Danger Mouse: Adventure Olympics

I thought it was about time I pointed out that I have not spent the last 4 months lying on the beach and binging. Granted there has been quite a bit of that, but I have also been trying my hand at some adventure sports. Here is my round up of said adventures, each with their own awesomeness rating too boot:

1. Scuba Diving in Honduras

After enduring 2 days of hidiously patronising videos, I was ready to jack it in. Then there was all the gear, which weighed a ton and had to be put together properly to ensure all the pipes went in the right place s and all the buttons and dials were doing what they should be. A regulator to breath through (very important), and extra one in case things go wrong (hopefully not), and BCD, which is basically a big jacket yiou can inflate and deflate to help you float or sink. Goggles, mask, snorkle, fins, wetsuit a belt with weights attached (yes really) and a socking great big tanker full of air, enough for about an hour at the bottom of the sea. I could barely stand up in all that crap and I looked like a very pissed off penguin staggering about on the dock trying to stay upright.

Once in the water though, its a different story. The feeling the first time your head slips below the surface, eyes open and breathing normally, is quite incredible. First comes the quite rational fear of drowning, ear drums bursting, lungs exploding. But by then its too late. Immediate panic gives way to total calm, as you sink slowly to the bottom of the ocean and enter into a different world.

The first couple of dives are mostly taken up with carrying out seemingly impossble tasks 15 meters underwater, such as taking off you mask and putting it back on, without freaking out or losing your contact lenses, and practising what to do if you run out of air (turn to god almighty and pray basically), but once that is out of the way, you are free.

Floating weightlessly like an astronaught through beautiful crystal clear caribbean sea, gorping at coral gardens, swimming effortlessly with huge schools of brightly coloured fish, diving down in search of big ugly Morey Eels and giant crabs, with claws the size of my forearm, in deep dark caves.

Scuba Diving is handsdown the most surreal and tranquil thing I have ever experienced. The calmness and the quietness is hypnotising. Surfacing at sunset on Christmas Day was spectacular. Get me back down there!

Awesomeness Rating: 10/10

2. Ultimate Surfing: Nica Style

Back in Nicaragua, it was time catch some pacific waves. Not exactly an adventure sport, but its going in, mainly because I nearly died trying it.

I opted for an old salty dog over a buff Aussie to teach me, chosing experience over the extracurricular. Alfredo was a nutter and thankfully a great teacher too, because before long I was standing up on the board and sailing across the whitewash towards the shoring, wooping with delight. very uncool.

I think I may have not a bit ahead of myself however, when I booked myself on a surf trip he next day, dragging Rachel along for the ride. Alarm bells began to ring when we were told we would surf straight off the boat, and not from the beach. Surely thats the wrong side of the waves for a beginner...

It took approximately 3 minutes for an enormous wave to completely wipe me out, sucking me in, churning me round and round in the melle, spitting me out in the wash, water up my nose, board gone, gasping for air and wondering what the hell just happened. I think I am going to leave it to the Aussies afterall.

Awesomeness Rating: 3/10.

3. Volcano Boarding:

Right. This one should definitly be an Olympic sport. Throwing yourself down the lava fields of an actice Volcano with a homemade snowboard strapped to your feet. In the dark. Totally ridiculus. And its the only place you can do it in the world!

First you have to hike up the thing, with the board and all your kit strapped to your back, before settling down to watch the big burnt orange sun slowly sink down below the horizon. Then its time to don the knee, elbow and wrist pads (very sexy), along with industrial strength gloves, tie the board to your feet, stand up and wait for a good shove to get you going.

And boy do you go, you absolutely fly down. And you cant stop. The only way is to literally throw yourself into the volcanic ash, close your eyes and hope for the best. My tactic was to just go straight down and hold on for dear life. Apparently I was a natural. I am not so sure.

Finally at the bottom, I landed in a hot sweaty heap, covered in black ash, half a volcano down my bra and beeming with joy. I had survived, but there was no bloody way I was climbing back up to do it again though. It was Beer O'clock.

Awesomeness Ration: 7/10

4. White Water Rafting.

Now, I have learned a lesson with this one. It is this: When the dude in charge asks if anyone has ever done this before, just say "no". Don't go "oh yeah I went over this 7 meter waterall in New Zealand a few years ago". Huge excitement followed as this is apparently the biggest commerical raftable waterfall in the world. Bar none. And bugger me I was stuck in the front boat, perched right on the edge, paddling like mad as we lauched ourselves down grade 4 rapids.

Good fun, but dare I say it. I could have donw with a bit more danger. Grade 5 next time.

Awesomeness Rating: 6/10

And last but not most certaonly not least.....

5. Paragliding

This was a treat from Mum and Dad that I think the former at least almost instantly regreted giving me. As we climbed higher and higher up the steep sided valley to the "jump off" Mum became greener and greener with fear as Dad did with envy. By the time we reached the top and looked out across the deep gorge disappearing thousnads of meters below us, I felt pretty poorly too.

Things werent helped by the fact that I was last to go, so i had to stand and watch as one guy threw up all over himself on takeoff, while others just bottled it completely. My pilot however, was cool as a cucumber and there was only one way down!

I think my stomach actually left my body when we launched off into nothingness, me squeeling with delight and William bellowing at me in Spanish to sit still and not wriggle. Off we went, swooping across the valley, and then whizzing around in tight circles and loops like you do on a rollercoaster (once he was sure I wasnt a chunderer that is).

Then, after the initial excitement came total calmness. The only sound was the cold wind whistling past as we glided gently throught he clouds towards the Sunset. Absoluetly beautiful. And the closest thing you can get to actually flying. Very cool, though I'd quite like to have a go at flying it myself next time....

Awesomeness rating: 9/10

So thats it. Enough daftness for a bit now, and just a skydive and a bungy jump to go now!

Pick Ups and Pleading Poverty

Ok, so i admit it, I havent exactly being roughing it these last couple of months. I have been taking the slightly less shit bus and paying $4 for a room that that a light that works and a door that locks. I have been cheating.

New Years Day was spent in the recovery position, lounging by a swimming pool, drinking Red Wine and eating rather posh cheese. Hard life eh? Granted, we didn´t pay to get in, but rather we snuck in, with a bottle from the offie stashed in my bag, but all the same, this is not what traveling is all about, right?

So, when a rather crazy swiss girl suggested hitch-hiking and chicken busing it across Honduras on only $10 a day, I thought, fuck it. Vamos! Porque No?

It is probably best that I dont go into too much detail, as I would rather my parents don´t have simultaneous heart attacks on the spot, but suffice to say, chicken buses take absolutely forever and often leave you standed in the middle of bloody nowhere, while riding in the back of random peoples´ pick-up trucks is brilliant fun if rather daft, and living on only street food and fruit makes you thin! I have never been very good at haggling. I just smile and had over the cash. Stupid Tourist! Not anymore. Try it next time in Tesco, see if you can get a bunch of bananas for 5p. he he!

Dirty, tired, starving and skint, we reached Lago Yojao, and the relative comfort a little shaby cabin overlooking te lake. With hot water!

We had traveled through some of the poorest and roughest parts of Honduras. Example: The Lonely Planet on La Entrada: "an unattactive crossroads with a reputation for narcotrafficing. Something must have gone wrong for you to end up here" ha ha! Other highlights included ´Gracias´...lets just change that to ´No Gracias´ and ´La Esperanza´, which was certainly NOT somewhere you would want to wait.

People looked at us like we were aliens. Crazy Aliens! But everyone was so nice to us. What were we doing here? were we lost? Did we looking for a nice hotel? These people had not seen a white person for a long time, and we didn´t see another tourist for days and days. In fact, I still havent. Bliss! Thats why we did it! And best of all: my Spanish is the best it has ever been!

Tomorrow I head to Nicaragua, and I am not ashamed to say that I am off to lounge on the beach and eat fresh fish for few days! Fuck it! I deserve it!

Beach Bumming in Belize and Living it up in Livingston

After my Guatemalan adventures I was certainly ready for some serious beach action. And where better than the Caribbean?

My first stop was a tiny Island called Caye Caulker, about a half an hour boat ride from Belize City. There are no roads and therefore no cars there, just sandy paths and golf carts. Bliss! This place is so chilled out that if you walk to fast, some big dredlocked Garifuna guy will stop you in your tracks and say 'hey, what da rush girl? chill out, go slow, dis is Belize man, lemme get you some rum punch'

After the hectic markets and chaotic chicken buses of Guate, I didn't need telling twice. Is was like another world. Broken English, Bob Marley, Baggy shorts, Boxfresh trainers, Basketball vests, Beany hats, bandanas and Big fat spiffs. Unpronouncable mayan names were replaced with Lucky, Rocky, Bunny and {my favourite of all} Major

Days were spent snorkling at the reef, surrounded my sharks and Sting Rays, Octopus and Lobster, all set in beautiful colourful coral gardens. I have never seen so many fish in my life. Pink ones, yellow ones, blue green and purple ones, stripey ones and spotty ones, tiny ones and absolutely enormous ones. At sunset everyone would retire to he Lazy Lizard to watch the sunset, where you could dangle your feet in the warm sea, while sitting at the bar sipping panty rippers. Evening ended eating fresh fish from Big Mamas BBQ and succumbing to the sounds of reggaeton.

If that place hadn't broken the bank, I would still be there, but with only $2 Belize to the $1US, it was time to move on. 1 watertaxi, 2 boats, 3 buses and 2 days later and I was back in Guatemala, though not the Guatemala I was used to! Livingston, through friendly enough, was pretty sketchy when you scratched the surface. One night hanging out with the local gangs at Longbeach Bar was enough for me, so when I was offered the last place on a bus to The Bay Islands in Honduras leaving the next morning, I was in.

Granted, the subsequent Tapado (traditional soup with pretty myuch everything sea-dwelling in it) followed by an night bender avec flaming Sambuca, was not the best of ideas, but then again impromptu parties are always the best. When my newly found travel buddies came to ´wake me up´ the following morning I was still propping up the bar and declaring that the full days traveling we had to come, with no sleep whatsoever would be 'no problem at all'.

Thankfully managed to firm the first boatride to Puerto Barrios at sunrise, before passing out on the back of the bus for some well deserved shut eye. I don't remember going through immigration at the Guatemala, Honduras border, though my passport says that I did. With two hours to kill in La Ceiba before the Ferry across to the Island, we found ourselves in a huge US style Mall, sheltering from the pouring rain, succumbing to the temptation of Burger King and Pizza Hut, which I don't mind admitting was absolutely f**king delicious!

Almost there, and pretty much on my last legs, we boarded the Ferry. We should have taken note of the fact that sick bags were being handed out in hand quantities before me had even left the port. 5 minutes later and we all knew why. It was like being on a rollercoaster, but without the safety straps! The boat listed and lurched across the straight, sending people flying across the deck as they puked uncontrollably into their laps.

How I managed not to lose my lunch and decorate the place I have no idea. I put it down to shear determination and willpower, but I was certainly rather green by the time we arrived at Utila dock. We had made it! The next task was to learn how to breath underwater. Joy!

Lounging at the lakes and dicing with death

Well I am just recovering from the shock of nearly losing all my pictures, because of some virus or another, and reflecting on my last two weeks in Guate...

Aldous Huxley said "Lago de Atitlan and its several immense volcanoes is really too much of a good thing. After a few days of this impossible landscapoe one finds oneself thinking nostalgically of the English home counties". Well I can vouch for that. It was simply beautiful, so it is not surprising that my 3 day stay turned into over a week!

Each of the lakeside towns had its own feel and charm. San Juan with its complete lack of tourism, cheap comodors, murals and womens weaving cooperatives. San Pedro, with its party athmosphere reminded me a bit of Thailand. We has a great few days getting drunk on redwine at the Swimming Pool Bar all day and dancing all night to awful music at Freedom bar, downing glow in the dark G&Ts. Lazy morning were spent nursing hangovers and sleepless nights over very late breakfasts, and afternoons were spent swinging in hammocks being a stonehead, glazing at the lake and eating Pan de Banaña.

Across at the other side San Juan was equally as chilled, though we did venture up yet another Volcano once our legs had recovered from the previous hike. It was a hot sweaty battle, but the view at the top were sublime, though short lived, as we were reliable informed by our consciencious guide that bandaderos were loitering nearby ready to relieve of of our cameras or worse. Needless to say, we beat the world record for descent!

San Marcos felt like a hippy commune so i left before I was dressed in tie-die, fed lentils and forced to do a moon dance. Panajachel was more upbeat and tacky, with ´tradiitonal´ xelophone themed bars that kept me awake all night. I was in my element however, pottering about the place purchashing pretty things like they were going out of fashion.

With my back to the lake, I was finally headed for Antigua, stopping off at two great market towns on the way. First was Solola, made famous (here at least) recently, when the towns people decided to take the law into their own hands. çWith no respect for, or trust in Giatemalan police or the country´s judicial system, they decided to burn the town´s police station to the ground, amçnd then publicaly lynch said criminals in the square, burning their bodies in a pile for good measure. All was quiet in the aftermath when i was there, just a heaving local market selling everything from chickens, shoes, dried pasta, industrial sized pots of hair gel, and pretty much anything else you can think of. A burnt out cop car had been turned into a stall selling pirate DVDs and bras. Genius.

Next was Chichcastenango (try saysing that after a few), which was different kettle of fish altogether. This is where all the crasftmen (and women) from across Guate to sell their wares. The town turns into the biggest market around everyweek, the streets jammed with Guatemaltecas busting around in traditional dress, stalls selling jewellery, wood carving, and everything it is possible to make using the traditional material they weave here. bags, cushions, purses, bottlebottle holders...you name it. Everywhere has it nutter though, and the guy entertaining the crowd with his tales of wrestling wild animnals and flogging their innards for their healing properties had to be seen to be believed (he brought the lot along, dried and skinned for reinactment purposes and I assume our beneift)...

Anyway, exhausted and skint in arrived in Antigua, pleasantly surprised that it as not completely packed full of hideous gringos. More partying followed, with roof top cocktails at sunset overlooing the cities three huge surrounding volcanoes and salsa in the evenings. Its a tough life! The city itslef was beautiful, with cobbled streets, a lovely plaza and 24(!) churches. Enough of that. I was there for a reason. Yes you have guessed it. Another Volcano!

I had heard about Pacaya, but nothing could quite prepare me for it. This time it was about the hike, or the altitude, or the vistas. It was about the Lava. There is no way round it. It was completely and uttlerly dangerous. 20 tourists, stumbling about on top of an extremely active volcano at dusk, wobbling around on inch-thick crust taking photos of the huge oozing lava rivers flowing right past us. We toasted marshmellows in the fire as the wind howled and lava crackled under our feet. With meted shoes and hot feet we scrabbled back down in the dark, filthy dirty and totally exhilerated. How they allow it I dont know, but it was incredible.

Mum at this point I suggest a stiff Gin x

Next of the list of extreme adventure was Semuc Champey. Incredibly beautiful and totally unique, it is difficult to describe. From above it looks like series of bright blue and green pools, friged with yellow, shelving down through the dense green jungle that surrounds it, sinking into each other as they flow, and joined up by a series of waterfalls.

First though, we headed to the nearby caves, with our flipflops tied to our feet and armed only with candles we inched deeper and deeper inot the darkness, as the water crept up over our knees and then up to our necks. We swam through tunnels, climed up underground waterfalls on rope ladders, squeezed through tiny gaps between the cave walls and lept off ledges into deep (thankfully) pools of blackness, flying past stalitites as we went. Awesome. And I am no have claustophobia!

Back out into the sunshine, we swung off the river banks on rope swings, plunging into the cool water, each time just missing the huge rock plateaus jutting out into the calm blue. We tubed down the rapids on rubber rings and splashed about in the calm pools in the sunshine, making our way downstream. Then it ws the big one. A 15 metre Waterfall, and only one way down. Like lemmings we threw oursleves off, disappearing over the edge and plunging into the pools below. da, you would have loved it! My tummy left its position my mu body, as did my bikini on it.

Safely down, we scrambled up and under another waterwall, as the water pelted down on us, to see where the tranquility ends and the fierce underground river re-emerges in all it glory. Our guide also pointed out this was where the bodies of three tourists emerged, in pieces, some days later, after falling in at the other end some time ago...

One final launch off into he pools below and a mildly hairy swim across the mouth of the rapids and we were all back safe and dry. Hungry, tired and with a few cuts and bruises to show for an absolutely amazing day!

Hiking the Highlands to Atitlan

There is a chicken bus that goes from Xela to Lago Atitlan. It takes about an hour, is a little bumpy and often carried farm animals as well as people, but it is reliable, and cheap. You may therefore wonder why on earth I decided to spend three days hiking here instead. Trust me, I wondered this too.

Our first day started at 6.30am in Xela, with a wholesome breakfast and manic re-packing of my enormous backpack, with the rest of our group at Quetzaltrekkers, who were the volunteer run, vegan, ethically minded and really rather vague guides responsible for us for the duration of our trip. Its a wonder we ever left to be frank.

Armed with everything we needed for three days strapped to or backs {including sleeping bags, mats, dry clothes, food, crockery, unnecessarily heavy tubs of 'trail mix'(glorified nuts} and enough water for a month, we began our hike with a very pointless mission across Xela city, before hopping onto a chicken bus to our actual starting point, at the foot of an absolutely huge ridge we were set to climb.

I was already knackered by this point, wishing I had left a few more days to recover after my last hike up Volcan Santa Maria two days before {hardcore yes I am} and already considering turfing out he trail mix and at least 3 of my litres of the water I had been told I must carry at. all. times. If only I had known what was next, I would have been straight back on that chicken bus no questions.

The first two hours of our assent nearly killed the fat girl straight off. It was definitely the hardest part of the day, but the views at the top were absolutely stunning, with Volcan Tacamulco in the distance one way and the journey ahead of us spread out in the other. We walked until dusk, along exposed peaks, grassy plains, across cloud covered ridges, down steep slippery slopes, through thick pine forest and dense tropical jungle until our legs felt like jelly. I have never been so pleased to see the first signs of civilisation in my life {even if it did consist of piles of rubbish by the road as we approached Santa Catarina, where we were to spend our first night}.

When I say civilisation, I say it in the loosest possible sense of the word, because lets just say, that town was weird. The 'fair' had arrived in town, so the little shabby square had been turned into a spiderman themed ammusement arcade, complete with its own mini feras wheel, which certainly did not look like it could have held the weight of a human, groaning as it spun and was poked at by a precariously positioned mechanic. Around it were rows of identical stalls all selling the same rockhard bagel looking things that noone was buying because we were the only ones there. Was this strange scene for our benefit? Who knows. All I now is that all this seemed rather normal after stepping inside the bar...

We had been warned to get a take out where beer was concerned, but I had obviously protested that we must 'drink with the locals'. Smart move. On arrival it became clear that the bar was in fact just a rather disgusting concrete room and the locals were to all intents and purposes about 4 absolutely twatted old men, dribbling on themselves and leering at the incredibly patient {and not to mention brave} Mayan bar women, who was busy defending the last 3 bottles of beer left in the place. In and out was the word of the day, never to return.

The beer tasted like nectar however, swigged around a huge cooking pot of pasta {thank god I didn't get lumbered with carrying that piece of kit!} in an old disused municiple building, where we slept like babies on the hard concrete floor, woken only by a rather strange french guy pleasuring himself in his bag.

The next day we were up at 6, sitting in a smokey comedor eating rice and beans, next to the Carneceria outside which the days prime cuts had been delivered in the form of a whole cow, skinned and slumped in the back of a toyota pickup truck, avec head, feet and tail. Under any other circumstances I would have declined breakfast, but I was starving. The local kids on the other hand were having a ball, watching the carcus being heaved out and hacked up, and left to play with the remains, poking the tail through the eye socket for our benefit, squeeling with joy.

Another full day of hiking awaited us, so off we went in a long line snaking through villages and farms, clanking our pots and pans as we went, stopping only to practice of Kitche {spanish was pretty much useless here} and take pictures of hilarious looking bulls with pink bows in their hair. Although an easier day in comparison, we did have 'record hill' to contend with before lunch. A pilgrimage of all Quetzaltrekkers, it was basically a brutal climb up a ridiculously steep mountain, in the blazing midday sun, against the clock, with our 60 litre packs on. The fastest time is 9 and a half minutes. Sue managed 14 and a half and me 16. Apparently both very respectable times. Its fair to say it nearly killed me, and I can safely say that I enjoyed the cigarette at the top far more than any sense of achievement.

That night was spent at San Pedro's house, drying off after our trek through the river, filling our hungry tummys with great food, and taking it in turns to get clean in his tepid shower. An even earlier night was had, and thankfully no more extra curricular activities were witnessed during the night {I assume he had learned his lesson after having a carton of juice hurled at his head the night before}.

We woke at 3.30am to find that Pedro's cat had eaten our stash of banana bread. You should have seen Sue's face. Luckily for him, the little bastard was keeping a low profile. Anyway, the incredibly early start was for a very good reason, as after staggered through the pitch black still half asleep, we were back in our sleeping bags, perched above the lake, sipping hot chocolate and huddled to keep warm, starring into the darkness, waiting for sunrise.

Slowly, as the minutes ticked by, we began to pick out the mountain ridge in the distance across the lake, as the sky started to turn from black to deep navy blue and then pink, as the sun rose behind them and active volanos puffed ash into the air. Gradually the edge of the like came alive too, as lights began to twinkle in the little villages that surround the lake, and the first fishing boats made their journey through the dawn mist. We were in the perfect spot to watch this beautiful landscape emerge and change, and night turned into day.

With tummys full of porridge and heavy legs, we began our dessent to San Juan and our final destination, stopping only for one last killer climb up 'the nose', which is the highest point around the lake for more incredible views. A hot shower, more rice and beans and and a couple of well deserved glasses of wine later, we were tucked up actual real beds, with real sheets and pillows, fast asleep by 9. Enough hiking for a while I think.

Viva la Revolucion?

It has been two weeks since I went to Oventic in search of the illusive Zapatista headquaters, high up in the Chiapan mountains, but until now I really have not been sure what I wanted to say about the whole thing. I still don´t. I went there with such anticipation and excitement, with such high expectations, that I guess it could never have lived up to my expectations.

Armed with a load of questions and a far better Spanish speaker than myself, I arrived at the gate of the main gate marked "Zapatista Territory. No drugs or weapons", with butterflies in my tummy and a lump in my throat. Faced with a balaclava clad guard, we both looked at each other wondering what on earth we were supposed to do now...

Sometime later, after being shunted from hut to hut, where we gave our names, handed over our passports and explained in our broken Spanglish that we wanted to learn more about the movement, what felt like at least 20 times, we found ourselves sitting across a desk from three Zapatista ´spokespersons´(obligatory ski masks firmly in place) and feeling incredibly nervous. We had a million things we wanted to ask, but first it was their turn.

Although we could only see their eyes, their somber tone and serious manner left us under no illusions that this was not some sort of holiday camp for wannabe revolutionaries to hangout and hear amazing stories of bravery and resistance. Their message was clear, and they wanted us to hear it straight.

They are fighting for the country of Mexico, not against it. They are fighting for all the Mexicans who are marginalised and exploited. All the indigenous Mexicans who have no rights.

Before 1994, the governmenet had never encountered resistance, but the Zapatista uprising changed this. It was the realisation of the need to stand up for reolutionary change in Mexico. For human rights, democracy, equality, independence, peace, education, health and bread.

The world took notice, and so did the governement, but after a bloody conflict, mass repression and subsequent promises, nothing changed. Agreements have not been honoured and the situation has not improved.

This is why they set up the five autonomous areas, called Caricoles (snails). Each zone has schools, clinics and operates its own ´good governance´ system, through which the people make the rules (including the recent banning of alcohol) independent from the Mexican state. Put simply, the governement didn´t listen, so they went and did it themselves.

Perhaps it was our Spanish, or theirs (their first language is a Mayan dialect) or both, or maybe they just didnt like the look of us, but aside from this matter of fact statement, delivered with the stern sincerity of someone who has watched their comrades die and would lay down their life just the same, we were unable to gain any further insight into their struggle.

I wanted to know more about how the Caricoles functioned (for example how their supported themselves financially, how decisions and laws were made, and even who decided who could live it one). I also wanted to know their attitude to mainstream politics (since their appointed figurehead Subcomendante Marcos led an ´anti all party´ election campaign, which it is widely believed contributed to election of the far right candidate rather than the left(ish) candidate, wh was said to have stood a good chance).

Finally, I wanted to know what the interational community could do to support their movement. They famously utilised the internet to galvenise support during the height of the conflict, but since then, their struggle has dropped off the international radar and out of our consciousness. What could we do to help and show solidarity? Their answer: Go back and tell our story.

So this is what I am trying to do now, but without any real engagement or insight it is really hard to write or say anything powerul anough to shock or move anyone into doing anything. And even if I could, what exactly do they want us to do?

I left Oventic confused, frustrated and deflated. Was that it? I wanted to be made to feel angry and inspired, but their was no buzz. It was just a peaceful community, going about their business, and trying to get on with their own lives. And they are it seems, so maybe we should just leave them to it...

Quetzaltenango - or Xela for short

It has taken me a little while to start liking Guatemala. Maybe it was just because Mexico was so incredible, but I think it was also the shock of arriving into a big, dirty, noisey and rather rough round the edges Xela. It has none of the Colonial grandure of the previous places I have been. No pretty squares, or parks or pretty artisan markets (which I now realsie it a good thing because I am not buying a load of crap). Instead, new arrivals are confronted with a confusing maze of uninviting grey grubby and delapidated streets, which all look the same, and just make you want to keep walking.

Its not surprising really when you think that Guatemala is only really now finally starting to draw a line under and move on from the devastating civil war which ravaged the country for decades and claim the lives of hundreds of thousands of people. Guatemala is one of the poorest countries in the Americas (ilitracy rates are the second highest in the Americas, beaten only by Haiti) and it shows.

Scratch below the surface though, and Xela is a hot-bed of activity. Hidden behind unmarked doorways the more inquisitive will find cosy little bars, seconf hand boutiques, not for profit Spanish schools, cafes that douible up as mini cinemas, womens weaving coopertaives (I am going to make myself a scarf!) and even a pretty pumping Salsa club. The best thing about Xela for me though? El Nahual!

Up a dirt track way out of town, and the overlooked by Central Americas biggest volcano, El Nahual and its project ´manos de colores´ is sandwiched between the city´s cemetary and one of Xelas poorest barrios. This is excatly where it should be of course, because its where the local kids come to learn, play and generally exhaust any volunteer who steps across the threshold into the chaos and is willing to get involved!

Between 3 and 5 everyday I am officially Maestra Kate (Caty) and I love it! For two whole hours I have a room stuffed full of kids and they are all mine! Noisey, naughty, filthy dirty and tearing about the place, they cause absolute chaos. The are totally brilliant. Today we learned our body parts. Heads, shoulders, knees and toes anyone? I am not sure how long I want to stay in Xela, but they certainly give me a reason to stick around!