It’s wind-down time for me, sad. I am satisfied with how the trip panned out. The beginning was a little rough—I remember feeling like 10 weeks was way too many, but after I reached 3 weeks, 10 seemed just fine. The research, while frustrating at times, was a great experience and I think we accomplished all our tasks (understand the region, talk to people, figure out what sorts of banking exists, help Marco Tulio with his stoves, make some business contacts). I will be interested to return in a couple years and see what has developed in terms of MAPLE’s presence here. My Spanish has gone from nearly nothing to being efficient, if not ridden with grammatical mistakes. I’ve gotten to see almost all the geographical regions and sites, apart from Tikal and more of Cóban.

And I’ve had the best experience with this family. In past couple weeks, I’ve gotten a lot closer to the cousins and am just trying to soak them in because I know that the next time I come back, a lot will have changed. Of course that’s true of people in general—they grow up, it’s just a fact of life, but here, the growing up happens a lot sooner and the next time I visit, a lot of the kids will be in college or married, and there will be more babies.  Edgar, who is 16 and is kind of my buddy, won’t be as silly or carefree as he is now. He’ll learn what stress is and will be busy working on engineering projects in the capitol, rather than playing 35097 games of spoons with me and pestering me about my novio from Parque Central (which I don’t have). And if her health continues to decline, there’s a good chance that Mama Mari won’t be around, and I can’t even picture what the family would be like without the grandma, nor can I imagine the grandpa without her. Fortunately, all the aunts and uncles won’t change much because they’re all at a pretty stable point in their lives, and the little kids will just be a little bit bigger, but I’m closest with the high school crew and they’re the ones who will be most different. Big change happens at the same age in the US, but college seems a lot more enjoyable in the States (here it’s like a full-time job; mindset and attitude seem to change from being light-hearted to being serious all time), and I’m not too worried that Molly will be finding a husband and settling down any time soon (although Grandma Frank would smile upon her from “Cloud 9” if she did). There’s a good chance that these little guys will act more like adults than I will the next time I see them, and they’re already like 4 years younger. So yes, saying goodbye to the kids who won’t be kids much longer will be the hardest part of leaving. I guess if I ever decide to have some of my own, I should get them from another country or because usually I am not this sentimental over children.

On a lighter note, I’m ready for a hot shower, a roof that isn’t tin (hard to sleep in the rain), mornings without roosters, a sewer system that allows toilet paper to be flushed, to wear something besides the three outfits I’ve been cycling through, to use ice cubes, to have more control over my stomach and diet, and to breath the air of a country that has regulates emissions.  It will also be nice to see family and simply be at my house because I’ve only been there for like 2 nights of the past 5 months. And I’m surprised to say it, though I suppose it’s a good thing…I’m really looking forward to going back to Oregon, to school, and to being with my friends (although I’m sure I’ll take like 2 weeks to get over the excitement and back into the rainy routine).

I need to buy books, rearrange my entire schedule, and figure out what to do with my life (or the next two years of it), and all those thoughts make me want to stay here for a lot longer, but 2.5 months is enough time to get to know a small country and I think I did a pretty thorough job of it, so I guess it’s time to get back on the grind and face those responsibilities J.

Saturday was the best day ever. I’ve had my fair share of adrenaline adventures, but never as many concentrated into a single day. Semuc Chamey and the Caves of Lanquín have been my most-anticipated destination from Day 1, and the trip went beyond expectations. After assuming a cozy position on an eight-hour shuttle, I was seriously considering the decision to go, but it was totally worth being sandwiched between the driver, the stick shift, and the largest Guatemalan man I’ve ever seen (most are very tiny, but this guy must have eaten two of his amigos or something). I had to put my arms up and hold onto the overhead storage compartment because a) Guatemalan Giganticus was all up in my bidnezz and b) because much of it was a dirt/gravel road and it was dark outside, so we hit all the potholes. At one point, we stopped in an alley with only a church in visible operation and were told we had 20 minutes to find and eat dinner. Super. Since the shuttle driver disappeared, leaving our van with lights on, doors unlocked, and a massive pile of luggage on the roof rack, another guy and I decided we’d better stay with the van and I had my second Saltine dinner of the Great Guatemalan Adventure. It’s the economical choice at 50 cents for 48 crackers. Mind you, this was the first trip I’ve signed up for through an actual travel agency, and well…it wasn’t much different from figuring everything out myself.

FINALLY, we arrived at the hostel. The only downside was the Brahva Girls who had picked that night to grace the bar with their presence atop the tables. So much for a quiet sleeping environment—I think I prefer the rooster.

However, Saturday made up for all discomforts and inconveniences. Everything was awesome, including our tour guide (and not only because his God-given name was Elvis). It began as sort of a jungle safari in a pick-up truck that took us to Grutas Rey Marcos, which are caves that go more than a kilometer into the earth. Good Karma comes to those who ride 8 hours with their hands above their head, and I was the only one who got to ride inside the pick-up. Everyone endured a long, windy, rocky ride in the bed. (This was especially satisfying because we got stuck with the whiniest group of British girls in the world—they caused us to leave an hour late because they wanted to eat breakfast and woke up late, then continued to do other annoying things all day, so I rather enjoyed seeing them bumping along in the truck bed, messing up their hair, etc.).

The caves were amaaaazing. At home, you would absolutely never be allowed to do anything like the “tour” we did because there were way too many things that would be considered liability issues. I did sign in before we went into the caves, but it was just a record book, not a release statement. The only thing close to a caution sign was a piece of carved wood that said entrance was prohibited without a tour guide. For Guatemala, this carries a considerable amount of significance because really, you can almost always do whatever you want, with whomever you want, whenever and wherever you want around here.

So Elvis handed us each a candlestick and off we went. The caves were filled with water, and from step to step, there was no way to guess whether you’d be wading through a friendly puddle or treading water. We swam a lot of the way, which was fun apart from encounters with rocks that jetted out underwater. At some points, it was clam, but in other areas there was a current because there were two waterfalls inside the caves and each had a considerable amount of force. Three times, we climbed up metal ladders that were suspended by rope. One was sloped diagonally against a rock, leading to a section whose entrance was tunnel-like and only a little wider than a crawl hole. Climbing the ladder through that was a little tricky because natural tendency is to arch your back on a ladder—especially a diagonal one, but because of the narrow space, a slithering movement was the way to go (Guess those two days of only slithering when I was a kid paid off, huh mom?) Another ladder was extra long and was positioned less than an arm’s reach from a waterfall. That was challenging because it was dark, slippery, loud, and water was flying in our faces. The candles kept going out, and we were an hour’s distance into the caves, so it was pitch dark. And it wasn’t a one-at-a-time situation up the ladders, it was more like a ‘the-guy-before-me-could-easily-kick-my-face-oops-I’m-holding-fire-better-not-put-it-that-close-to-my-face-or-his-feet-gee-I-sure-wish-I-could-use-both-hands’ climb. At the top of the second one, we had to step over the top of the waterfall by navigating metal bars with our feet and overhead ropes with our hands. More slipping and swimming (much of it was really easy, but I’m excluding the plain sections), then the scariest part, a small ledge where you could climb up and jump off into a little pool that was perhaps 15-20 feet wide. I had to do it because jumping off a cliff into a pool while inside a cave is not a very common opportunity, but I was rather nervous because of the size of the landing space. I’d also like to point out that when we signed up for this activity, they didn’t mention water, proper footwear, or the fact that the ability to swim was a necessity (no life jackets or guards in sight).

Next we went for a float on the river. Cue lame British girls. “Oh my GOD! I don’t know if we can do this. Maybe we’ll just meet you downstream. We’ve never done this before! How do we use these (inner tubes—pretty self-explanatory)? How do we get into them? How do we get out of them? How do we steer? Is that water fast? How long do we have to do it? WAIT—do we have to walk back afterwards!? How far will it be? Is it uphill?”. A few of us used the rope swing while Dumb and Dumber were measuring the likelihood of death by inner tube and after about 20 minutes of deliberation, they finally decided to risk their lives on the ominous river, moving at about 4 mph. They held hands the entire way.

The most frightening part of the day came after the river float—the option to jump off a 33 foot-high-bridge. Again, I had to do it, but if the guy who jumped with me hadn’t counted us off, I’d probably still be up there. Dealing with the current during the swim to shore was the hardest part. I’m disappointed because the guy who I asked to take a picture completely missed the idea and all I have are blurry shots of me swimming and I am about as big as an ant.

Later, we were let free to roam in Semuc Champey National Park, which was lovely. It’s known for it’s clear, tiered pools and I suspect there’s some unusual geographical history behind their formation, but I was too lazy to work through the literature on the signs. On the other side of the pools, there is a river that runs underground beneath them with a huuuge amount of force. I saw pictures, but didn’t have time to get over there…next time. Someone fell in 4 years ago and died instantly (no guardrails, but yes lifeguards because it’s a national park).

Eventually, we headed back to the hostel and naturally those girls had been waiting in the truck for a while so that they wouldn’t have to ride in the bed of the truck like before. There were no table dancers Saturday night, dinner was delicious, and there were only a few cockroaches creeping in my locker. Not bad. Everyone needs to go do that trip before they get too old and stiff. I can now return home satisfied. 

The word “cute” is a pretty weak adjective; I try to avoid using it when I write. In fact, I’m cringing because I have no choice but to describe yesterday as a cute day. Yes, a cute day. I’ve never said that before (thankfully), but it’s true. It was just one cute thing to the next. 

To begin with, my host mom had a meeting all day, so she wasn’t around this to make breakfast this morning. Last night, I assured her that it would be no problem for me to pour a bowl of cereal and find a banana to eat (there are probably 5 boxes of cornflakes and 30 bananas in the kitchen). I might even be capable of frying my own egg. But God forbid I lift a finger in the kitchen—wouldn’t want to overexert myself or I might need to take yet another descansa. Thus, when I woke up, Ximena, the 4-year-old cousin from next door, literally took my hand and led me to her house (an entire 6 feet away, since our houses share a wall), where her mom had pancakes and Co-Co Puffs waiting (nothin’ like some processed sugar to start your day). 

I also had lunch at their house—same routine. I don’t know why they were so excited for me to eat there (I see them daily), but Ximena and Nicole (her little sister) acted like they were dining with Hannah Monana or someone of equal childlike appeal because they could barely focus long enough to get their rice from their plates to their mouths. Ximena actually got up and danced, mid-meal. There was some salsa in a bottle on the table and I tried to use it, but it turned out to be empty—obviously not big deal. I even tried to be discrete about it because I knew they would then discuss the history of the empty salsa (just how things go here). But oh no, they noticed, and well…better phone next door (more like yell loudly, since remember, we share a wall) because Lauren tried to use the salsa and there wasn’t any, so now we better find some for her or what…she might have to eat breaded green beans without it!? We couldn’t have that. After a couple minutes, the 5-year-old next door crawled through the window with a bottle of Schriracha, “Tengo salsa!!” Now that’s service.

Next, I went to the park to read and nap. The nap was was brief because I had a strange feeling that I was being watched, and wouldn’t you know it, when I opened my eyes, 6 little girls holding hands and dressed in their huipils and cortes were hovering over my bench, giggling. “Wat   iz   yor   name?” they asked. Adorable…and probably the only English they knew. They only stayed long enough to tell me their names and ask what I was reading, but occurrences like this are what will make me miss Guatemala. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been to that park or walked around these streets over the past 2 months, but they were the first people to talk to me apart from a “buenas días” or the smooching sounds and obnoxious questions I get from the tuk-tuk drivers who inconveniently station themselves before the park entrance, so it was something to remember.

While I was out, a package arrived for me, but in case I managed to get inside my room without noticing the big box blocking the entrance, Papa Cristóbal had left a note on the door in HUGE capital letters and arrow pointing to the floor, indicating that indeed, there was mail. Inside, my mom packed some knick-knacks for the kids and some supplies for me to make sushi with the family. First of all, you’ve never seen a kid so enthusiastic about beach ball; I think we played with it for a  solid 3 hours today. It has a smiley face printed on it, so Rodrigo has named it “Sneha” because they used to call her Smiley. He spent the evening alternating between kicking Sneha around the yard, then bathing the ball in their laundry pool (which is huge, so floating a beach ball around in it is a game in and of itself when you’re 5). Turns out he is also a fan of the Jelly Bellies (“Oooh! Deliciooooso!”) and pretended to feed half of his to Sneha the beach ball. There was lip-gloss for the girls, the youngest of which now has it on her lips, cheeks, and forehead, as well as a decent quantity in her stomach. I didn’t pull out all the stops yet and still have more treats for them in what they call the “Caja de Secretos”.

Before dinner, I was laying in a chair, reading, and positioned with my head on the armrest and my hair hanging over the edge—the perfect height for Ximena and Rodrigo to “braid” it. You don’t know fun (or pain) until 4 to 5-year-olds fist clumps of your hair, hold it up, then twirl their entire bodies while still clinging to it (as if the hair were the hand of a male dancer and you were the girl doing a spin beneath it). Once I managed to escape that, I went to hang out with the teenage boy cousins, who were in Edgar’s room…dancing to “My Humps”.

Earlier, they had seen the chopsticks that mom sent to use for the sushi and they wanted to practice at dinner. It’s always funny to watch someone use them for the first time. They caught on, more or less, then Edgar announced, “Vamos a atrapar mosques con ellos!” as he pinched the air (we’re going to trap flies with them). Luckily, there were no flies so they resorted to attempting to pick up dried black beans, which was probably the most stereotypically Guatemalan thing I could have imagined being done with chopsticks. Oh, and for the first time, we had dessert, which was bubble gum flavored J-ELLO.

Me: How do you said this (J-ELLO) in Spanish?

Alvero: Gelatíno (pronounced yel-la-tee-no).

Edgar: Y como se llama en Inglés? (What is it called in English?)

Me: Je-lo.

Alvero: Pero ‘ye-lo’ es como amarillo. (But ‘ye-l`o’ is like ‘yellow’).

Me: well…yes…but ‘jjjje- lo’ is different than ‘yyyye-lo’.

Them: (blank stares).

The Spanish ‘j’ is pronounced as a ‘y,’ which is simple enough, but oddly, they either hear ‘j’ as ‘y’ or else automatically translate and pronounce it as such, so the conversation was really going nowhere.

The most anticipated things in the package were the movies, which are actually professional copies that you buy at Wal-Mart, 3 for 10 or something like that. These are a real luxury. For one, some of them even have the option of audio in Spanish. And two, they weren’t taped on a personal camcorder in a theatre during the big screen showing, so nobody’s shadow eerily moves across the frame as you watch it. After dinner, a group gathered downstairs to watch a movie. It was a production. They brought a TV from someone’s bedroom, got the DVD player from next door, went out to buy popcorn, and  a cousin from across town even drove over. And then…”No puede leer copias originales!” The DVD player couldn’t read original copies, only bootleg ones. Naturally. Fortunately, there were 4 families present and one of them had a DVD player with more advanced capabilities, so after much ado, we were in business.

 On a final note, reconsider before telling a 70-year-old Evangelical Christian woman that you’re not religious. All this time, I’ve thought they liked Sneha better, but well…she’s Hindu and even though I don’t go to church, at least I don’t have monkey and elephant gods (she actually said as much). I decided to agree with her when she said “But you know you’re a child of God, whose in the sky. He gave you your heart. And he created this earth, the universe, and Heaven. You know that, right?” Usually I hate getting grilled about church stuff (“There aren’t churches where you live? Oh, there are…so why don’t you go? Maybe when you go home, you could just TRY going to one? What do you do when you have problems? When you’re sick? When it’s La Navidad? Día de Gracias? When the devil arrives to eat you (kidding)”) but it was more amusing than annoying.

Hope you enjoyed, I’m out.

The past few days have been a refreshing break from my day to day existence here (which is more slow, simple, and remote). This might be kind of long and boring, sorry.

We visited a university with a student, Eduardo, and he took us to a class on urbanization. Let me back up and say that the universities are almost exactly the same as they are in the U.S. in terms of environment. They’re in the capitol, which has a reputation for being dangerous and unpleasant, but the campuses are like bubbles full of young, good looking, and modernly dressed people who actually interact with the opposite sex. The only stand-out difference was the ping pong tables and players that dominated common areas. Anyway, back to the classroom experience. His was a private school, so I figured that the level of instruction would be decent because people have to pay for it (public schools are free), but it was awful. The class was 80 minutes long and the professor spent the first 50 minutes trying to get his laptop and the projector to function simultaneously. Meanwhile, the students were behaving like high schoolers, throwing stuff at each other, etc. After he got the projector working, he proceeded to show a few video clips of sky transportation in Columbia, and I’m pretty sure he taped the videos him self from his cell phone. After that, he took a phone call during class time (as did the guy sitting behind me) and then it was time for the period to end. After, we went to the business office to find out about that program, but the secretary didn’t know anything and everyone else was on their lunch break…which lasts from noon to four o’clock. How nice for them. Since no one could help us, we went to a public university for a concert. It reminded me of Eugene because there were plenty of long flowy dresses, dread locks, cut off pants, and bare footed people juggling and hula hooping. Oh yeah, there are also fixie kids in Guatemala, so weird to find people in these type of clothes, when a woman I live with wears the traditional ropa! Being with Eduardo and his friends was refreshing because they are all our age, forward thinking, bilingual, and funny. Most of our interactions have been with older or younger people from low to middle classes in rural areas, and many such people are superstitious, religious, and a little old-fashioned. I enjoy learning from and spending time with them, but it was a nice break to experience young, urban, city culture.

A different day, some of our lawyer friends invited us to a conference on environmental and water rights. I considered titling this entry “Real Housewives of Guatemala,” because these ladies were so fancy, but I decided against it because real housewives of Guatemala probably have eight kids, live in a shack, and have husbands who grow corn or haul wood for a living…plus all the women I met were extremely nice and well mannered. They just had big hair, big jewelry, and colorful clothes that reminded me of the Bravo show. Moving on, the conference was at a hotel in Antigua; the conference room was intimate, dimly lit, and had a table set with water pitchers, stemmed drinking glasses, and individual packets of information and colorful brochures/favors. The seven attendees were all very well dressed, more or less bilingual, and each had a laptop. Interestingly, they were also very pale-skinned, as are a lot of successful people here, I’ve noticed. The discussion itself was kind of long-winded and dry (in large part due to the fact that I only understood about 1/3 of it and spent most of the time trying to glance slyly at the outline my neighbor was writing in Spanish so that I could translate it into English), but it was alright and I got to see how professionals interact. The director of BIC…yes, the pen and office supply company…for all of Central America and the Carribean sat across from me. I have still don’t know what BIC has to do with environmental law or water rights, but I got the feeling that he was kind of a big deal, plus he gave me some cool swag, so he got my approval. At around 11am, we took a coffee break and the waiter also gave me a plate of fruit and pita bread filled with something delicious. Coffee and lunch were both on the agenda and I thought maybe we were killing two birds with one stone, but I was mistaken. 

Two hours later, it was time for almuerzo, but not just any almuerzo…this was a four course affair that started with the passing of a platter of hot hand towels and that required no fewer than 8 plates, 4 glasses, and a ton of silverware for each person. It was easily among the top three most formal meals I’ve ever had. Parents, thank you for teaching me table manners! I so glad that it wasn’t my first time sitting down to a meal of such formality. Even still, it was one of those situations where you wait and watch to see how the grown ups approach the dishes before attempting to do so yourself. For example, when your appetizer is artfully served in a spoon, do you use the spoon to eat it, or do you use the outermost fork? And do you consume all the elements at once, or each separately? We also had four drinks: water (With ice, my lucky day! It’s usually only included in mixed drinks, and living with an Evangelical Christian family, those come few and far between. I’ve been missing ice.), rosa de Jamaica juice, rum (Is this a typical lthing?), and coffee (Despite being Guatemala’s main export, most people drink instant or weak coffee because they send out all the quality stuff, so the real coffee was extra good). The rum and chimerones (fried pork skin, which was chopped up in my salad and completely unavoidable) were a little hard to get down while maintaining a pleasant expression, but I prevailed and all the other food was awesome.

It was a nice change from soggy corn flakes swimming in hot powdered milk and mountains of sugar.

Yesterday was the 73rd birthday of my host grandfather. I like him a lot because he’s always giggling to himself about little things and has a really cheerful personality. He still rides his bike to work every day! The grandma is also nice, but she is exhausting in her mission to feed us. “Crema” is cream that looks like mayonnaise and they put it on eggs, beans, plantains, and pretty much everything else. It has no flavor, and no matter how many times we ask for it to be left off, she insists on giving us tons. I also asked for coffee without sugar last night and she literally gasped, then said “No AZUCAR!?!?” in her high-pitched voice before interrogating every other adult in the house as to why we don’t like 5 spoonfulls of sugar in our coffee (and cereal). And, regardless of how many times the aunts tell her I don’t eat meat, she always gives me chicken because apparently that doesn’t qualify

In terms of work, this week has been frustrating because it’s consisted of a bunch of missed connections that have been beyond our control. We planned the whole thing out, but our contacts kept changing their plans, interrupt ours, and everything happens at the last minute so we can’t really do anything productive on our lost days. 

We are back from Livingston! It was a good trip. The city was similar to how you might picture a Carribean town, with leafy rooftops, patched huts, lots of bamboo, houses on stilts in the water, coconut drinks, braided hair, and island-y jewelry, except that it wasn’t clean or as nice as your mental image (add a post-Katrina New Orleans element to whatever you’re invisioning), and almost everyone is still Spanish-speaking. 

We stayed in a fun hostel run by a bunch of the tallest and loudest English and Scottish boys I’ve ever met (plus one guy from Pleasanton who graduated from Amador the same year as me, small world). One was like a 20-year-old super-human: tall, dark hair, tan, university rugby player, certified skipper, Swine Flu survivor, and med student. I would have guessed he was at least 26…he was like a real-life One Tree Hill character or maybe Clark Kent. Apparently we were there during a quiet weekend, and we were more of spectators rather than participants in the the fiesta, but I can only imagine what a loud night is like. The guys were kind of crude, but generally hilarious…and they conveniently ignored several charges that should have been on our tab, which was nice. We met a lot of other cool travelers at the hostel, too. Among the group were a screenwriter and his girlfriend, who looked kind of like Tarzan’s sister, but pretty, and a contracted National Geographic/Newsweek photographer! He was from Poland, had a Master’s in biotechnology, and graduated from the best schools in Poland and England, but he said it was boring and traded everything for a career in travel photography. He was just biding time in Livingston, waiting for a new camera to arrive because his broke when the bridge he was standing on gave way, dropping photographer and camera into the water below.

Our big outing was to Siete Altares, which is a series of freshwater waterfalls that leads into the ocean. We took a cab most of the way there, then walked a short distance to the pools. Walking the whole way is supposed to be really cool, but it is currently unsafe for tourists. Once we got to the entrance, a Garífuna man who lived nearby accompanied us on the hike up to the biggest fall. At the 7^th Alter, we could jump off a waterfall and swim around in the pool below it. The first Tarzan was filmed around the area. I have some cool pictures of the place, but I left the camera cord for them at home, so they’ll have to wait.

Another thing Livingston has going for it is its cuisine. We ate at the hostel a couple times because it was cheap, but on our last night, we tried a Garífuna dish called Tapado, which is a stew/soup made with coconut milk, plantains, a few veggies, and a variety of seafood. Once I removed the faces and extremities of the seafood ingredients, it was delicious. Maybe I’ll try to make it sometime. I also had chips made from plantains that were surprisingly good. I wouldn’t have guessed that a salty dried/fried banana would taste nice.

In all this weekend, we took 4 chicken buses, 1 shuttle, 2 nice buses, 3 launcha collectivas (public speed boats), and a 2 taxis. We had to change methods of transportation in SAAC, Antigua, Guatemala City, Rio Dulce, Livingston, and Puerto Barrios. I felt accomplished knowing how to do all of that, but it was annoying when people wouldn’t tell us where certain terminals were (in an effort to force us to use their services), and it was kind of gross to walk through Puerto Barrios (where there is nothing cool and probably a lot of drug trafficking). Oh yeah, last night our aunt’s bus was robbed on her way home from school. This is pretty common, especially because it’s near the end of the month, but luckily they are usually nonviolent. When you travel, you keep your money stashed in your clothes, apart from inside pockets. Sadly, two women lost their incomes for the entire month, which is probably devastating, as it would to a lot of families in most places of the world. 

I look and feel disgusting right now because the water isn’t working at the house and I haven’t had a chance to clean up from the trip yet. Livingston was super humid and hot, with plenty of bugs and dirt…all of which I’m probably sleeping with tonight, mm mmm mmmm. 

As for work, tomorrow we leave for Quiche with MT. It’s about 5 hours away in the highlands. He has a stove demonstration and we are tagging along to help and to do more research. We’ll be back on Friday afternoon in time to meet with a group of 31 women who are part of a microloan group in SAAC/Santiago. We also got an email from As Green As It Gets and they want to talk with us more, which is exciting. 

I tried to upload more photos, but I’ve been waiting for an hour so I guess I’ll save them for later.