“Tal vez el camino es feo, pero la vista es hermosa.”
There are two ways to get home from my friend Kristen’s site: the “Zacapa way,” which goes almost directly from her town to mine, on paved roads with only one stop in the capital of my department; and the “Jalapa way,” two separate buses, with the final one winding through mountains and small towns, with some spots nearly impassable. After a beautiful day in Esquipulas this weekend, where I got to see Black Jesus and socialize with the nearly 300 San Diegans that also came, I met up with friends to go visit Kristen at her new house. I returned a day later, and as I got down from the bus from Jalapa to San Diego, where I live, I saw my padre give me a confused look. He had personally dropped me off Chiquimula with a friend, so why was I on a bus that went through Jalapa? I walked inside, tired and glum from my day’s travels, hefting my groceries and sweating profusely. After I had made it in and dropped off my stuff, my padre finally turned and asked “Y porque viene de Jalapa? El camino es mas dificil y bien feo.” (“And why did you come from Jalapa? The road is more difficult and very ugly.”) I could explain about the more convenient bus times, or the better waiting area in Jalapa, but the truth is, I just wanted to take the other way. I needed to see the views of the mismatched and lumpy mountains, green one second and sparse the next. I needed to pass through the small aldeas of my communities, to watch the slow activity of a leisurely Sunday afternoon. So when I responded, I couldn’t help but smile and say “Tal vez el camino es feo, pero la vista es hermosa.” (“Maybe the road is ugly, but the view is beautiful.”)
And so goes my time in Guatemala.
This past weekend was the 3-month anniversary of being in my new site in San Diego, Zacapa. It’s a little bit of a big deal in the Peace Corps world, since it marks the end of our stricter confinement, and for most, a feeling of “home” and trust with the people of our communities. They also say that most Peace Corps Volunteers drop out either during training, or during the first three months in their site. Yikes. So there we have it. I’ve made it. I survived the first three months, and more importantly, I survived January. It’s interesting that although I’m coming up on the 6-month mark of being in Guatemala, this past month has been the one that truly made me aware of my commitment. I’ve questioned myself the most this past month, and some days honestly were a struggle. I’m here, though, on the other side, slightly less “awed” by being in Guatemala, but definitely more content. I’m more prepared to deal with the slow or sad days, and I’m sure they’ll be coming way less often, as I have really begun to settle in as part of the community. I’ve stopped thinking about what I’m missing back home, and stopped comparing Guatemala to America. I always assumed there are some things Guatemala just can’t give me, like my family and friends, but when I look around, I see that a new family and new friends surround me. Some days I’ll still cry, and some days I’ll want to go home, but I know I have people both in America and in Guatemala to support me. And those sad days pass, and better ones follow. No matter how ugly the road, I know there will be a beautiful view soon enough.
And so here it is, my cheesy blog post, full of trite metaphors. I promised myself I wouldn’t do this, but after a few months in, you find yourself motivated by the most surprising things. I take it where I can.
