Feria Fever

Feria (fair) happens once a year in San Se. The week-long festival honors Saint Sebastián who the pueblo is named after. Feria might be compared to town fairs or town “days” in the U.S. For my whole life at home, I experienced Maple Grove Days, where I worked at an over-populated pool, marched in a parade, or enjoyed fireworks. And in college, the city of Northfield became like kin to me, as I studied the story of the defeat of Jesse James and the Younger Gang, square danced with locals, watched the rodeo, or ran in the 15k.

In neither Maple Grove Days, nor Jesse James Days, did I ever feel pressured to witness and participate in everything…EVERYTHING. Since feria comes to San Se just once a year, Guatemalans do not take such attractions lightly. Peace Corps automatically forces an early bedtime, either due to waking up before dawn to travel up a mountain to school, or having friends who are 10-years-old or younger, who naturally go to bed earlier than a 20-something; however, my early bedtimes of the year past, made the feria all-nighters more challenging. If someone saw me making my way home at midnight, I was forced back to the park to watch people dressed in large cartoon-character costumes dance.

But perhaps it was the rueda (Ferris wheel) that proved most challenging in the wee-hours of the morning. The irregular eating schedule of constant street-food grazing might have been grounds for my Pepto Bismal dessert tablets, but for the first time in my amusement-ride-history, I felt nauseated. The rueda was operated with a small motor (maybe the size of one that belonged to a riding lawn mower), but the vueltas (turns) were fast enough to instill fear in even the most seasoned riders. Riding companions included an 11-year-old friend, a 21-year-old friend and her mother, and my site-mate. My total number of rides likely reached a dozen.

When the last day finally came and everyone seemed to be wandering in a sleep-deprived haze, we watched an impressive fireworks display and reveled in the community of San Sebastián, regardless of the long recovery time feria eventually forced.


A view of town from the medium-sized Ferris wheel, taken on one of many rides.


One of the more disturbing, yet awesome, costumes in the parade. The King of Pop is big in Guatemala.


A snippet from the grand finale fireworks at the end of the week.

12 months; 52 weeks; 365 days…

Written January 6, 2010

I’m at the year mark. I’ve officially been in the Peace Corps for one year. I have three months to go, before I’m at my year mark for having been sworn-in as a volunteer, but I think a year in-country was one of the first major hurdles.

And while a year has flown past me, relatively quickly, it’s a good time to think of all that passed in one year. In the last year, I have…

…said goodbye to friends and family at home, unsure when our next reunion would be.
…learned Spanish for the second time and used it to communicate, rather than complete a worksheet in high school.
…learned how to live on my own in a new world.
…intercepted four different families and lived with each for varied periods.
…eaten at least half my weight in tortillas and tamales.
…become an elementary school teacher of sorts.
…kept in contact with friends and family through emails, letters and phone calls, and come to know who is among my closest support network.
…seen two friends and a sister get married.
…said goodbye to my first Guatemalan host-mom who passed away in November.
…climbed to the highest point in Central America.
…ridden on public transportation day-in-and-day-out, ranging from large vans, pick-ups, trucks, and converted school buses (or otherwise known as the infamous camioneta or chicken bus).
…waited…and waited…and employed, as one fellow volunteer coined, “Zen levels of patience and cultural sensitivity.”

It’s been an enlivening, exhausting, thrilling, challenging, thought-provoking experience with about 100 different adjectives at the same time. I hope the next year continues to force acceptance, awareness, goals, justice, appreciation, humility, solidarity, values and progress.



Victory Climb - the summit of the Volcán Tajumulco. One year down.

Christmas in San Se

Once the fireworks began, Christmas had officially arrived; friends and family hugged and we got to eat our tamales. This was the very ambiguous sign for which I waited and anticipated the whole week before Christmas. As far as Christmas celebrations go, I can’t say that it was like anything I’ve experienced in the past, but the anticipation and the waiting and the quiet, followed by a fury of crackling in the streets and cheering from houses in the small pueblo of San Sebastián, led to a very rich experience to remember – one of the capstones to my first year in Peace Corps.

In years past, I’ve become accustomed to a church service in the early evening or late night, depending on the year. Relatives came to my family’s house, or we went to their houses. We would eat a big dinner. And often times, late at night, before we would go to bed, we would open gifts and prepare for more celebrating the next day.

Planted in my small town in Huehuetenango, I waited with the other Guatemalans who treated every hour until midnight much like any other day, completing various tasks or spending time with friends in nearby houses. But once 11:30 came around, we gathered and watched the clock, more than ready to eat and rejoice in the fact that Christmas had arrived.

I spent a couple hours with one family, waiting, watching the fireworks fill the sky, and devouring tamales in the half-coma that sets in when I wait to eat dinner after midnight. Later, I greeted my own Guatemalan family, the ones with whom I’ve lived during my months in-site, and gave the gifts my parents sent to share in the celebration from miles away. I ate four tamales and we went to bed around 2:30AM.

Christmas Day was rather tranquil, as we woke up late and lounged around, I played games with the kids, and we ate another meal. I’ve intercepted and adopted an entire family.

Oh, and the fireworks: if I ever had to describe my imagery of the Apocalypse, I’d likely describe Christmas Eve in Guatemala. Firecrackers burned in the streets and soaring explosives launched from house patios. Sometimes, in chaos, there is reason to celebrate.


Friends from town and me - just after midnight on Christmas.