Same Shit, Different Day

So language school comes with its own set of routines. They´ve never been quite long enough to establish them as such, but so it goes. Life here now is more or less cosmopolitan. I wake up in the morning, take two buses, go to class, eat lunch, do homework, take two buses home. There´s malls. Then there´s tiendas. Then comedors. Imagine a room with plastic chairs and plastic tables with a cheap tablecloth on top. Then imagine a small grill outside with tortillas and some kind of meat. This is where people eat lunch. It costs about two dollars. I´d like to take a picture of one for you.

I'm staying with a family. This family is made out of people. My room is separated, kinda nice, away outside on an open air patio, but inside, with a desk and a bed and a bathroom. In the evening we eat dinner together. In the morning, I enjoy making my bed.

I sleep under a comforter and study in a t shirt. Everyday. The rain comes in the afternoons. You see it first on the mountains. In the city, there´s a smell. You might know it. I've decided it's a calculated ratio of smoke, trash, and diesel fuel. I´d say about 50% diesel fuel, halfsies the others. Allow for some variation in the countryside. More smoke, less fuel.

The buses are fun. Have you ever wondered what happens to all the buses in the states that no longer meet vehicle code? Well, it´s about a two week drive. It´s like a funnel; keep driving it south and you´ll eventually get here. Though, by the time you do, it'll almost certainly be belching diesel clouds the size of clouds. So it goes. But this is why you brought it here in the first place. So mission accomplished.

There's not a lot of grace extended to signage, though. Poor Español- you've had to deal with English cramping your style now for far too long. "Chatham County Public Schools" is not culturally appropriate. Nor is "Please stay behind the yellow line while bus is in motion." Nor, for that matter, "Maximum capacity 100 persons." And yet there she is, accomplishing a task no one ever dreamed she would do while belching bountiful billows of diesel fuel out her rear end, carrying twice as many people in her retirement as she ever did in heyday. And the people seem to get by OK. I wonder if they ever think about Chatham County.

My bag is still half packed, around the room in some tidy corner lurking. So it will be until the middle of October when my bag takes me to Santiago Atitlan, my final destination. Last week we had the opportunity to stay the night there. We went to this little coffee shop called "El Horno." It means "The Oven." Mentally, I've already included it in my morning routine. In fact, in my head I've already been there about 20 times.

Supposedly my bedroom is the on the third floor and looks out on the lake. All around is nothing but coffee. November is harvest time. The beans are green. We shall see what we can do about that.