Bobby, January 29th, 2015
Some of my first childhood memories are of my grandparents talking around the dining room table about their years living and working in Guatemala. It’s been a life long dream to travel here and now as we pack bags for the 3am departure I know I will be looking out the plane window shortly and remember a wide open people, speaking crystal clear Spanish, slowly. I’ll remember a genuine indigenous culture living forward, who reached out to embrace us in their sacred geography and culture. This is a place I miss already.
A Selection of 6 Word Stories from the Group
Antigua, Lake Atitlan, surf-camp, Guatemala.
Cobblestone streets leading on to adventure.
Barefoot and hungry, still she smiles.
Mayan people embody earth-sky rythms.
One motorcycle, five people, saves gas.
Sweet singing, soothing tones, then tears.
Men of maize labor under hot sun.
Volcano summit with giggling Mayan warrior.
Hundreds of mosquitoes, yo no quiero
Paddle forward two strokes, back one.
Spanish spoken slowly with a smile.
Needed sugar, but I poured the salt.
They love people. We love things.
Sun kisses, ocean kisses, puppy kisses.
Different country, lost at soccer, again.
River rushes, birds sing, women wash.
Twenty people standing in Toyota truck.
Rooftop café with volcano glowing red.
First tortilla, tenth tortilla, lost count.
Shine your shoes? No, they’re sandals.
Chocolate and coffee makes me smile
Orphan’s thoughts, once choppy, now stilled.
I have no money, lo siento.
Group harmony doesn’t happen by accident.
Shade’s a commodity near the equator.
Push, slip, splash. Push, stand, surf.
Dark ocean. Starry sky. I’m small.
Life long dream to visit Guatemala.
Kindred spirits are found world wide.