Nunca pedir un mojito en Café Arabe

Another great day of school.  Finished up the past and moved into the future, which is más más facil.  Today is a national holiday, but I still had class.  When he wasn’t teaching me maldiciones, Carlos was getting into some heavy stuff about Guatemalan politics, specifically about the characters of their leaders and how the government buys votes with McDonald’s and Pollo Campero. For homework I translated a few paragraphs about Rigoberta Menchú Tum, a Mayan guerilla who won the Nobel Peace Prize in the 90s defending native women’s rights and used the prize money to set up a foundation that promoted these initiatives worldwide. She recently fell from grace amongst the Mayans after taking a cushy vanity job with the government.  We also discussed various corrupt presidents and how the Maya have no representation in the governing of Guatemala. After he corrected my translation, Carlos started a political discussion that was interesting for the most part.  Of course after awhile my eyes glazed over, right about the time he began talking about the military. And it wasn´t from an overload of Spanish, I would have stared blankly ahead, dreaming about tamalitos, if he was speaking in English. Couldn’t we talk about art or something?

Also had a nice evening last night with some of mis compañeros from Casa Doña Mercedes.  We walked through the crowded park and decided to go to El Balcón to watch the action below from an outdoor terrace rather than get jostled every second by could-be pickpockets.  I have never been to a country where every second person tries to instill the fear of everything in everyone.  Don’t carry a bag.  Don’t walk alone at 7:32 pm. Roll up some quetzales into a ball and keep it in your fist and don’t open your hand until you absolutely need to buy something.  Granted, there is a lot of crazy crime here and I am not even going to post the things I have been reading in the newspaper, and I am super cautious and not generally worried, but it does get a little intense when locals, students, teachers, shopkeepers, gatos y perros, all keep telling you the same thing.

After El Balcón, we went to Café Arabe to meet the Guatemalan boyfriend of one of the chicas in our group.  Thought I’d try a mojito, I mean, how wrong could they possibly get it?  Pretty. Damn. Wrong.  It looked like something you’d be served on St. Patrick’s Day.  The concoction was kelly green with a few leaves floating on top.  Three of us ordered it and I was the first to try it.  It was a glass of creme de menthe with a splash of soda and some random shrubbery.  I figured that was a sign to go home and finish my homework, which I wisely did. 

I’m getting a little hungry now and the sky just opened up for the first time in about three days.  I’ll have to make a mad dash across the courtyard to the kitchen to cook dinner.   If the rain keeps up like this, I’m skipping salsa again tonight.  Ronaldo is going to KILL me.  Oh well, there’s always next week.