In these here parts, a popular treat is helados, little baggies of frozen fruit beverages. I don’t let my children buy the helados they sell on the streets for fear of all things bacterial (goodness, I sound like my mother!), and, oddly enough, they don’t fuss about their deprivation, probably because I pronounce Doom and Gloom whenever they suggestively point out a cooler of frozen treats.

I did, however, buy a bunch of little baggies in the market so that we could make them ourselves. Below is my most recent concoction—

Hang on. I just interrupted our house help’s industrious sweeping of our floors to ask how the people here make helados. 

She said they are simply fruits blended up with sugar and water or milk, depending on the type of fruit and the desired flavor. For example, strawberries are blended with water and sugar, while bananas and coconuts are blended with milk and sugar. Mangos and pineapple don’t have any liquid added to them, just sugar. And then there are plain milk helados that are made with just sugar and vanilla.

…um, wait. I just stuck my head out of my room to ask her a couple more questions, and this time around she said that strawberries, cantaloupes, watermelon, etc, are blended with milk and sugar. I guess this means there is no set-in-stone formula?

Okay then! So here’s what you do, says I. Just make a runny fruit smoothie of your choosing, pour it into little bags, tie them shut, and then freeze for the next day’s after-school snack.

Note: eating them is half the fun. Bite a little hole in one of the bottom corners of the bag and suck, slurp, and chew until gone.

Mango Banana Helados

2 very ripe bananas
1½ cups chopped mango (the equivalent of one large, juicy-sweet mango)
1 pint peach yogurt
1-2 cups milk

Whirl it together in the blender. Pour 1/4-1/3 cup portions into long, skinny baggies. Tie baggies shut as you do a balloon (this is where a helper comes in handy—one to fill bags and the other to tie them shut). Freeze.

I’ve been getting braver with my camera! Some days, I wrap it in a towel, tuck it in my backpack, and then, if my mood (and the lighting and the social setting) is right, I whip it out and shyly snap a few. I never take as many photos as I’d like, and I don’t circle my subjects like I do in the privacy of my home, but still, it’s something.

(I’ve noticed that the photos, even the clear ones, end up looking fuzzy on the blog. Anyone else—readers? bloggers?—having this problem? Probably, blogger has it out for me.)

The car-and-bus graveyard:

We pass this dump on our way out of Cobán. Oddly enough, I find trash to be quite an interesting subject to photograph. I’m fascinated by what people throw out, and how and where—it says so much about a culture. Maybe I’m a garbologist at heart? 

Our transportation:

I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again (and again and again): these microbuses are meant to hold 12-15 people, but they actually hold between 25 and 30. In the US, we’re taught that travel should be a luxurious event with spacious, comfy seats, ideal temps, and entertainment options. However, for the majority of the rest of the world, travel is simply a means of getting from point A to point B, never mind comfort. Having a place to rest your behind isn’t even necessary.

Also, contrary to the Central American saying, “There’s always room for one more,” the drivers do eventually turn people away (thank goodness).

A typical storefront:

Little stores (called tiendas) are everywhere. It seems like everyone and their aunt Tilda wants to slap a sign out front and sell cokes and chips. I still don’t understand how they make a profit.
 
Also, storefronts are often barred off. The customer simply stands on the street and asks for whatever she wants, and the vender fetches and bags it.

Note the bowl of dry corn (for making tortillas) sitting out front and, beside that, a bowl of tomatoes. Also, the chips. Lots and lots of teensy bags of chips that are empty before you even know what you’re eating. (I miss plunging my hand into a big, greasy bag of salty chips and eating my fill without fear of running out.)

Meet (the back of) our street sweeper!

This guy spends his entire day sweeping our street, up one side and down the other.

Every.
Single.
Day.

(Except for Sunday.) (I think.)

We always greet him, and he usually mumbles a reply, his head ducked low. However, just a couple days ago, he stopped me, asked about my camera (and I thought I was doing such a good job of being discreet when taking photos, ha!). His name is Enrique.

Enrique said he thought we (me and my husband? all six of us?) were siblings. Riiiight, six siblings just bumming around Guatemala together. Still, his shock and awe upon learning that I was the mother of four (“I thought you were a teenager!”) gave me a happy buzz for a couple hours.

Bulk shopping:

Some stores showcase big sacks of grains. Once, I made a vendor tell me what each thing was. Among the choices: popcorn, sesame seeds, bay leaves, flour, peanuts, spicy peanuts, bird seed, beans, incense, etc.

“La época de miel” (honey season):
 

The Wednesday before Good Friday, I went to market and was surprised to see honey everywhere I looked. Every other vendor had a five-gallon bucket, and, in her free time, was pouring the honey into old soda and whiskey bottles. “What’s up with all the honey?” I asked a woman. She just smiled and said, “Es la época de miel,” as though that explained everything. I never saw any honey before and I haven’t noticed it since.

Playpen:

I took one picture of the kid’s face (with his parents’ permission), but the poor dear immediately burst into tears. I had to finish take the rest of the pictures from behind, out of his line of vision.

This boy has been having quite the go-round with weird ailments.

First, he ran bare-legged through some sort of plant that leaves welts and burns like the dickens for an hour or two. We gave him a bath and then drugged him with an antihistamine, and the agony eventually faded.

Second, there was the stomach bug. A little puking, a little diarrhea, a little staying home from school and laying around. (Central America is The Place To Be if you’re going to suffer the stomach bug. His recuperation diet included mango, watermelon, pineapple, and banana, how lucky is he?)

He’s still not completely himself. Last night we had hotdogs (the first time since we came here so this was A Big Deal) and he only ate one. (His older brother, however, ate nine.)

And third, his allergies are giving him grief. He was on daily allergy meds, but then we ran out and, because he was always snuffling and sniffling even on the meds, we decided to give it a go without. He’s just as snuffly as before, but now there’s the eye problem—they swell up somewhat regularly. We put drops in as soon as we detect a problem and the inflammation subsides immediately, but still…it’s uncomfortable.  Is it because he’s not on a pill now? Or is it because of something in the air? Like, all the smoke from the field burning? It’s hard to know.

The other kids have been dealing with stomach stuff, too. Not enough to knock them down, but enough to keep them from eating much. (Except for, obviously, my older son.)