This piece was written for the 13th edition of Babble, the University of Edinburgh’s creative writing magazine for European Language students. In line with the theme of multilingualism, I reflected on my time living in Guatemala, incorporating multiple languages into the text. Below is the original submission, followed by an entirely English translation.

“If I ever leave Guatemala, the thing I will miss most is the sound of adults giggling. Adults don’t giggle like that anywhere else. I haven’t giggled in years.”

Estoy sentada en mi cocina al aire libre en San Juan la Laguna. Es una cocina humilde: no hay un horno ni microondas, y los quemadores de la estufa no se quedan encendidos si hay demasiado viento. Aun así, tiene la mejor vista que he presenciado, y ofrece un hermoso espectáculo del lago y los volcanes a la distancia. 

Es un día como cualquier otro. Estoy cocinando el almuerzo con mis hallazgos diarios del mercado local, mientras Catherine profesa su amor por Guatemala sobre mi hombro. Ella es otra huésped de larga estancia en el hotel, una británica que no ha estado en el Reino Unido desde 1985. La mayoría de mis comidas y tazas de café están acompañadas de relatos de su fascinante vida, como sobrevivir a guerras civiles y contraer dengue en las islas del Pacífico. Me dice: “I just prefer life in developing countries,” y se ríe de la idea de volver alguna vez a Europa. 

Catherine no es mi única invitada en la cocina. Recuerdo estar sentada con Cece, una joven guatemalteca de un pueblo vecino, que, esta vez en español, me habla mientras escribo un ensayo para la universidad. Ella también quiere viajar y estudiar, pero es imposible encontrar el tiempo con tres hijos. Es su sueño compartir la lengua y cultura de su pueblo indígena, una pasión que ha heredado de su padre.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

Recuerdo también a la mujer estadounidense. Me prepara una taza de cacao una noche después de que todos se hayan ido a dormir. Sentadas en la cocina con poca luz, confiesa que está luchando con algunas profundas heridas emocionales. Me dice que se enamoró de Guatemala hace muchos años, y, en sus palabras: “I knew I had to come back here to heal.” 

Pero mis compañeras favoritas para compartir la cocina son las guatemaltecas locales que trabajan en el hotel. Hablan en Tz’utujil, una lengua maya, de la cual solo he aprendido una frase: ‘mal diox’ (gracias). Hay un ritmo musical en su habla, y aunque no entiendo sus palabras, una alegría contagiosa se siente en la cocina mientras ríen tontamente y chismean en su lengua nativa.  

La cocina de historias ha sido el sitio de muchos otros encuentros interesantes: la pareja británica que estaba en el año sabático, el grupo de chicas de Quetzaltenango, la nómada digital vegana, la estadounidense experta en plantas, la divertidísima chica francesa… la lista sigue. 

En esta cocina pequeña que da al Lago Atitlán, he tocado todas las partes del globo. Cada día, una nueva historia se cuenta, una nueva lengua se habla, un nuevo continente se atraviesa. Mientras miro hacia el lago y los volcanes, los turistas ansiosos llegando al muelle, y el mirador que es el orgullo del pueblo, me siento conectada con todo el mundo.

English:

“If I ever leave Guatemala, the thing I’ll miss most is the sound of adults giggling. Adults don’t giggle like that anywhere else. I haven’t giggled in years.”

I’m sitting in my open-air kitchen in San Juan La Laguna. It’s a modest kitchen–there’s no oven or microwave, and the hobs on the stove burn out when there’s too much wind. Still, it has the best view I’ve ever seen, offering a spectacular display of the lake and the distant volcanoes. 

It’s a day like any other. I’m cooking lunch with my daily findings from the local marketplace as Catherine professes her love for Guatemala over my shoulder. She is another long-term hotel guest, a British woman who hasn’t set foot in the UK since 1985. Most meals and cups of coffee are accompanied by stories of her fascinating life, from tales of surviving civil wars to catching Dengue fever in the Pacific Islands. She tells me, “I just prefer life in developing countries”, and laughs at the idea of ever returning to Europe. 

Catherine isn’t my only guest in the kitchen. I also remember sitting with Cece, a young Guatemalan woman from the next town. Speaking in Spanish, she told me about her life while I wrote a paper for university. She explained that she, too, wants to travel and study, but with three kids, it’s impossible to find the time. It’s her dream to share the language and culture of her Indigenous town, a passion she inherited from her father. 

Then there was the American woman. She made me a cup of cacao one evening after everyone had gone to bed. Sitting in the dimly lit kitchen, she confessed that she was struggling with some deep emotional wounds. She had fallen in love with Guatemala many years ago, and, in her words, “I knew I had to come back here to heal.”

But my favorite people to share the kitchen with are the local Guatemalan women who work at the hotel. They speak in Tz’utujil, of which I have only learned one phrase: “mal diox” (thank you). There is a musical rhythm to their speech, and though I don’t understand their words, an infectious joyfulness fills the kitchen as they laugh and gossip in their native language. 

This kitchen of stories has been the site of many other alluring encounters: the British couple on sabbatical, the girls’ holiday from Quetzaltenango, the vegan digital nomad, the American plant expert… the list goes on.  

In this small kitchen overlooking Lake Atitlan, I have touched all parts of the globe. Every day, a new story is told, a new language is spoken, a new continent is traversed. As I look out over the lake and the volcanoes, at the eager tourists arriving at the dock, at the mirador, which is the pride of the town, I feel connected to the whole world.