We were both annoyed when our alarm went off at 4:50 am on our first Saturday in San Pedro. Sleep weighed heavy on our eyes and we wanted nothing more than to roll over and ignore the incessant beeping. Still groggy, I forced myself out of bed and began preparing our packs for the day. We had to hurry if we were to be on time meeting the rest of the group. Once Zach was up, we had a quick breakfast of corn flakes, which Rosario had set out for us the night before, and ran out the door. Pedro and the others were already waiting for us when we arrived.
During our time in San Pedro, the school arranged for me and Zach to live with a local Guatemalan family. After nine months of living in the van, our new home felt luxurious. We had a large, private bedroom, hot showers on demand and three meals each day provided for us. Our host “parents”, Rosario and Pedro, were a young couple of Mayan descent who spoke both Spanish and Tz’utujil, but very little English. Not poor by any means, they make a modest but comfortable living and work extremely hard each day for what they have.
When our trip was in its initial phases, as in still just a pipedream, we always agreed a layover for a few weeks of Spanish classes on our way down to Argentina would be an important part of it. We didn’t know where and we didn’t know when, but we were certain we would make it a priority. For one reason or another, perhaps because we began feeling pressure to speed up our pace, I noticed our language regarding classes begin to change; what started as a “Yes, definitely” was becoming a “Well, maybe..”