its production and allow us to consume it with detachment. We never have to think about where all of this meat has come from, and that’s just the way we like it, because if we did have to ponder this we might end up ruining our appetites. But then, none of this is news to any of us.

I am embarrassed to say that it took watching this documentary for things to finally make an impact on me. I wish I could say that I didn’t need a piece of programming to set me straight, but I can’t make that noble claim.

I am aware that outlining all of the reasons for my embarrassment will do nothing to help ease the suffering of any of the animals that I demanded slaughtered for my consumption, but my guilt and grief can help prevent further suffering on my behalf. I am blessed to have Robyn by my side, who has for a few years now been much more sensitive to the need to remove meat from our diets. I am embarrassed for any time that I pressured her into making a food choice that she felt went against her beliefs, or tempted her to eat something that she was hesitant to. I am blessed to have her with me as we learn new recipes and nutritional approaches that do not include meat.

I beg you to please watch the video if any of this rings true to you. I promise you that no one will judge you if you feel embarrassed too. I am afraid, though, of how the globe will judge us if we do not act on these feelings of shame.

Thank you.

Nighttime in the Woods

End of meditation brings a sense of calm to everyone in the group. It’s a knowledge that we’ve put an honest day’s work in and it’s time to slow down and relax for a few hours before we’re off to bed. We typically rise from our meditation postures amongst a dusk glow, which mutes the greens of the forest slightly and creates a visual version of an auditory buzz after hearing a loud noise: everything is vivid but also toned down, quieted by the setting of the sun.

After meditation, again, WGAFG in order to cook dinner. The last meal of the day is usually the same size and themes as our lunches – one-pot cooking doesn’t afford the luxury of intricate plates. That being said, we are still eating what we all consider to be delicious meals. Dinner is the most intimate meal, as the enveloping darkness brings everyone together either around the fire or near the food prep areas. Things need to be cut, chopped, lit, peeled, and stoked in order to eat. The darkness prevents us from doing other activities so we all jump into any role that needs to be filled within the small pockets of light that exist, either naturally or battery powered. The imposing night bonds us together even further and we have our best conversations around dinner, once everything is cooked.

The darkness also brings out one of my favourite aspects of the forest – the glowbugs. These winged beacons begin to emerge from the trees around six in the evening and stay active until around nine-thirty. They fly independently, without pattern, and pulse a bright green glow. They illuminate in a growing intensity, starting out as a barely noticeable whisper of light, like a stove element that is just starting to heat up, then gradually gaining strength until they squeeze out their brightest rays in a final burst, as if exerting a final push of luminescence. This whole pattern takes just over a second, and then starts again 3 seconds later. Within a certain window of time you can look out into the forest and see dozens of these wondrous bugs glowing, displaying the living pulse of the surroundings in mesmerizing waves. Needless to say, it is quite calming.

The local wildlife combines with hunger by the time dinner’s ready and we all eat quietly and intensely. We make tea with the meal in order to enjoy it afterwards, and that is typically when the talk begins to flow more fervently again. We must be careful, though, not to drink too much tea, keeping in mind that we are about to go to bed. Having to expel the liquids is especially difficult at night because not only is there no nightlight, but the hallway to the toilet is down a ladder in the black of a wilderness night.

Once the appropriate amount of tea is consumed we clean up including the dishes, ‘rain-proofing’ the camp (putting away anything that shouldn’t be exposed to the elements), teeth brushing and washing up. We climb into our tree penthouses and tuck into our sleeping bags. I typically read for five or ten minutes before turning in but my literary escape usually ends in a literal escape from moths and bugs dive-bombing my headlamp, which is all the encouragement I need to go to sleep.

Nights in the forest can go one of three ways:

No rain – the soothing sounds of the woods serenade us to sleep and we are only awoken by slight numbness in our hips or shoulders. It is worth noting that we have had some small visitors go through our compost near the fire pit but we have never seen nor heard anything that causes alarm.

Rain – It rains often in the forest (it is called the Cloud Forest for a reason) so we are now ready for a standard downpour: when we arrive in camp we tarp our treehouses properly in order to prevent wind and rain from penetrating. Rain provides a different set of sounds to sleep through, but no longer produces much discomfort. As it is approaching the rainy season here in Guatemala, we have found that we will typically get an hour or two of rain in the afternoons and, if it does rain at night, it is clear skies by the morning.

Thunderstorms – In Spanish, these are called tormentas, and it is a fitting description when they strike in the woods. We have only had one serious storm, but it kept us all awake and meant business. We heard thunder crashing all around us and lightning lit up the night frequently. The intense rain and defeaning thunderclaps were impossible to sleep through and demanding of respect. As I lay awake through the one that we did endure, I couldn’t help but think of all the metal water bottles, knives, and camping gear that surrounded me. Of course nothing happened (although a couple struck closer than comfortable) but we all had a bit of a slow day the next morning. I have never heard thunder as intense or as freqeent as we do in the forest – storm systems moving in the area create claps that ricochet off the surrounding mountains and seem to roll on forever. We have had numerous times in which we heard numerous menacing growls of thunder but never experienced a drop of rain while the system moved past.

We wake an hour or so after the forest does, as the birds and ‘day-insects’ begin their song welcoming a new morning. Our eyes are groggy and we’re a little stiff, but that’s why yoga is about to begin...

A Typical Day in the Forest

We are woken each morning at seven-thirty by the chimes of a bell that Angeline uses to signify the start of each day. I am amazed that these chimes resonate within the forest, but the natural surroundings are still rather quite at this time of day. I assume that the birds have better things to do than perch around and watch a handful of humans dwell amongst trees, but maybe that is giving too much credit to their social lives. We are to be silent from the sound of these chimes until our Asana (yoga) practice starts at 8 - this is done to allow time for each of us to focus on the upcoming task and not become sidetracked with conversations that can wait until later in the day. Obviously Robyn and I struggle to remain silent while stretching our limbs and aligning our vision in order to meet the day, but we respect the process and speak very little. The bell is rung again at seven-fifty and that is when everyone is supposed to be seated and reflective for a few moments before we begin, but Robyn and I typically use this time to panic and run around, finishing all last tasks that we need to (teeth brushed, bathroom attended, etc...). We are usually the last two seated, just in time to begin. We are supposed to warm up on your own between the bell-chimes, but that policy has been abolished it seems in light of the fact that it is plainly not going to happen.
Asana is performed for two hours, from eight to ten in the morning. Apparently it is ideal to practice yoga before eating anything for the day, as an empty stomach allows you to go deeper into the stretches without having to circumvent a bloated stomach. Luckily I have yet to feel light-headed within one of these. I have competing thoughts on yoga at this point, but must caveat that, including the three sessions in the forest I have now attended four total sessions. On the one hand, I acknowledge that it is a cleansing and energizing undertaking. The postures and movements are difficult but not extremely strenuous, and at the end of the two hours I do feel limber and full of zest to seize the day. On the other hand I find myself constantly wondering how much longer it is until we are finished and I am repeatedly demeaned - not by the instructor, but by the other women posing beside me: I am a tall and have a low center of gravity. I have played hockey my entire life and my physique reflects that. Also, I have not been blessed with Herculean upper body strength and my joints are about as flexible as the ten commandments. Needless to say, I am not the ideal yogaist (yogi for those in the know). Practising beside me are three women who are all petite, two of whom have been practicing for years and can probably bend their femurs if needed. The other female is Robyn, who by some miracle of genetics can easily slip into the most difficult postures with a wry smile and a ‘no big deal’ muttered just loud enough for me to hear, in order to taunt me as I try to master the infant version of the same. It is emasculating, but maybe that is the whole essence of yoga? I will soldier on and hopefully, by the end of these ten weeks, I will be able to hold Crow posture while explaining the central tenants of Hindu philosophy.

After yoga is finished it is breakfast time! We get a fire going (from now on referred to as WGAFG) and cook the first meal of each day - porridge. Each morning we supplement the porridge with a different variety of fruit. We also bring with us some natural, solid, boiled can sugar, which is a lot like molasses. This is also added to the slop each day. Although this meal sounds lackluster, my body is craving it by the time the oats are rolling and so I am not complaining. I have been eating vegetarian for a little over a week now (writing this on April 15) and I have noticed a difference in my body’s approach to food lately: I can more readily sense what I am craving from a fuel standpoint, and the food that I am eating has taken on a new level of deliciousness as my system understands and appreciates the sugars, fats, proteins, and carbs that I feed on. With a lack of refined sugar in my diet, the natural sugars in fruit have become more vibrant. Also, I have not found myself craving meat or really even a snack between meals, which I would have scoffed at if I had been told, before this adventure, was a possibility. That being said, I am not likely to adopt a pure vegetarian lifestyle, instead opting for meat in much more moderation, because I know that if I try to deny myself something I will end up craving it to no end.


After breakfast we have a short time to digest (reading, sitting in sun) and then we have the day’s session. A session is a two hour block of time in which we are to learn about that week’s topic, which range from yoga and meditation to Spanish lessons to First Aid. This past week we learned about the philosophy behind yoga and meditation. I will not regale you with what we studied, but I did find it very interesting and ancient. Some of the concepts seem extremely foreign to us right now, but we are keeping an open mind and taking it all in. For the record, I was partly drawn to this expedition for the chance to learn and practice meditation, so I am especially interested in this area of study.

After our session it is lunch time. It is amazing how much time and effort goes into the setup, prep, consuming, and clean up of meals while camping. Our days do revolve around the meals. WGAFG and eat a mix of vegetables and beans or vegetables and rice of vegetables and tortillas cooked in a large pot over the camp fire. The food is good but I fear monotony.


Lunch is followed by a chunk of free time, where we are allowed to do as we wish. Free time was compressed this last week because we were slow to perform all of the other tasks and there is only so much daylight, so our personal time fell victim. We are assured that as we become outdoor experts our free time will expand greatly. Robyn and I typically spent our free time talking, using the time to discuss everything that is going on around and within us at the time.


End of free time. The sun is starting to droop and it is now time to meditate. We have an hour of meditation from five to six each day, and it may become my favourite portion of our schedules. We sit cross legged on our yoga mats with as little movement as possible (this still causes great aching in my ankles and knees, but I am learning how to Pranayama breathe into the areas of discomfort. We are told to clear our minds and not attach emotion or story to any thoughts that cross our minds. The effort is to be present in the moment and allow our mental space to clear out, in order to slow down and listen to ourselves, which can be difficult to do otherwise. I seem to have a knack for this and am able to conjure up vivid, fluid visuals within the darkness of my closed eyelids. I was even able to experience an extreme sense of lightness near the end of one of the sessions, and it had nothing to do with the duration that had passed since lunch. I am thoroughly enjoying this aspect of our journey and hope to incorporate some of the techniques we learn into my daily life moving forward.

After meditation it is dinner time, but by then the sun has almost set and it would be classified as evening. As evening, in my books, is part of the night, it has no place in the description of a typical day. Luckily, you will not have to wait long until you can read my account of nighttime amongst the wildlife of the Guatemalan forest...

Back from the Forest

Hey all,

I know that the blog's been a bit all over the place, and I'm doing my best to keep it logical and readable, but Internet access is now limited.

We've just returned from 4 nights in the Guatemalan cloud forest and had a great time. I will be writing about it for the next couple days, but I think you'll have to wait until Wednesday next week until I post again. Roughly, our schedule is: Sat morning to Wed mid-day in the forest, Wednesday mid-day until Sat morning with our home stay families (read about mine below!). Because I don't have my comp with me in the forest, the writing and posting is going to get a bit delayed, but Robyn and I will make an effort to post every Wednesday around this time (4-6pm EST). I will say that Robyn seems like she's meant to live in the forest (is that a god thing?).

I have dumped three new posts below, so enjoy. A word of caution - I will have to limit the number of pics that I can include for two reasons: one is that the Internet connection is slow and uploading takes a long time and the second is that I am hesitant to brandish my camera around San Marcos because it is a luxury item and I don't want to draw unnecessary attention to myself. Don't worry though - Robyn and I have felt nothing but warmth and welcome from everyone here.

Until next week. I'll keep writing and taking pics and hopefully I'll share as much as I can as often as I can.

Thanks for reading.

Meet the Spanish Jeffersons

The first day in the San Marcos (La Laguna) area has been a long and eventful one. I write this at 8pm from my new bedroom, fighting off sleep and the moths and mosquitoes who are dive bombing my computer screen. I am exhausted and the altitude has been playing tricks with me all day - I have had a headache for the past 6 hours, and when I've been walking up and down hills it has felt like I've just run a marathon after spending 3 years on the couch with no exercise.

Might as well tell you how I got here....

We departed Guatemala City this morning at 9am after a breakfast consisting of eggs, refried beans, fresh tortillas, and a liquid that was a blend of cream and cheese (but wasn't cream cheese). When Brooke told the waitress that we will not be having ham or coffee with breakfast her eyes nearly bugged out of her head. Fair to assume that the vegetarian diet is a novel idea around here. We ate up and took a cab to the bus depot, where we hopped on a bus heading for Lake Atitlan.

The bus was your standard developing-country 'chicken bus'. The riders ebbed and flowed throughout the 5 hour journey; sometimes the bus was quite empty and there were also times that we were three to a seat and my legs cramped. Also fair to assume that nothing in this region will be made to my size.

We arrived in San Marcos La Laguna around 3pm and hiked to the Soul Projects base camp, where we met Angelene, who will be our yoga and meditation instructor. We ate lunch on a pseudo-patio overlooking the lake and had a lovely time getting to know each other. For those of you keeping score at home, that brings our group to 5 for the 10 weeks - Robyn, Layla, Brooke, Angelene, and Steve. The fact that I'm again the only guy does not bother me, but it is a bit comical. Something tells me, though, that with this group there won't be a lot of talk about shopping or boys. After lunch we were able to reorganize our packs, removing from them anything that was specific to the forest portion of our trip. We were able to do this because we were about to meet our home stay families! These people will be our Spanish familias for 3 of the 7 days a week, for the next 10 weeks.

Once packed up we got to walking into town. (I realize I am being quite sparse with descriptors here - I know there will be plenty of time for that in the coming weeks). There are three host families, one for each of us, meaning that Robyn and I will be staying apart for these nights. I do realize the benefit of this, especially considering the point of this expedition is to reflect and grow on your own. I also understand that mooring each of us in an island of Spanish is the best way for us to learn how to swim. If we stayed together Robyn and I would likely lean heavily on each other when we encountered tough times and that would limit the benefits of this experience. That all being said, Robyn and I rarely spend nights away from each other and this is definitely going to be a challenge for us both (but likely more for her - she takes up a lot of the bed for such a tiny person!). We also learned that we are the first couple that Soul Projects has ever welcomed, which may have something to do with their approach of splitting us up. I digress. We walked into town and dropped Robyn off at the midpoint of a hill, to a family that seemed lovely (we exchanged 'holas'). Robyn's nerves were written all over her face, not for her safety but because neither of us knew much Spanish and we were about to get a crash course. I gave her a goodnight kiss (at 4:30) and then walked to my new familia.

Carmine and her sister live with their parents and numerous children in a two bedroom house with one running water tap and electricity strung through the rafters via extension cords. My room is detached from the main house and is actually owned by a very nice man named Sebastian. It is a single large concrete room with a tin roof, 3 openable steel windows, 4 plastic chairs, and two bed options. I pulled both of the available mattresses onto one bed and now have a reasonable semblance of a comfortable place to rest. But I doubt it will matter - did I mention that I am exhausted at this point?

I had dinner with Carmen and 3 of her children in one of the bedrooms. There was a place setting put out only for me, which was an interesting experience. I was asked to sit and eat - I had a bowl of soup made from chicken noodle soup broth (no meat though) and onions and spinach(?). I was also given a plate of rice and fresh tortillas and bread. I ate the first portion of the meal as a freak show while the children laughed and pointed at me. They tried to pronounce my name properly and seemed to be generally in awe of me, which was a very strange experience. Luckily Carmen poured herself a bowl of soup too and joined me for the latter part of my dinner. I tried to speak to her as best I could and asked her simple questions, typically via pointing, in order to speak about SOMETHING and also to learn some new words. The children, meanwhile, did their best to get my attention by running around the room, jumping on the bed, and being as loud as they could.

There is a little boy and girl, about 4 each, and an older girl, about 7 I'd say. The younger girl's name is Brisa, and the older is Karina, though I'm likely mangling their pronunciation and spelling. The little boy's name is Edgar, but the final R seems to be pronounced as if it's being choked on - "Edgarhk". He was amazed by my eleven o'clock shadow, apparently not used to seeing facial hair on a man growing so evenly and symmetrically. That got me noticing that not many of the men here have facial hair. The boy also was pulling at my arm hair for the same reason, which made me laugh. After dinner there was more Spanish 'eye spy' but the little boy at one point crawled up my leg and right into a leg ride (simple bouncing). Well, I should've know that that would open a new can of worms and sure enough it was about thirty minutes later that the final leg ride was granted and i was able to stand up and walk the new cramps out. I thanked the family profusely and made my way back to my room, where I got to experience my first 'storm under a tin roof'. It sounded like someone was throwing millions of rocks against a metal bowl, which was placed directly on my head. Luckily it subsided quickly and I then got to watch the storm move out across the lake, lightning illuminating the backdrop and punctuating the end of my first day here in San Marcos.

Carmen and her family have been extremely gracious to open their doors to me and agree to feed and care for me. I can tell already that I'm going to grow very fond of all of these new family members in the coming weeks. I sign off amidst barking dogs and singing insects, which I hope will serenade me off to sleep. Luckily I have my earplugs close.

Surf's Sup(per)

When we woke in Langford we were staring at the unfortunate realization that our BC component was drawing to a very quick conclusion. It was Monday March 29 and we were scheduled to fly out on Wednesday the 31st. We had originally planned to go directly back to Vancouver from the Gage's, but we had heard so many good things about Tofino and Uquelet that we were drawn to go. So, in the purest of traveller's decisions, we decided Monday morning to change our plans for that day and night and that we'd go to Tofino and 'Uqey'. Only hitch - they're 4 hours from Victoria. Not to be deterred, we rented a car, booked a hostel, punched the directions into TomTom, and were on our way.

The drive was very cool because of the varied terrain and tempermental weather. Again we experienced bluebird skies for 40 km only to be followed by terrential downpours amidst skies so grey-black I was tempted to put my highbeams on. Apparently this was par for the course for the North part of Vancouver island but I do propose that we experienced a particulary ornery set of conditions.

Part of the reason that I wanted to make the trek was to ensure that we saw some old-growth forests before we left. Fortunately the drive passes right through a section of old growth called 'Cathedral Grove', which we took advantage of to both stretch our legs and admire the centuries-old trees. We truly were walking at the feet of giants and it was a very humbling, calming time. The amount of lush, dripping greenery could take any visitor to a place of enchantment at what might live in these forests.

Back on the road and we finally arrive in Tofino, where we had booked our hostel. We realize, though, that our new friend Paul was in nearby Uquelet and, since we didn't have any real plans or people we knew, we switched our hostel to Uqey and made the short trip over. Paul will live in the area for the summer, surfing and working (in that order). We met up with him and he introduced us to his roomates and showed us his new home. He had only been there three days but has spent past summers in the area. We then got into the rental and did an insiders' tour of Uquelet, including a walk down to the shore to listen to the waves crash against the black rocks and a hike into the jungle to see 'Hitchhike Mike's' treehouse. Apparently Mike had built this treehouse using only a hatchet, nails, and the wood in the forest. He then lived there for two years on his own. If he was anything close to as cool as his abandoned treehouse is, my hat definitely goes off to him. And Paul for showing us around.

We got to experience yet another BC potluck that evening with Paul's roomates, meeting a whole group of extremely welcoming and engaging new friends. After dinner we went back to our discounted hostel (thanks Christy!) and slept well. We had to get up bright and early in order to make it back to Vancouver within the day but did manage to get to the beach that morning before we left. Robyn's starfish below is a testament to our great time in this Canadian surfer's haven.

Easy to Gage

In my best effort to channel Doc Brown, I will now whisk you back in time to complete my detailing of our time in BC. Please bear with me, the Delorean's been in storage for a while...

I last left us after a night in Victoria eating fresh seafood chowder and having a pint at the Sticky Wicket. We crashed that night at the local (dingy) hostel and were pleased as punch to see the sun rise the next morning. We stretched out and beelined for breakfast at a restaurant called John's Place, which we scoped out the day before as quite the popular spot. The food was decent but the waitresses had good senses of humour and the walls were plastered with sports and celebrity memorobilia. It was a fun place.

We made it back and waited 5 minutes in the lobby for Robyn's high school basketball coach and guidance counselor, Mr. Gage, to pick us up as he and his wife Donna live in the area and offered us a night's stay with them. Robyn and Mr. Gage have been close since she was in grade 9 and she speaks of him very highly and with utmost respect, so I was anxious to meet him. Donna was also a guidance counselor at Robyn's high school, where she met Mr. (John) Gage. John walked into the lobby and I could see why he played and coached basketball - he's a tall drink of water with salt and pepper hair and a wizened moustache. He embraced Robyn and then introduced himself to me, followed by a very sincere "it's very nice to meet you." We already had our heights in common, and his genuine interest in meeting the guy who's marrying Robyn further solidified a frienship. We were off to his house, which is on Bear Mountain in Langford, which was about a 30 minute drive.

We walked into the front door of their cozy and beautiful home and were greeted warmly by Donna, who immediately hugged Robyn and then asked if it was okay to hug me. I obliged her and laughed at the honest, caring embrace. We already felt at home. We dropped our stuff off in our room for the night (nicest room and bed of the whole trip, sorry Jess) and piled back in the car for a couple of hikes.

The hiking wasn't spectacular simply because the weather wasn't cooperating and the views were stunted. That being said, we both really enjoyed our time because John and Donna were simultaneously interesting, engaging, entertaining, and informative. We spent the nearly two hours getting to know each other and/or catching up. All of Robyn's high school friends and stories were recalled and I got to hear more about Robyn's illustrious high school basketball career. Fluxgold, apparently, was solid gold. Nature-wise, I was amazed by the look and texture of the Arbutus trees that lined the hike - these trees are indigineous to BC and have the distinction of shedding their bark and growing a new sheath. Very cool looking foliage indeed.
After our hikes we poured into the car and headed back 'home'. We were treated to a delicious dinner of BBQd salmon, roast potatoes, asparagus, and 'Russian salad' (a delictable potato-based cold salad, which was a leftover from a party the night before). Everything was phenomenal and it was very nice to avoid restaurant food for a night. The wine and beer flowed as easily as the conversation did, and we were all quite satisfied with ourselves. We spent the rest of the evening watching TiVo-d March madness basketball (did I mention John likes basketball) and continuing to talk the night away.

John and Donna reminded me of Robyn and myself in a lot of ways. John is a bit more reserved on the exterior but has a great dry sense of humour and under his gruff (ha!) shell he's actually a very kind and warm man. Donna's a gregarious personality who doesn't care to hide her love of life at all and can have a full-belly laugh at herself along the way. John typically would poke fun at Donna and she'd brush him off and roll her eyes. It was all quite comical.

Robyn and I finally went to bed and were amazed at how welcoming these two were and how comfortable we felt, especially considering I'd only known them for a few hours. We woke up the next morning to fresh, homemade waffles and fine quality maple syrup. Breakfast, like our whole time there, felt like a family gathering of sorts and we continue to be grateful to John and Donna for opening their doors to us and allowing us yet another, varied experience. If we are back through that way again we'll be sure to drop in, as I gathered they sincerely hope we will.

Next up - Tofino on a whim!

Q.T.Q

I asked Robyn how she thought everyone would react if I posted something philosophical on the blog, and she responded with a "it's your blog, write what you want." So, in light of the fact that I may not be able to post for a while (hopefully less than a week's absence) I thought I'd leave you with something to consider...

Quote: "Don't allow others to dictate your happiness, either negatively or positively." I tried to source a similar quote that is more eloquent, spoken by someone who was more employed than I am now, but I failed, so I improvised. That's me speaking there. I find it interesting that it's often easy to brush off negative opinions, but I'm still quick to ingest positive opinions of others.

Thought: Often, even when someone (person A) compliments another (person B), the topic of the conversation is still person A. Example: Rosanne: "Sherry, I like your dress." Even though Rosanne is complimenting Sherry, the conversation's really still about what Rosanne likes or dislikes. Most people provide compliments like this without even knowing it. It's a tough habit to break.

Question: Is someone who provides this advice, "Oh, don't pay any attention to his opinion, you're actually a really great person" a hypocrite?

An Apology, in Past and Future tenses

I still owe the blog a few days from BC, and for that I apologize. I left off after our first night in Victoria but we stayed another 2 nights on the island and then one back in VanCity. I still intend to write about them, but that leads me into my apology in advance, which is that I may not be able to post for a while...

Robyn and I leave for Guatemala bright and early Tuesday morning (flight at 9, leave house at 5:30, and it's 1:10 now, ouch) and we've been running around like chickens sans heads since we got home late Wednesday. We weren't able to see everyone we had hoped to (third apology? This post is so Canadian!) but we will do a better job next time we swing through. We're going to Guat to take part in Soul Projects for the next ten weeks. I really encourage you to browse their website. We're very excited to be going down and taking part, even though we'll be WAY out of our comfort zone.

If you read through the site a bit, you'll understand why I doubt that I will have even semi-regular internet access, so I don't know how often I'll be able to post. I'm not even allowed to bring my laptop into the project with me, so any writing I do (and I still intend to) will have to be in my notebook and then transcribed. Have no fear, it will happen. Of course, though, I will still have my camera with me so maybe I'll have to let some photos be worth 200 handwritten words.

I'm going to round out the writing for BC tomorrow morning during the airport wait/flight, and I will get it up as soon as I can, but you may have to bear with me.

A Night with Victoria

The journey to Victoria and the first day spent there (Saturday) were both rather uneventful, but an interesting thing did happen along the way...

While we were hitching from Serenity by the Sea to the ferry we were picked up by a woman who lives on the island. Exploratory questions uncovered that she's just returned from a trip through Central America, spending a large portion of her time in the remote Lake Atitlan region of Guatemala, which is where we will be heading next. She also visited the Galapagos Islands and other places that we will be passing through. Being picked up by her was, again, more than a random happenstance. We spoke to her at length about her time in the region and took her advice on what to see and where to stay. She saved us two ferry fares because we were able to board via her car, and then we all said good bye. Meeting people in these manners is what makes travelling exciting and worthwhile.

Victoria was quaint and alive, but Robyn and I arrived as zombies and checked into a local hostel that was less than stellar. After a quick walking tour and then resting for a few hours, we went out for dinner of fresh local fish and chips. I had never tried clam chowder before and had a strange desire to try some, so I acted on that impulse and tried some, and enjoyed it thoroughly. Dinner was followed by a beer at the Sticky Wicket as per Nikki and Ty's suggestion, and then it was early to bed yet again. Travelling can be very tiring!


Next up: Robyn is reunited with her high school basketball coach and guidance counsellor and Steve gets to hear all about the trials and tribulations of being a teacher, yet again.