d be there during Guatemalas Independence day..these dam fiestas just keep following me around. The first weekend we stayed at Casa Argentina fighting off the Pulgas (fleas) and did a walk up to Laguna de Chicobel. I was told it would be a stroll but it actually it was a 3 hour walk straight up the side of the volcanoe to the lagoon, walking through clouds, volcanic ash and the rain. We reached the spooky lagoon, clouds sitting plump and heavy on the water only allowing around 3 metres of view of the vast lagoon, so we skidded back down the slippy tracks to the beautiful village at the base and into the chicken collectivo.
After the first weekend we moved out the pulga hostel and away from the pinche thieving travellers and the crazy old woman who was obsessed that I had stolen her cups, constantly demanding if i’d returned them at 6am. We moved in with a lovely guatemalan family and began spanish school.....
In between trying to cram a million verbs in our heads, Bruce & joined in the Independencia clebrations watching more than 40 brass bands parade through Xela’s streets and spill into the
Square. It was bizzare as the bands was playing strict military stylee music while the schools dressed their 12 yr old girls up like hookers and 
asked to grind like they mean it.....
A few days later was the festival of San Mateo. Once again the parade went straight past the door to the school and after failing to scream verb conguations we went and joined in. Parque Central was filled, church bells ringing, chinese fire crackers hung everywhere and set off without the english fire works code. A statue of Mary moved slowly round the square carried by school girls (more modestly dressed...the nuns were there!) followed by priests, mayans swinging smoking insence and the people hiding under umbrellas from the sun or the rain whichever would come first. Mary was showered in glitter and the obligatory big drums and painfully out of tune trumpets played along. Behind this came the vans advertising compaines like Gallo- the national Beer, belching out Guatemalas national Herione ‘Shakira Shakira’.
After this we went 1 hour further in the mountains to the town of San Mateo, the festivals namesake. It was a beautiful non exsistent town amdist darkening mountains where all the Mayan woman wore colourful wraps around their heads, patchwork dresses and aprons, and the Cabelleros in jeans, stiff shirts and cowboy hats. 
Other that that I filled my days with mantra-ing verbs, salsa lessons, partying with crazy Guate chicas, hijacking the Gallo Bus, on a continual search for non-parasital spinach and avoiding the men with big guns who were making sure that the gallo vans didnt get hijacked, while Bruce got a boy band hair cut and became Xela Whos biggest footy fan
