days are too short and one lives in a day, a thousand years....krishnamurti

i left to eat at 7.00. of course, i had

been awake at 5.21 but i stayed in bed listening to the others getting up, preparing themselves, leaving. i am almost always the first up in the casa de los voluntarios, even before the orientadores many days. on a good day, when they are not hung over, or when they don´t turn off their alarms, or when they take their job seriously, they are up

at roughly 4.30 to go and be substitute moms and dads.

i returned to where i had stopped for a cup of coffee the day before, where these australians had stopped and struggled with a coconut and a machete for about an hour. i was attracted by the prices and the ambiance. the view was of an uncolonized island (see pastel drawing). i ordered and waited, hoped for a high protien breakfast, large enough to fill me for a six hour ride into the mountains where i wouldn`t have to worry about mosquitos and where i could actually wear one of the two sweaters i brought. i wasn`t disillusioned: eggs, beans, fried bananas, wheat bread and a shake of milk, papaya and banana. all for three dollars.

a woman entered yawning as she sat down at the bar looking out at the lake. i said, ¿llegas con sueño tan temprano? and from there began the conversation, friendly, unexpected, always with a bit of caution. this is what i don`t like about traveling, this is what i don`t like about myself. i always ask myself: what do they want? what is motivating this stroke of friendliness? is is another trap for the tourist, for the stranger? it is a state that doesn`t allow anyone to be in the moment. the woman, according to her, is from flores, but lives in the capital. her son is studying in notre dame with a wife who is studying at the university of chicago. the woman, according to her, studies and practices reiki. she has been separated from her husband and the big house for eight years. in the end, she hugged me with a squeeze and told me she loved me. it impressed me, but i still checked my bag and pockets to verify that nothing was missing. nothing personal, but there are just things that you don`t want to happen twice.

after buying materiel to make some shirts, i gathered my things and walked the mile to the terminal de rositas. the direct bus to coban was to leave at 2, so i decided to do the journey piecemiel, a bus here and then a bus there. but they weren't buses. rather mini-vans are the new trend in trasportation, at least for this side of guatemala. to sayechè: 20Q ($2), muy bien, no problema. and it wasn't a problem to arrive at sayeché and see a river without a bridge. on one side mini-vans and buses, and on the other side more mini-vans and buses. not a problem that 2Q and a covered canoe couldn't solve, but when i woke up that morning, i hadn't imagined this in my day. no, the most intersting was the big platform coming from the other side with trucks loaded on the big stage powered by four small boat engines positioned like four tires, covered with palm tree roofs to protect the four drivers. if my words fail to produce an adequate image, see the photo provided. look close and see what ingenious minds will create with what is available.

i don`t think i can continue in this vain...the journey was interesting while i lived it, but to write about it as a journal entry for all to see, bores me!

the saga continues with a literal stop in the middle of the road to change mini-vans and blah, blah, blah.... i should just focus on getting the pics downloaded and up.

a travel journal might not be what this blog becomes.