On Monday morning I finally caught a bus back to Concepcion. In Guatemala you have to be aware of time when traveling as to not end up stranded in the evening somewhere. Around mid-afternoon I was near the Mexican border in a crossroads called Camojá. I got in a micro van to head east into the Huista region. It was raining and so the van was pretty warm and clammy inside. I had to get all the way into the back, like a little cave lined with old upholstery. I immediately realized I was about to freak out. I have some motion sickness and claustrophobia concerns that seem to only happen while traveling in Latin America. I thought: Suck it up, suck it up, it's only like 2 hours. Then the other side of my brain said: 2 hours?! No way, I'm freaking out. The micro driver started the engine and more people piled in. Just the thought of traveling like this, all the way in the back, no windows, getting over a cold, sweaty like a steamer - we hadn't even moved yet and I was in personal panic-mode. So I grabbed my backpack, told my fellow passengers I had "nausea" and bolted. It took me a bit to wriggle free from the cramped and stuffed human bodies that micro had packed in. Finally, standing in front of a butcher shop, rain pouring down, sweet fresh air, I felt free. The people in and on the micro were watching me and one guy rubbed his belly, made vomit motions and then smiled.

The next van came shortly and I got a front row window seat. And next to me sat another foreigner - which is pretty rare. Clearly she thought I was rare so she immediately said, Hola where are you from? She was from Spain, I mean Thpain, and was really hard to understand, but she told me about her work in the region over the past 5 months, how there's nothing to do, and she can't wait to leave. Oh, and that the people in Concepcion were clearly, as she saw it, in need of the most help. I told her I lived there for 2 years and she stared a me for a second and said, Really? Anyway, she was very nice, offered me a place to stay at her house in case there weren't any rides further on my journey and gave me the quintessential cheek-kiss Euro goodbye. It's funny how I am, with my American customs, I thought. I caught another van over to Jacaltenango around 6pm, a little late by Guatemala travel standards.

In Jacal I jumped out of the van and quickly headed to the Concepcion bus stop - nothing. So I walked up to the main road and waited by the cruce to Concepcion - nothing. It was getting dark. Some boys were walking up the road and I asked them if they were going to Concepcion and if they were going to walk. It would probably be a 2 hour walk up the mountain. They looked at me like, Yeah duh we're walking - there's no more rides! Off they went and I stood there a little while longer. Finally I gave up because it was getting darker and I was alone and, yeah, it's just safer to not go at this point. Plus I had a great backup plan, which was to visit Doña Anjelica (who used to live in Concepcion but now lives in Jacaltenango). Just as I started walking back down into town, a guy I know went by on a motorcycle. I thought: Did I just give up the chance for an evening motorcycle ride through the mountains?! Oh no!!! Oh well, it will be nice to rest and catch up with Doña Anjelica.

I did a double-take when I got to what I thought was Doña Anjelica's house because there was a party going on inside. I checked the plaque on the door: Silvestre Recinos - yup that's the house. So I peeked in the cracks of the windows and saw a lot of indigenous ladies sitting along a wall.

Knock, knock.

A man answered and then called for Doña Anjelica. Ay, mi preciosita Seño como estas? Ya viniste. She has a way with words. She is the most dramatic speaker, kind of whining everything and then always using -ito and sure to exaggerate - it's awesome. Sure enough I had arrived in time to help celebrate Doña Anjelica's mom's 73rd birthday.

We ate tamales of rice and pork, drank coffee and ate cake. The room was filled with the birthday señora's old friends, and especially about 6 old indigenous ladies already drinking beer. As soon as we all ate, they pushed back the tables and put on the music. Doña Maria Santo and Doña Manuela asked me to dance the most. The traditional dance is done in pairs with the man in toward the middle of the circle, and basically you just shuffle around in a circle.

I used to work with Doña Anjelica's daughter, Rosita, during Peace Corps. She complimented me on my improved dance skills. Rosita got married about 3 years ago and had a daughter. Her young husband always seemed a bit detached and this night she confessed to me that he had been seeing another girl, had been going out and drinking, but has changed now. And he doesn't really want her to be working, even though she does. She just got a really good job teaching Popti' in the local national junior high in Jacal.

After awhile the señoras started dancing, hugging, crying, fighting, dancing, and crying some more. Doña Maria told me that the song we were dancing to reminded her of a very dear friend. Years ago they promised each other they would think of the other when they heard the song. Then she said, but I lost him during the war, I don't know where he is... She said they lost a lot of people who were guerrillas. And 2 other came up and told me, as they were hugging, that they had survived so many years of pain, alcoholic husbands, but were still friends and alive to talk about it. They told me that twice. Doña Manuela held my hand and cried and said that a whole life of poverty was too much. Each song the pairs switched up and I just keep shuffling in a circle realizing that I was dancing with a bunch of young girls, young señoritas but 50 years later. Doña Maria let out a few "iiiiiiiyyyy" and said, "Those old times will never be back" as she wiped away tears with her shawl.

It seemed like a secret place that night. Dancing with the señoras, talking to Rosita, eating tamales, sharing a beer with Doña Maria, and listening to them speak in Popti' about pain, love, war and friendship. I crashed out in Brenda's room (Brenda is Anjelica's oldest daughter, about 24 or so, who studies medicine on scholarship in Cuba, always visiting this time of year) and slept well.

The next morning at 6 am I was up and on my way to Concepcion. I visited, said some goodbyes, gave Luciano's mom some bread I had brought for them from Xela. Pisyanh she said, Please sit. Chinto han b'ey Xela...tinanh, I said, I have to leave and go to Xela today. Chijil kob'a yinh octubre yeb' kuyum Americano, I told her, I'll see you in October and bring my Dragons students. K'ultik'a xin, Ahh ok, she said. We'll see each other then, Chijil kob'a.

Hard to believe but I actually got back on a bus and headed to Xela. I've never traveled to Concepcion so many times in such a short time. Back through Jacal, to San Antonio, back out to the highway, down to Huehue and then to Xela. It takes 7-9 hours each way. There were moments of glory, though, and I avoided the back row of small vans. Down the Inter-American highway, through the Mam towns I had a whole bus seat to myself. I sprawled my legs out long and watched the mountains pass, the bus playing the Kumbia Kings super loud and about 10 boxes of Mexican eggs in the seat behind me.