Holy, Week!

Holy Week is quite a big deal in Latin America, to say the least. For a Christian-dominated country where religion is the centerpiece of practically any event- be that a casual monthly office meeting or good-bye party- Holy Week is kind of a big deal.

Although last year I thoroughly enjoyed Semana Santa with friends at Guatemala's No. 1 surfing destination, Sipacate, the 8 hour bus trip turned into a 16 hour nightmare- packed buses with people hanging out and riding on top, and two-lane roads turned into five-lane standstills that lasted forever, which left us walking a good stretch to avoid the bus that had turned into a Finnish sauna- minus the cold weather and drinks to look forward to directly afterwards.

So, because of a combination of traveling to the Peace Corps center two weeks in a row, as well as not seeing the festivities in town last year, I opted to stay put and take advantage of my five-day holiday in site. And that's exactly what I did.

There wasn't much going on Wednesday and Thursday, but I was looking forward to the processions and the decorative rugs (made from colored wood shavings) on the streets on Friday. My site mate, Lauren, is involved in the youth group at the Catholic church in town, so I made sure to ask her what time the processions would be so I wouldn't miss them.

The night preceding Good Friday I got a phone call at 315am. Half-asleep and confused, I picked up. It was Lauren. I got a bit of a fright for a second, thinking something may have happened with her. She told me she was outside my door and she needed my hose to help make the rugs on the street.

I hung up and checked the time again. Yup, indeed it was 315am, and she left with my hose.

And Lauren had officially become culturally integrated.

Much to my dismay, when I woke up in the morning I ran straight to the bathroom. It seems like I have been having an on-again, off-again stomach bug since late December, and unfortunately that caused me to miss all of the processions in town. By mid-afternoon, though, I was feeling a bit better so I ventured out into town to see what was going on, but sadly everything had finished up, and all was left were the chalked outlines of the rugs on the pavement.

All photos care of Lauren:

The rug-making commenced at 230am- ¡púchica!

Bittersweet: after 7 hours of hard work, it gets walked on. Así es la vida.

Lauren had mentioned that a group was going to the (newly-filled with fresh water) town pool on Saturday morning. I jumped at the opportunity to do some long-awaited laps and just enjoy a peaceful Saturday morning at the pool.

Or so I thought.

As we approached the pool, there was a sizable crowd gathered along the fencing. We paid our Q1 ($0.12) entrance and made our way in and started off by jumping off the high-dive into the deep end. It was so nice to get back into the water- I didn't realize how much I missed it until suiting up and getting in.

After about an hour or so, they announced that there was going to be a swimming competition. Music to my ears! Lauren, Abby (another PCV from the next town over) and I lined up beneath the diving boards. Three gringas competing against one another in front of what grew to be a crowd of 300+ conservative indigenous spectators.

I never heard cheers so loud.

Although it was fun to compete against Lauren and Abby, I wanted to race some locals. Since the women's competition only consisted of the three foreigners in town, I took it upon myself and entered myself in the men's competition.

Eight indigenous men that do hard manual labor in the fields everyday, one gringa, 50 meters (two laps).

Oh- did I mention I swam for 15 years- competitively?

I just thought it was too good of an opportunity to let slip through my fingers- I mean, when else would I be able to show half the town- men, women and children- that women can excel over men in sports? If that wasn't good enough, I also managed to impress everyone with a reallycrappy flip turn.

One thing I did feel bad about- and did not know- is that there was a monetary prize for competing. I tried to decline, but Q50 (~6.25 USD) for the women's, and Q25 (~3.12 USD) for the men's competition was shoved in my hand, with the promise that I would buy a beer for Elvio, the prize distributor.

The crowd around and inside the pool- this is only about one quarter of the people who were watching.

Some had better views than others from high above.

The diving competition with fully-clothed participants- sneakers included.

Lauren's award-winning dive that won her 1st place in the diving competition. The gringas dominated.

But it wasn't until the next evening that I was basking in my glory. As I was walking down my long cobblestone road into town to get some dinner, I passed by three boys. They asked me when I was going to go swimming next? I asked if they wanted to race me?

Their response? "YES!"