DAY 23...LAST DAY OF INSTRUCTION

DAY 23

1:00 pm. My last day of instruction is over. It’s a tradition that students leaving the school make a speech on the last Friday, so I did mine. I know I missed one subjunctive moment…saw Javier flinch slightly and I know I used one subjunctive where it wasn’t supposed to be, but anyway, got through it and meant what I said.

Have been really concerned about how not to loose whatever I have gained here when I get back to San Miguel, which is a little strange since it is a Spanish speaking country, but we know the problem with foreigners who can’t or won’t speak Spanish and Mexicans who insist on speaking English and then just the fact that for many of us English is our first language and it’s natural to revert to it amongst ourselves. Anyway, am just trying to come to terms with the fact that the situation is not going to change in San Miguel no matter how much I wish it would and that I have to do something different. The good news is that Javier is willing to continue helping me. And that is really wonderful. I gave him today my copy of the Zafón book….Juego de Ángeles, and I will pick up another copy in the airport in Mexico City and we will form a 2 person book club and discuss the book by skype!! And since the guy is writing a spanish textbook for English speakers, I will check his English and then we will trade English and Spanish lessons by skype. This is so good I can hardly believe it.

Now am back at the apartment. This place is deserted which is just fine with me. I need to go pack now and move to the hotel close to the shuttle service. I am hoping that I can pack and get over there before the inevitable rain hits. The idea of dragging my very large suitcase (remember?) along the muddy pathway is not appealing at all. I admit that my room has come to look like a Guatemalan textile shop. Hope I have room for everything.

Whops, there is that cool breeze that precedes the rain.

2:30 pm. Ok. Almost packed, including the Guatemalan textile shop. I know I will be over weight for the flight from Chiapas, but I will worry about that when I get to San Cristóbal de las Casas. And the rain hasn't started yet, but you can bet it will and I want to be safe and sound at Hotel Lola when it does. The Blond Beautifuls are wondering around half naked again. Cute.

3:10 pm. Here I go dragging my huge suitcase along the path, over the 3 drainage ditches, through the little coffee plantings and past the skinny horses munching, eventually reaching the street which leads down to the dock to Santiago. There I wait with a bunch of other people for tuc-tucs. Eventually, one comes and everyone gets into the little thing which is actually already full with just my luggage. And up to the top of the hill to the centro and back down because the streets through to this side of the harbor are too narrow even for the tuc-tucs. These nice people at the little hotel that is costing me $12 usa have everything waiting and take me to the room. Everything is very simple and very clean and the place is right on the water. One more task and I am in permanent departure mode, so I take the keys to the apartment back to the school and head back to the hotel along the back paths and decide today, if there every was day, is the day for a swim. I find an absolutely wonderful place and get in, paddling around like a very white fish or maybe frog. When it begins to look like rain, I think that I had better get back to the hotel or it will rain and I will be sitting in wet clothes for at least a day because things dry very slowly.

For those who are interested: there are apparently no mosquitoes here. At least I haven’t met any. Strange, eh? All this water, etc, but, no …there are virtually no screens and everything is open. I did hear one girl complain about mosquitoes, but I can only wonder where she was hanging out.

I jump into my clothes, balancing precariously on rocks jutting out over the water trying not to get anything wet and then take off straight up the hill, climbing across weed covered boulders, leaping like some kind of a goat and eventually, despite misgivings, reach the top. I wanted to do this because I had found this place before on an excursion and I thought it felt like a sacred place. It’s on a point of land jutting into the lake, the highest place around, stunning views of the volcanoes and huge trees with bark like European beeches, but strange pre-historic leaves.

It’s a little like a druid clearing. I know, I know: wrong continent. But it feels like that and, what’s more, there are fire pits up here with half-burnt flowers circling the space. It just feels like something is going on here and even if it nothing, it is still magically quiet and, well, magic.

And back at the hotel I manage to find an outlet that has 3 prongs so that I can write this. I am sitting in the little portales of the hotel just outside my window with the cord to the 3-pronged outlet trailing out the window, just reaching me and my plastic chair. A light breeze blows from the lake in front of me, one of the last boats arrives to San Pedro for the evening and from the top of the mountains just on the other side cottony clouds begin cascading towards the lake. Somewhere there is deep thunder. The evening rain is on its way. And it is massively cozy sitting here with almost chilly temperatures and the grey evening closing in around us.

I think the rest of this little hotel is filled with Israelis and, strangely, Hebrew sounds a little like the Mayan. I know those children of Israel wandered around, but….do you think?

Before I go looking for dinner, I am having a definite urge to brag. My last assignment for Javier was to write a letter to an unborn child whom you will never see because you are leaving on a trip and will never return. Sort of scary, isn’t it. It was actually really sad to write it. But it’s a great chance to use every verb tense conceivable. And so here it is and here I am, venturing into really new areas of Spanish (for me):

Querido niño:

No sé siquiera si debo saludarte como querido niño o querida niña, ni conozco tu nombre. Pero sé que tú en esos días estás en espera de entrar el mundo y al mismo tiempo yo tengo que salir para siempre del mundo que tu conocerás. Que irónico y que doloroso, este destino.

En los años que entran tu habrás oído las historias de como salió tu padre a un viaje y como nunca regresó. Y yo sé que nunca te veré y que tú nunca me verás y por eso tengo ganas de decirte muchas cosas por medio de esta carta que una dama desconocida te habrá entregado. Entiendo que tú puedas creer que yo no tenga el derecho de decirte nada porque no he sido parte de tu vida. Y podré entender y aceptar que te sientas así. Sin embargo hay unas cosas que te quisiera haber dicho. Si tú quisieras conocerme mejor, podrías leer más.

Antes que nada, esperaría que hubieras encontrado felicidad aunque tu padre te dejó una herencia de incertidumbre y tristeza. Querría que tuvieras coraje y que siguieras, en todo lo que hicieras, los deseos profundos de tu corazón. Esperaría que encontraras un mundo lleno de oportunidades en que pudieras vivir y en que realizaras cada uno de tus sueños. Esperaría también que te viera un día aunque no habláramos, aunque solamente nos pasáramos en una calle desconocida.

Desearía que el vacío, que te dejé, pudiera ser rellenado de amigos quienes te quisieran mucho, quienes te animaran cuando sintieras no poder continuar, que encontraras un gran amor quien pudiera ser tu gran compañero en todo lo que la vida te llevara.

Bueno, quisiera que supieras que en alguna manera estaré siempre contigo, siempre llorando nuestra separación y odiando al mundo que te me robó cuando cerré la puerta antes de ese amanecer que no podré olvidar.

Con cariño desde demasiada distancia,

Tu padre, Joseph

The microbus leaves tomorrow morning at 6:30. I really hope this velador wakes me up. Starving.