New Home

We have finally moved into our new home. It´s part of a spanish school not unlike the one T and I are studying in. It´s one of those old falling-down Xela houses that has an enormous sunny courtyard, and cloisterlike corridors around the edge, where the rooms are situated. It´s really lovely. Yesterday, as we struggled across town, weighed down with our luggage, plus all the guatemalan fabrics we have now acquired I suddenly felt distressed. I hadn´t thought for a moment that I would feel regretful at leaving the host family, but I suppose it was easy, comfortable, a safety net. Here we have to look after ourselves. Our next step along the road that we have planned to take.

This morning, however, I feel much nicer, and settled already (I think the more often you move house, the less time it takes you to settle in), I love the yellow painted walls, the guatemalan fabric wall hangings, and the sunny courtyard where flowers grow all year round. Less cool is the back of a pizza delivery place right outside my window, with motorbikes nipping in and out all day. Still, nothing is *totally* perfect.

Amusingly, the landlord here plays the panpipes (really big ones, almost as big as he is!) and last night we were treated to the incongruity of á breathy rendition of ´we wish you a merry christmas´ rasping along the red tiled corridors, cooling after being baked by the hot sun of the afternoon.

I nearly bought a flute yesterday. 1500 quetzales (12 Q to the pound). It was a close thing. It would have meant we couldnt eat for 2 weeks, but it was almost worth it. I wish I´d bought mine with me. How I mocked T for bringing his clarinet (which he hasn´t played!!!!), but now I must eat my words. I guess the obvious thing is for me to learn to play the clarinet!

The president visited Xela on Thursday. I heard helicopters in the sky (which you never hear in Xela), and sure enough he was doing some economic thingie in the square. The amount of military presence was pretty offputting, and you couldn´t walk more than a few paces without bumping into a small bundle of kaki-clad muscle, with a very large gun. Disconcertingly, these guys were actually pointing them, as opposed to the guys at the bank, who wear them carelessly slung around their shoulders like a fashion accessory. Still, Berger has gone now. Back to his business of trying to weave the tatters of this country´s political system into some sort of fabric.

Enough for today. The sun is shining, and it´s almost time for sunday lunch!