The last 2 weeks have been 2 of the most diverse, disjointed weeks of my life.

I left my house 2 weeks ago en route to Coban, one of Guatemala's major cities in the country's tropical northern province of Alta Verapaz, with the goal of running the city's half marathon. The plan was to run the race on Sunday, then spend the next 3 days traveling and getting to know the area before heading to a conference at PC headquarters on Thursday and Friday, and finishing off the week with the 4th of July bash on Saturday. It was to be my first true “vacation” since I've been here (as opposed to a weekend getaway), and I was very excited! I'd been training for the half marathon since January—over 5 months—and it was delayed for 6 weeks due to concerns about swine flu, and the waiting only increased my anticipation.

Due to a landslide a few months ago the direct route to Coban has been closed, so I was forced to take the long route through Guatemala City—a grand total of 9 hours on buses. I decided to split the trip up by going to visit my host family from training, and spent a great night visiting and cooked a yummy pancake breakfast for everyone in the morning. I took off after breakfast and arrived in Coban mid-afternoon to pick up my official timing sensor 'chip' and a bunch of free stuff. I met up with my good friends Oliver and Jamie and we walked around a bit and had a pasta dinner before heading to bed for a good night sleep before the race.

The next morning, on our way to the starting line, the streets became more and more crowded, filled with the over 3,000 participants and many more spectators. I spent the first 3km or so of the course ducking around people, trying to find a comfortable rhythm and get in front of the main crowd. The mass of people eventually dispersed and I settled into a pace which seemed brisk but manageable. The first part of the course was out to a suburb of Coban about 7km away, then back. The streets were lined with cheering spectators shouting encouragement, but the adrenaline wore off as I made my way out of town. I got a surge after the first half hour, however, when the front-runners, 2 Kenyans (the Kenyan national team had come out to participate in the event) came sprinting by on their way back. I was feeling pretty good as I turned the corner to head back to Coban, but by the halfway point (between 10-11 km, the full half marathon is 21km) I was starting to wonder whether I'd pushed to hard in the beginning. I was still on track to finish in about 1hr 45 min but was starting to lose steam. I continued pushing kilometer after kilometer, trying to avoid stopping to walk for as long as possible and always finding the strength to go just a bit further. There weren't any big hills, but quite a few gradual rolling hills, and the second half seemed to be more uphill than the first half (although it may just have been that I was more tired). The most frustrating part was arriving back in Coban with over 5 km left to go—We ran all the way back through downtown, then out the other side for another few km before turning back around. By that point I was really hurting. As much of a rush as the race had been at first, by that point I just wanted it to be over and really had to continually force myself to keep going. I tried telling myself that the more I pushed myself the quicker it would be over. I was able to keep going as the kilometers continued to pass by—13, 15, 18 (they seemed to go by VEERRRY slowly at the time, it almost makes me cringe to write the numbers so casually here!), and finally I arrived at 20, just 1 more km to go. After grabbing a final water bag from the people handing them out on the sidelines, gulping down what I could and squirting the rest on my face, I made the final push. The finish was in the municipal stadium, and after passing under the seats out to the field, I was disappointed to see I still had to do an almost complete lap around the track to reach the finish line. I made it, however, and was even able to summon up the energy for a short (admittedly rather pathetic) sprint the last 100 feet or so. I ended up finishing in a respectable 1 hr 56 min. I met up with my friends—Jamie and Oliver had both finished quicker than me, and we'd met up with several other PC volunteers who continued to come in over the next half hour or so. I was still exhausted an hour later, and it hurt to walk for the next 3 days.

That night we stayed at a beautiful hostel on the river a few hours from Coban, and the next morning, monday, went rafting at my friend Oliver's site. He's an eco-tourism volunteer, and his entire project is to collaborate with the development of the rafting business in an aldea (a small village) on a remote river. We had a crew of 5 PC volunteers and 2 of their friends, and we had a great time rafting the class 1-5 rapids. There were some pretty intense parts where we got tossed around pretty good down the rapids, over around, and through the rocks, and also slow tranquil parts where we got out and swam. Alta Verapaz is much more tropical and lush than where I live, and the vegetation was beautiful, as were the spectacular mountains towering around us, made more dramatic by the exposed white limestone cliffs peaking through the green.

While the others headed back to the same hostel that night, I stayed with Oliver at his house—a small wooden hut by the side of the river. He lives in a much smaller community than me, which has neither electricity nor running water. Needless to say, he's having a much different experience from me, as was driven home to me as we had a candle-lit dinner of eggs, beans, and corn tortillas, pretty much the only food available to buy locally.

We spent the next 2 days visiting a place called Semuc Champey. Tuesday we did a tour of the nearby caves, climbing,crawling, and sometimes swimming—all while trying to keep our candles lit (the guide was the only one to carry a headlamp just in case). The tour was fun but honestly a bit dangerous for my taste, since it involved things like climbing up rather rickety ladders and rappelling down a 10 foot waterfall with just a slippery rope into the dark. After coming out of the caves we got to jump off a 30 foot bridge into the river and tube 15 minutes down the river back to our hostel, where there was a sweet rope swing off the tree which we enjoyed playing around on.

Wednesday morning we visited Semuc Champey, a series of natural pools carved out of the limestone by the Cahobon river. The geology is very interesting, the pools refreshing and fun to explore, and the views are just spectacular. A great time was had by all!

We left on a bumpy dirt road standing in the back of a pickup truck with metal rails to hold on to, heading to Coban. In Lanquin, we switched into a crowded chicken-bus bound for Coban. There had been no cell reception for the previous 24 hours, and as I turned my phone back on while climbing into the bus and squeezing between 3 or 4 Guatemalans into a seat in the middle of the aisle, I saw with some surprise that I had 5 voice messages in my inbox.

The first was from my dad. He said to call him back immediately on his cellphone and that my Grandmother was very sick. He didn't give more details, but sounded very solemn. I realized with some alarm that I didn't remember his new cell number by memory and didn't have it saved on my Guatemalan cellphone. I tried calling his home but nobody picked up. I tried calling my mom and couldn't get through to her either. I frantically began calling all the numbers I remembered by heart but didn't get through to anyone. A few minutes later, I suddenly lost the cell signal again as we left town back into the mountains. I sat scrunched in my seat impatiently, looking almost constantly at the phone's screen to see if the bars signaling coverage had returned. Finally, after about half an hour, reception returned and I began trying to call again. After a few tries I was able to finally get through to my mom. I pushed the phone against my ear and stuck my finger in the other ear, trying to hear over the noise in the bus. The other passengers in the crowded bus glanced over their shoulders as I had a loud conversation in English, audible but I assume incomprehensible to everyone.

“Hi Mom,” I began. “Have you heard anything about Gramma being sick?” I asked quickly, not wanting to waste words for fear that my pre-paid cell phone credit would run out in the middle of the conversation.

There was a pause before my mom's response, which she said with some difficulty.

“Travis, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but your Gramma died earlier today”.

I paused a moment, unsure of what to do or say, as the crowded bus continued winding around the side of a mountain, before realizing that I still didn't have the luxury of wasting time since my phone credit could run out any second. My mom didn't have any more details of what had happened and I asked her to please try to get a hold of my dad and have him call me ASAP. I hung up and tried calling the Peace Corps office to let them know I'd be leaving the country soon. As I began explaining the situation in Spanish to the receptionist, my credit suddenly ran out and the call ended. Fortunately, right at that moment my dad called (incoming calls are free) and I was able to get more information. As I'd known, my Grandmother had fallen and broken her hip a few weeks ago, but my dad told me that within the last few days sudden complications had come up unexpectedly, and had quickly become critical. My grandmother had very clear directives against intubation, so rather than put her into an induced coma which she probably would never come out of, they had made her comfortable the previous day and she'd passed only a few hours earlier with my Dad holding her hand for the last hour. All this information was coming at me very suddenly, in an environment which was less than ideal to be dealing with it. I spent the next hour of the bus ride on the phone. Peace Corps was able to get a hold of me and I spoke with my boss. When I was talking with my dad about flight possibilities, the ayudante (the driver's 'helper') came around to collect the fare. We knew that the fare was supposed to be 15 quetzales (about $2 USD), but had had some trouble with them trying to overcharge us on the way there, so I just handed the teenage boy 15Q without saying anything, still on the phone with my dad. “Veinticinco (25) Quetzales”, he said to me in Spanish. “Quince (15)”, I responded firmly. It's fairly common for foreigners to be overcharged on Guatemalan public transportation, but I'd always found that on buses if you know the correct fare and are firm you can always get the correct price. Nonetheless, the ayudante wouldn't back down and insisted on charging me 25. I went back and forth between arguing with him in Spanish and trying to have a conversation with my dad in English, telling him to hold on every few seconds. My friend Tony, who was sitting behind me, got in on the argument too. The other passengers on the bus, who'd already been giving me looks since I'd been dominating the small compartment with my multiple phone calls in English, were now looking on with some interest at the gringos and ayudante getting increasingly irritated with each other. I asked the guy sitting next to me how much he had paid, and he confirmed the fare of 15 quetzales, but the ayudante refused to back down. In the end it came to him informing the driver that we refused to pay the higher fare, and them pulling the bus over, opening the door, and telling us to either pay or get out. Tony and I both agreed later that under normal circumstances we would have both fought harder and would have refused to be discriminated against, but given the circumstances—I still didn't know when the funeral was going to be, and wanted to get to the airport in Guatemala City as soon as I could—we swallowed our pride and paid the extra dollar and 25 cents. It was the first time in my life I truly felt discriminated against because of the color of my skin.

When we arrived in Coban, I said goodbye to my friends and rushed to try to catch a bus to Guatemala city. A friendly Guatemalan man who had overheard my conversation with the Peace Corps receptionist in Spanish, offered to help show me where the buses were, and his kindness helped me remember that while some people try to take advantage of others who are vulnerable—foreigners in this case— the vast majority of Guatemalans, and people in general for that matter, are honest and want to help each other out. We arrived at the bus station and were told there were no more buses until tomorrow morning, but the man called a friend of his who agreed to bring me to Guatemala City for 450 quetzales, about $55. I thanked my new friend and headed off. As we were leaving Coban I got a hold of my dad again, who told me the funeral was not going to be until Monday, 5 days later. Up until that point the only thing on my mind had been getting back to the U.S. as soon as possible at all costs. I'd felt guilty about having been on vacation having fun in the jungle while my grandmother had been dying, and hadn't really stopped to think things through. The ugly incident on the bus hadn't really helped me think any clearer. Now that I finally had a chance to calm down, I realized that it didn't make sense for me to rush to Guatemala City with no plan and nowhere to stay, alone and exhausted. I asked the driver to turn around and bring me back to Coban (I felt I was again overcharged for the short trip, but this time I just paid without complaining). My friends Tony and Adrian invited me to stay in the extra bed in their relatively fancy hotel room, and we had a nice dinner of wine and steak at the hotel restaurant which helped calm me down a lot.

I ended up flying out 2 days later. I decided to stay for the conference—I really wanted to see some of my friends who I hadn't caught up with in months—and flew on the morning of the 4th of July.

The time home was hard, but it was really great to spend some time with my family. My Gramma's house had a bad fire last fall and was in the process of being re-built, so the entire family gathered in the beautiful house she had been renting in the meanwhile. I went swimming in the pool with my cousin Zoe, congratulated my cousin Peter on his recent high school graduation an acceptance to Swarthmore, caught up with my cousin Emily who I hadn't seen since last October, heard more about Eric's time in China, and enjoyed the company of everyone in my family, who I hadn't been expecting to see anytime soon. True to Snow family form, there was plenty of yummy food and alcohol to be consumed, as well as fireworks for the 4th of July (although not nearly as cool as the ones here I have to say).

The funeral was sad, but a wonderful celebration of my Grandmother's life. I thought that Stephanie, my grandmother's caretaker for the last 7 years, gave the most memorable eulogy of all, telling in warm detail how much she had grown to love my Grandmother over the years. We cried as we brought the casket out of the temple to the waiting hearse. After the funeral my Dad, Eric, Selena and I went with the hearse to pass by her old house one last time, and we got out to say our goodbyes to the house we had so many memories of. We walked out past the lawn to the dock, then back to the house. From the outside it still looked pretty normal, with just a few boarded up windows. Eric wanted to go inside, however, and the story there was very different. The entire house was to be demolished and rebuilt, so the inside had been completed gutted, down to the very walls. All that was left was the skeleton of the structure, and you could literally see through the entire house from one end to the other. It was very sad, haunting even, to see 25 years of memories completely gone. It reminded me of the scene in Titanic where, going through the ships empty remains, there are flashbacks to how things were in the past. I remembered all the time I had spent at my Gramma's house over the years, and I realized how much I love her and will miss her.

The next day Eric and I went to visit my mom and Jerry, her new husband as of 2 weeks ago, at their new house—new for my mom, if not for Jerry. I gave them some small wedding gifts I'd picked up in Guatemala in a hurry before leaving, and we had a few meals together. As happy as I am for my mom's new life and as much as I enjoyed visiting her I couldn't help feel a bit sad there as well. The sale of our old house at River Run, the house I had grown up in, had closed just a week earlier. As much as Mom and Jerry went out of their way to make us comfortable, I knew this would never feel like home. Since we sold the lake house in Massachusetts 10 years ago, the 2 places I've really called home are my mom's house in New Hartford and my Gramma's house in Darien. It made me rather depressed to realize all at once that both of these places were now gone, that I really don't know where to call home anymore. At very least, I felt the trip home represented a great change, and marked a new chapter in my life.

The next day, the last of my whirlwind 4 days back in U.S., after doing some shopping with my mom, Jerry, and Eric (I ended up pretty much just impulse buying chocolate and cheese products to bring back with me), Eric and I headed to my Dad's house, where we had a great dinner in Hoboken. We ate outside, and I enjoyed the lingering dusk of summer one last time (here near the equator sunsets are much shorter, and summer days aren't nearly as drawn out) The following morning Eric and my dad drove me to La Guardia airport and I flew back to Guatemala.

It feels strange being back so abruptly, and I was feeling a bit down most of the day today (I've already gone through quite a bit of the chocolate I brought back). In addition to the grief we were all going through when I was home, I couldn't help but have the feeling that life is passing me by, a feeling which has recurred on and off over the past few years during difficult times. Seeing all my family going about their lives, I asked myself very seriously what I was doing in Guatemala, and realized more than ever the sacrifices I'm making by being here.

Nonetheless, I've found inspiration by thinking back to how proud my Grandmother was of me and what I'm trying to do here. Walking around town the last 2 days since I've been back, it's been great to hear kids shout my name excitedly, and have people ask where I've been the last few weeks (in other words, they noticed my absence).

The other exciting news is that I'm going to have a new site mate named Courtney. I found out the day before I flew back to the U.S. and didn't have a chance to meet her before I left. She was coming to do her site visit while I was gone though, so I offered for her to stay in my room and gave her my landlord's number. When I arrived home yesterday I was pleased to see she had made it here safely and spent the afternoon getting to know her. We get along really well so far, and I think she'll end up being an important part of my life for the next 2 years here. She left this morning to finish her last week of training and swear in, but will be back for good in 10 days, so we'll have plenty of time to get to know each other better.

Between swine flu, my trip to Coban, the PC conference, and my sudden trip home, it's now been over 4 weeks since I've set foot in any of my schools. I'm hoping I can spend the coming weeks and months getting back into the swing of things here and accomplish my goals for the schools before classes end in October.