On the Día del Grito de Santiago, a Spanish couchsurfer named Roser came to stay with me. We had a great time, but she found Santiago to be feo, and didn’t understand the reactions of the people here. Since she has light eyes and does not dress like a Panamanian, Roser got gringa treatment: “Am I a dog,” she said, “that they yell at me and talk as if I don’t understand? I don’t know how you live here.”

Roser playing for us at a local hotel.

She went on to ask me how I keep the volunteers I work with motivated in this town. Of course, most volunteers live with host families, which protects them immeasurably from the behavior Roser was experiencing. Nonetheless, I told her if my volunteers are having difficulties, I brainstorm specific solutions for their problems and ways to make improvements and advances. And when a situation is especially bad, or truly unchangeable, the best thing I can do is give up on being positive, if only for a moment. Often a volunteer simply needs to hear the acknowledgement that what they are dealing with is legitimately difficult; they feel better for having had their struggles noticed and appreciated. We accept that things aren’t easy, and we push through because we believe in what we’re doing.

That day, the Día del Grito de Santiago, there was an eighteen-hour-long parade, in which every single school in the comuna sent their marching band (snares, brass, and xylophones, mostly) down Calle Décima, the street which I call home. I spent all morning in my office working with half a brain and trying to identify the xylophone melodies with the other half. These included the Himno Istmeño, Britney Spears, Lady Gaga, some Sousa, a couple of Panamanian club favorites, and a few other standbys.  The parade lasted from 8 am to 2 am, and was followed by an all-night reggaeton party. Talk about extreme positivity.

Despite the celebrations, Roser left early, after only a few days. Since 2009, she has been traveling in Latin America, and has hitch-hiked up from Argentina, earning money along the way singing and selling handicrafts. Roser has seen it all. And yet, she said it was Santiago, with its awkward combination of big-city indifference and small-town xenophobia, that made her stop a moment and think: “maybe I’ve been traveling for too long.” I totally understood the sentiment, and it was so validating to hear it from a seasoned traveler like herself. I’ve had a hard time here, too. And at some point after she left, I realized that Roser did for me exactly what I try to do for my volunteers: she legitimized my challenges. I had been too relentlessly positive with myself; Roser made me realize not only that it was ok for me to be struggling, but also that admitting it to myself and others was not a bad thing. It was a very empowering realization, and I’m grateful to her for it.

Nereida Heller works in Santiago de Veraguas as the Field Director for WorldTeach’s Panama programs. For more about her experiences, check out her blog. The views expressed in this post are Nereida’s own and do not represent the WorldTeach Program or any of its partner organizations.

Becca Mondshein recently wrote about the pros and cons of living with a host family, declaring the eating situation as a toss-up. While securing three square meals a day sounds like a delicious pro of living with a family at first, after four months of having no control of my food, I decidedly come down on the con side.

Don’t get me wrong, I really enjoy a lot of host-mother’s cooking. In fact, I wish I could replicate her delicious chicken. And that is the problem. I can’t. I have almost zero opportunity to cook for myself. To shop for food, to think about what I want to eat, to cook and prepare food for other people. The act of being in the kitchen, cooking as well as feeding other people, is an opportunity few and far between in host family living.

Yesterday (which actually marked my four month anniversary here), I had my first opportunity since being in Guatemala to cook. And boy did I take advantage of it: bagels for brunch; food shopping in the afternoon; and latkes, applesauce and roasted vegetables for dinner. The best part of all was being able to share this food with my friends, feeding other people and having them be just as excited as I was to bite into a bagel that wasn’t just bread in bagel shape.

I guess it’s not even the actual food I miss, but in fact the comfort and joy – not only from the food itself but from the act of cooking and feeding – that I miss the most. I love experiencing new cultures through food, but sometimes deliciousness and novelty is not enough.

Bari Laskow is a volunteer with Somos Hermanos in Quetzaltenango, Guatemala. For more on her experiences, check out her blog.

I have a background in the Oil & Gas industry, totally different from the majority of people I’ve met volunteering down here. Most are environmental science majors, or have a background in language teaching, biology or sociology. My background was in paperwork.

Financial statements weren’t exactly stimulating my creative side, and I wasn’t feeling fulfilled where I was, so at the end of 2009 I left my job, moved back home and went to school to get my Certificate in English Language Teaching to Adults (CELTA). The idea for obtaining this certificate stemmed from previously having had volunteered at a local elementary school, and the desire to travel of course.

I left Canada at the beginning of October, and spent a nice, relaxing month in Las Vegas visiting my dad and hiking through the national parks, before venturing out into the world to find an EFL teaching position. From there I traveled solo through Central America for 4 months, starting out in Mexico City. Along the way I met amazing people, had some extremely humbling experiences, and learned so much about life and living.

After being mugged in Nicaragua at knife point, and having everything of value stolen, I had to decide whether to pack it in and head home or tough it out and try to survive on what little money I had left.

Luckily, at the beginning of February, I found a great organization in Costa Rica that was looking for volunteers and needed an EFL Coordinator. Decision made, I headed into the rain forest – to a remote town 2 hours northeast of San Jose.

I hope in the next few months I’ll be able to share some of the great stories that go hand in hand with traveling and the volunteer experience while I continue to learn about this amazing sector I’ve fallen into.

Jen Johnson is from Calgary, Canada. Currently, she’s living in Costa Rica and working as an EFL coordinator at a conservation center.

Before a choir concert the other night, my conductor’s 7-year-old daughter came over to greet me with the customary peck on the cheek and added: “They told me you’re leaving? You’re leaving and you’re not coming back?”

Hopefully probably maybe hopefully I will return soon? I used to say, “Yes, of course” when I lived in Chile, when I worked in Colombia. And sometimes I returned, and sometimes I didn’t. But even if I do return, I’m afraid I’ll just run up against the fact that the space I occupy here is a footprint in the sand, one that will eventually wash out with the tide. The choir will find another soprano (one who is not an alto in disguise); the hospital will get another round of volunteers.  In a place where most friendships start in childhood, it’s hard to feel that I occupy no more than a casual spot in people’s lives.  It’s hard not to feel, that even if I return for a long-term position in Uruguay, I wouldn’t have to start over again.

Over the past few months I’ve worried over my next steps, as so many of the La Vida Idealist bloggers have. I could stay, cobble together work, see a proper summer for the first time in three years. But although Montevideo has garnered press lately as an great retirement spot, it is not so great for a foreign professional trying to progress in a specific career path. Additionally, the things that make living in Uruguay easy – small population, strong role of government in social services, middle-income country – dovetail with the reasons why chances I will find a D.C.-based job for which I could think about Uruguay (if not actually travel there) pretty slim. I have friendships here I’m sad to leave, but I have friendships back home I want to nurture as well. I decided to return to the U.S. by year’s end, although not without wheedling my family into flying down for Christmas first.

In the meantime, the slow disentanglement from obligations here has begun. My last English conversation class was two weeks ago, and final presentations for our grants were on Tuesday. Most of the other grantees are leaving in less than two weeks. I’d planned an early December trip with a friend half a year ago, back when the last grant disbursement implied the “end” of my official time here. Of course, now I’m juggling holiday choral concerts and project meetings, asados and beach plans. All of that reminds me that my life in Uruguay did grow outside the parameters of the grant.  I read an article about package bombs in D.C. and wonder again if I’m crazy to leave.

But of course, my friends both here and in the U.S. have one prophecy that could still be fulfilled: that I meet and marry the Uruguayan gaucho of my dreams. Not the only way to guarantee that instead of fading footprints I will always have a solid foot in both worlds, but a fun one to imagine nonetheless.

Flora Lindsay-Herrera is currently a Fulbright Fellow in Montevideo, Uruguay. For more about her experiences, check out her blog.

For more on saying goodbye in Latin America, check out “Hello, Goodbye, Adios” by Megan Wood, “Hasta Luego” by Jonah Brill, “Nobody Teaches You How to Say Goodbye” by Kent Green, “Left My Heart in San Francisco” by Curtis Fox, “Dear Latin America” by Roxanne Krystalli and “Those Final Few Days” by Amanda Patterson.

La cueca, the Chilean baile nacional, is a ritualized mating dance between rooster and hen. The lady prances back and forth waving her handkerchief (pañuelo) coyly; the huaso (Chilean cowboy) takes manly strides, trying to entrap her with his own pañuelo. There are lots of complicated patterns and steps with names like vuelta, media luna, redonda, escobillado, zapateo, etc. Done well, it is quite beautiful.

When a few of my students and colleagues asked me to dance cueca in the September 18^th assembly, my up-for-anything volunteer mentality prompted me to agree. I told them if they could teach me, I would do it.

In the States, if someone had handed me a hanky and a funny dress, and instructed me to mince about batting my eyelashes, I would have laughed my head off. Battling that reaction was the most difficult part of my three cueca rehearsals. It wasn’t just a matter of getting over my self-consciousness – or even of reminding myself that cueca is normal for Chileans. Rather, the key was to appreciate the beauty of the dance – the theater of it – and to take pleasure in playing my part. My students would be tickled to death no matter what I did, so I thought I’d try and do the la cueca justice.

On the eve of the big day, I found myself practicing cueca at home alone, with my host-family’s black lab following me around trying to steal my pañuelo. As I caught glimpses of myself in the mirror, waving my hanky and stomping my feet, I had a hard time keeping a straight face.

But I got my giggles out in time. The dance went well and I was proud to have pushed through the embarrassment – I even got some good feedback. One of my students reported her mother’s reaction as “La gringa se defendió”  – which I translated to myself as “Warn’t half bad.” I’ll take it.

Nereida Heller is currently volunteering in Puerto Aisén, Chile with the English Open Doors Program. For more about her experiences, check out her blog. For more on dance in Latin America, check out Kent Green’s “We Dance If We Want To (so why don’t we)?” and “Cultural Portals” by Gena Thomas.

Photo from Flickr user 100Wasser

A few months ago I left my volunteer position with Ya’axché Conservation Trust in what I think was a career upgrade. I moved to Guatemala to start a position, hold your hats readers, with pay! Now, being the polite albeit devastatingly curious people that we all are, I’m sure you are dying to know what sort of pay a cherub-faced, 22-year-old know-nothing has been able to earn in this unforgiving economy.

But you probably wouldn’t ask in fear of breaking the sacred code of money-talk etiquette often seen in the West: Never ask how much. Conversely, Guatemalans will ask how much your left shoe cost you without a second of hesitation. Living in such a money-obsessed, impoverished community has been difficult and bitter, and at the increased exposure to the question “How much?” I find myself fretting for my personal financial future. How much will graduate school applications cost? How much will I make as a barista working part-time? How much will I possibly be able to make with a degree in sustainable development?

To quench your thirsting curiosity, I earn Q2000 a month, the equivalent of $250. Over the course of the next year, I’ll be making less than the cost of one semester of schooling at my university. The following year, I plan on spending ten times as much for graduate school. After that, I expect to pay more dues through internships and entry-level jobs making a pittance.  I seem to be welcoming a decade of debt, with wide open pockets.

I’ve been talking a lot about an article the New York Times Magazine published last weekend that shed light on the current predicament of us “emerging adults:” no spouse, no children, no financial independence, and no determined financial stability in sight. Though our paths are all different, what we have in common is our dwindling bank accounts and idealistic views leading us in directions that offer little pay, but great reward. Though I sometimes curse my inability to enjoy two bottles of wine and a wheel of cheese each week, it all comes back to the knowledge that I am working towards something I think is important, enjoyable, commendable, and just downright good.

Please don’t let small paychecks and missing comforts guide you away from a challenging life in the field. At the end of the day, you’ll know that you are accomplishing something grand.

Bridget Barry is currently a Program Associate with Limitless Horizons Ixil in Chajul, Guatemala. To read more about Bridget’s time abroad with limited economic means, check out her past entries or posts by other La Vida Idealist bloggers in Guatemala. For more on the financial challenges idealists face after coming home, check out Patrick Furlong’s “Dueling Realities” and Kimberly Friedland’s “The Well-Planned Life or Summoned Self?“

Aerial view of Montevideo

1. Pay bills and credit card(s). While you’re at it, call credit/debit card companies to let them know you’ll be traveling so they don’t suspend your card. Feeding two people on five dollars in Budapest for the day was no fun.
2. Figure out how you’ll get money wherever you’re going. I always went the ATM in-country route, wary of rapacious rates from currency exchange places and nervous of carrying too much cash. (But in Uruguay, the casas de cambio give a better rate than the banks.) I’ve also found myself in places where ATMs didn’t accept international cards and it was a bank holiday; where the lone ATM didn’t accept Mastercard (Visa advertising slogan for the win, at least on a remote Pacific island); and where drivers didn’t accept cash older than the year 2000. So bring some small dollar or euro bills as back-up.
3. Write everything down. Maybe I’ll have internet, maybe I won’t. Maybe whipping out a guidebook won’t attract unwanted attention – or maybe it will. I always carry a little notebook with hand-drawn maps, flight numbers, phone numbers, postcard addresses – anything I can anticipate needing ahead of time. It’s more portable, subtler, and a great resource for re-creating my trip come photo-labeling time.
4. Figure out power adapters ahead of time. Most small electronics work within 110-240 volts these days, but double-check! It also never hurts to bring a few extra adapters in case of unexpected detours, but if I dare say so, give up anything that requires a converter because they are heavy.  So that may mean leaving the hairdryer at home.
5. Purchase traveler’s health insurance. You never know.
6. Print out boarding passes, and keep them accessible. It’s one of those things that’s easy to write off. Until I arrived at an airport, at 3 a.m., where the security officers were conducting an X-ray scan and boarding pass check – before the check-in counters. “What would you do if the computers were down?” the guard admonished me as I scrabbled around for the print-out. If the computers went down the airline would have probably had bigger problems…but don’t argue with guards with side arms.
7. Do a last minute look. Luggage lock? Check. Travel sized toiletries refilled? Check. Laundry done? Check. Passport located at least two days prior to departure? (You laugh, but the number of frantic last minute calls I used to get from volunteers….) Check.

But in the end, once I overslept and found myself en route to the airport with a passport but no driver’s license, an iPod but no headphones, and a credit card but no cash. Granted, I was flying home and the situation was pretty minor, but a good reminder that the most important thing to remember is yourself.

Flora Lindsay-Herrera is currently a Fulbright Fellow in Montevideo, Uruguay. For more about her experiences, check out her blog. For more on departures, read “Runway Mix: This Time Tomorrow,” “Thoughts for the Outbound Voyager,” and “When are you coming back?”

Figuring that everything generally works out for the best, we decided to stifle our uncertainty and book our hiking tip. Arequipa is a beautiful city with arguably the prettiest Plaza de Armas (center square) that I have seen. However, the beauty of the Plaza paled in comparison to the ineffable views of the canyon.

Colca Canyon

Before the hike started, we went to the Mirador de los Cóndores. At the outlook, we were able to see the Condors flying around. Comparable to a whale watch, everyone snapped an insane amount of pictures of the bird. Condors are certainly beautiful; however; similar to a whale watch, the pictures do not do them justice.

We then descended over 1000 meters over the course of six hours into the canyon and arrived at a beautiful oasis. Our hostel had massive natural pools built into even larger natural stones. By 6:30 p.m., we had a well-deserved dinner of pasta and by 7:30 p.m. we fell asleep in some huts.

We awoke at 5:00 A.M. to climb up to 3300 meters. The subida was the perfect mix of strenuous exercise and overwhelming beauty. With an incentive of arriving before the sun rose, we completed the hike up in less than two hours.

Reaching the peak was a mix of utter exhaustion and sheer happiness. I’m still feeling the hike a week later. Fortunately, we found a bus back to Cusco with functioning bathrooms and sealed windows. Like my trip to the Salt Flats in Bolivia, the hike made the uncomfortable arrival worth it ten times over. South America has some pretty awesome destinations and the Colca Canyon is definitely one of them.

Jonah Brill is currently volunteering as a Field Researcher with Arariwa in Cusco, Peru.

The best part of my job with Arariwa is that I get to travel around to different pueblos and interview small-scale entrepreneurs. Most of the time it’s fairly monotonous. I ask the same questions and receive the same answers, más o menos. Every so often, I interview socios who really open up and share their inspiring stories with me.

This past Tuesday, I traveled to Calca where I met Milagros and Hector. For the past seven years, they have been running a children’s school in the town named after Thomas Alva Edison. Milagros and Hector work tirelessly to increase the sustainability and value of the school. Like most colegios in Peru the school charges a fee. Some families cannot afford to pay the 190-sol ($66 dollar) monthly price promptly. To combat this frequent lack of funds, Hector and Milagros take out microloans to pay their teachers.

Hector, a science teacher, does not receive a salary. Milagros, who serves as the director as well as a history teacher, earns 1100 soles a month or about $385 dollars. They have recently started an adult education program. These night classes focus on the value of healthy diets, exercise and the need to oversee their children’s homework. When I was there, the room was full with parents. The school also has the largest library in the area with over 300 books.

When I told them that they were doing great things and were an inspiration to me, Hector scoffed. He told me that Edison invented the light bulb and that they have a long way to go to reach that sort of monumental effect. Anyone that is using Edison as a barometer of success clearly has the right intentions.

Visiting Calca reaffirmed the importance of this trip for me. I am encountering people who, with very little resources, are making a profound difference. Milagros and Hector were an inspiration to me and a testament to the significance of microloans.

Jonah Brill is currently volunteering as a Field Researcher with Arariwa in Cusco, Peru.

Menu del Día: Depending on where it is bought, this standard lunch costs anywhere from 3-soles to 4-soles. When you pay 4-soles, you feel like you are getting scammed a little bit. Either there should be enough food to leave you feeling uncomfortably full or it has to be absolutely delicious. Most of the time it’s neither. You get a sopa with a large potato and a few chicken toes and nails; a segundo, which is the main course generally the rest of the chicken and a refreshing chicha morada, a maiz based drink.

La Sopa (chicken feet included)

Combis: No matter where you are in the city, the rides cost 60 centimos. As mentioned in a previous blog post, I am partial to Batman and generally have to wait so I can ride with the Dark Knight.

Taxis: There is a fixed rate in the city. During the day, rides cost 2.50-soles and at night they cost 3.00-soles. Sometimes cab drivers get cheeky and try to charge more. If you are leaving a discoteca they might try to charge 8-soles. A simple response of, “Vivo acá, no me robes” (I live here, don’t rob me) should suffice. The taxi drivers love that.

Chocolate: A Sublime (pronounced soo-blee-may) chocolate bar costs 1-sol exactly. I average about two a day.

Tutoring Lessons: I’ve been fortunate to take lessons with the world’s greatest tutor, Yesenia. They cost 20-soles/hour. She comes to my apartment with a full lesson plan and homework. We talk about everything from politics in Cusco to the imperfect subjunctive. The best thing about these lessons is that they are all in Spanish. Yesenia no habla inglés.

Ceviche: We have a semi-weekly outing to Olas Bravas to get the world’s best ceviche. It costs everyone 18-soles each and we order enough delicious food that leaves us feeling uncomfortably full.

Apartment: My apartment in the professional Magisterio neighborhood costs $90/month. I share the place with two others and we have a full kitchen (although all of our appliances electrically shock us), a living room with a bookshelf, and a bathroom with hot water.

A Cusqueña: Although it might be a stretch to label Cusqueña Cusco’s premier beer, it is certainly found everywhere. At a bar, expect to pay about 10-soles for a 650ml pint. There is a certain rule, which we all ascribe to here, and that is that it is always happy hour. If we do not want beer, we usually order two mojitos for the happy hour special of 20-soles.

I might be a little rusty on Maslow’s hierarchy of necessities but I’m fairly certain that shelter, chocolate, beer, food, tutoring and combi rides fit in there somewhere.

Jonah Brill is currently volunteering as a Field Researcher with Arariwa in Cusco, Peru.