part one of three: things we are...

So, first things first, we're in Guatemala city, boarding a plane for the USA in a few hours. See you soon... Anyways, this is the first installment of a series we have been contemplating for the last few weeks as we prepare to leave Guatemala. Below is our first list, with items in no particular order. Things We Are NOT Going to Miss -The neighbor rooster and his duck friends. These animals are in such poor shape that sometimes it's hard to hate them... but, damn. They're so smelly and so loud- all the time. I'm looking forward to setting my own alarm. -Getting upcharged. The main reason for this is because I'm white. It is the nature of a culture who competes in a market for foreigner's money to assume that every white person has a lot of money and can be coaxed, forced or exacerbated in to exchanging money for something or just handing it out. And while I don't mind paying for goods and services, I've been here long enough to know money discrimination. On the upside, I've honed my haggling and bargaining skills, which hopefully will be beneficial in the future. But I am really sick of being asked to pay more for something when I know what the locals are paying for the same thing. *The lack of price tags on anything makes this system, not only possible but entirely cyclical. More about that in part three... -General chinga. We've talked a lot about this already. And the kicker is: just when you think you've gotten used to being fucked over and have lowered your expectations as such, they surprise you with another setback. Ejemplo: Our shuttle ride to the city was just going too well. We were promised a privado and directo, and ended up being jammed pack (likely over capacity) in the bus; then got stuck in traffic for an hour in Antigua (where we made an-out-of-the-way stop). Then, to top it off, Kevin called our hotel to tell them we would be late, and they told him that they gave our reservation to someone else AND moved us to another hotel. Somehow it works out, but just so you get the idea... -The basic assumption that I'm a tourist. Again, this is another example of us hating our white priveledge. But the owner of Hotel San Francisco in San Pedro continues to ask me every single time I walk by whether I want a hotel room. Not all gringos are fresh off the boat from Panajachel. For the 57th time, the answer is no. Same thing goes for travel agents asking if I want to take a coffee tour. This is even worse because most of the time they take the tourists to FEDEPMA, and I'm the person that gives the tour. -The machismo attitude. This bothers Stacy a lot more than it bothers me. In a small way, I don't mind, because compared to the guys saying "Hola chiiiicaaa," I actually look like a gentleman. -Being yelled at in English, for a joke. Just because you know how to say "hello," "thank you," and "what's up?" doesn't make it funny to yell it in your most obnoxious, terribly accented voice when you drive by in a tuk-tuk. This is the same reason I do not yell "ARIGATO!!!" every time I see someone who looks Japanese. -Washing clothes by hand. This is not about laziness. It is hard on your skin, hard on your clothes and really hard on your back. Sometimes I don't mind being outside, but I'm pretty tired of washing for hours, waiting days for clothes to dry only to find out they're not that clean... It is partly about laziness. It takes hours. The washing machine takes a while, too, but I don't have to be there the whole time, and my back doesn't hurt afterwards. Plus, machine-dried clothes don't have the consistency of cardboard. -Reggaeton. It's the worst in the morning. But imagine hearing it all day and night. In tuk tuks and stores and restaurants... -Putting tp in the trash can. Guatemala 101: you cannot put anything other than excrement into a toilet. Ever. The sewage system all over the country is just not capable of dealing with paper. Thus, all bathrooms are smelly. Like really smelly. And most public ones don't bother to take the trash out often. As a result of paper staying in the can, most of the toilet paper sold is con aroma, which means it's scented. Good for bathrooms, bad for noses. It's suffocating to blow your nose with scented tp. Needless to say, I can't wait to flush. -The fucking tassles. Both of our blankets have tassles at the top. Sometimes they get in your ear, nose, mouth. An unpleasant way to wake up. -Our suicide shower. Morning cleanliness, with a side of electric shock. Most showers in Latin America are heated with an electric current at the faucet. To make things worse, the water's only hot in increments of 20 seconds or so. -Stacy's starlted/scared noise. It's the same goddamn sound whether it's a scorpion or a mosquito, or if I happen to spill a single drop of water on the table. It's the type of startled gasp that's really only befitting of the rare instance when you see an axe murderer in the window. Every time I hear it my heart rate jumps about 70 bpm, because it really does sound like I should be worried or scared, and it's rarely worth the excitement. Point taken. However, in my defense, I can't help it. (Yes, that's my defense.) It's a reflex reaction, and I get it from my mother. And further more, Kevin may not miss this about being in Guatemala, but I'm afraid it's something that travels with me... -The nightly moth (and spider) killing ritual. I don't like bugs. So there. I spy, Kevin strikes. As noted in the previous item, he is not a fan of this ritual because it usually begins with 'startled/scared noise. And I am aware that moths and spiders and mosquitos are not exempt from anywhere, I'll be glad to sleep in a shelter that doesn't have holes in the structure and roof. -Being asked how much our things cost. Really, talking about how much things I own cost just makes me uncomfortable in almost only situation. Add on top of that we're in Guatemala. When we first got down here, I was a bit worried that the people asking were thinking about robbing us when they asked, for example, how much my bike costs. Even after I got over that, it's just a reality that things in the US cost a lot more than they do in Guate, and I felt almost guilty saying that my rain jacket costs $XX, when $XX might be more than some Guatemalans makein a week. So, when asked, both of us took it upon ourselves to not answer the question.