Un caminata

El Mundial (the World Cup) has started and its effects are felt in full force here in Xela. This morning before going on a hike put on by our school, three of us went out for breakfast. At 7am, the restaurant we went to had the game on not one, but two screens, one of them almost wall sized. While I don't follow futbol (and, I must admit, prefer watching American football), I do enjoy watching games when they're available. So I can't quite get into the gripped place that many here are experiencing, but I definitely respect it.

The hike itself was spectacular. Five of us students went with two teachers from our school, both of whom were involved in the guerrilla in various ways. One was based in the city in a non-armed role. The other had been a combatant in the very area we were hiking in. Our intended destination was a former guerrilla encampment in which he had lived, at various times (it was a temporary camp), throughout the early 1990s. He entered the guerrilla when he was younger than Ella or I are now, because he saw all other options exhausted.

He talked about life as a guerrilla combatant, both in that camp and in general. He said that it is important to remember that was is not a game and is not to be entered into lightly, without trying every other possible outcome first. We seven stood on hallowed ground - ground on which people had died trying to bring about a better existence (no, not just an existence, but a life) for their communities and all of their compatriots. They would rotate one-hour shifts as the night watchperson. They carried bags of 50 to 100 pounds with them everywhere, in the sun, in the rain, through the mountains, and on 'paths' much narrower than the (narrow!) ones we used this morning.

[One thing I learned this morning was that I would have made a terrible guerrillera. Though I said this and the other teacher told me, "Con practica...", as in, 'it took everyone some time to get good at it; you'd figure it out.' I still think I would be awful, but it was good of him to say that.]

The main teacher who led us knew the area like the back of his hand. When we went back up (and down, and up - we had gone down through a valley), he had another student act as the guide. But any time we needed to be pointed in the right direction -- and we went up a different way than we went into the valley -- he was able to tell us exactly where we were and how to get up to the highway.

The main point the teacher wanted to drive home was the importance of using one's experiences to re-commit oneself to the struggle for justice, in whatever form one enters that current. (It's interesting, the word that folks here use to describe joining the guerrilla seems to be a lot deeper than just 'joining' something like a club. It is more toward a complete devotion of oneself, with intention; turning over one's whole being to a larger cause. Not so much in a mob mentality sort of way, but with great concern for others as well as oneself.)


The first Friday night graduation celebration of my time at PLQ was last night. It's always a blast. We sing, we eat, we dance, we drink, we celebrate the teachers and the students. Lot's of fun all around. It is one of the many, many things I love about this particular school. (And if anyone is looking to attend a Spanish school, I would HIGHLY recommend PLQ to you. Folks here now who have been to other schools can't stop marveling at how connected the students are, even though most of us are traveling on our own, and how much the school encourages us to deepen our experience and learning through the activities they put on.) I can't believe that a whole week has gone by of my four short weeks here.