Written by DIWYY guest writer, Robyn, who recently moved to Antigua, Guatemala from Silicon Valley. We’ll be following her journey through regular blog posts. If you missed her first point, read it here.

The end of week two is about when people thought I’d come home… But I’m still here. This “adventure” is more like a test. One of self-denial and value assessment. And I’m failing. (Ay Dios Mio!) I’m failing bad. Well. Maybe a D-. But certainly not a score worthy of refrigerator real-estate.

First off, I packed poooorly. I didn’t have much to work with considering 98% of my closet is comprised of 4-inch heels and microscopic dresses. I brought the only 3 pairs of flat shoes I own- 2 pairs of sandals and running shoes. My little gold Steven Maddens fell victim to the cobblestone within a week. Thank God the strap snapped within a safe distance to my house. Not sure I could have appreciated the comedy that would have ensued as I tripped my way over filthy (and no doubt germ-ridden) streets- desperately trying to avoid little pools of questionable liquid. And let’s be honest. ANY pool of street liquid is questionable.  I brought one the pair of jeans I own that are short enough to wear with flats,  a pair of shorts that I’m sure will NOT be worn, a couple rescued-from-the-Goodwill-bag tank tops, a maxi dress or 2, yoga clothes, a wind breaker… Uhh. Not much else. But Antigua is a city where people wear normal clothes! Either hippie-with-dreads-SUPER-second-hand clothes, or normal, what-we-wear-at-home clothes… SO. I pretty much feel underdressed or over showered, but certainly never pretty. Or cute. OR well accessorized. The best I can do is a spritz of my now rationed perfume, a swipe of my vanishing-by-the-day Nars blush and a quick once-over with the little hair straightener I picked up at Wal-Mart. (I know, pathetic.) I’m learning how much value I derive from what people think of me bases on what I look like… wondering how I feel about that.

Other daily adventures…

The shower. First. You HAVE to remember not to let the water trickle into your mouth. I spent the first few days practically holding my breath in fear of ingestion… I mean. It was like doing cardio. I’d come out of the shower winded because I took so few breaths. Redic. I’ve now reached a more normal level of caution. Also. These “suicide showers”, as they’re known, are heated by an electric coil thing… the higher you turn on the water pressure, the faster the water runs through it, and the colder the water gets. For optimal heat you have to shower under a glorified dribble. And. IMPORTANT. You CANNOT touch the showerhead while it’s on. You WILL get shocked. Not bad enough to kill you… I’m living proof of that.  But it’s quite uncomfortable and scary as hell.

The volcanoes. I stare at 3 of them everyday. There are signs and flyers for tours and hikes all over the place. It seemed like the right thing to do. So. I climbed one. An active one. It’s called Pacaya. Aaaand it was terrifying. I mean yes, sure, it’s awesome that I climbed an active volcano. But only because I survived. Had I not, Channel 7’s commercial teaser would have read something like:

“An American girl died this afternoon after being caught in a lava flow on the active volcano she was hiking… We’ll have the exclusive story, including interviews with family and friends who say, ‘She’s not a hiker, we have no idea why she thought she should climb an active volcano.’ More at 11.”

Moments after a guide’s SHOES MELTED to the rocks, and she ripped the gooey rubber and remaining sock portion of her Nike’s from the scalding stones, I started shaking my head and repeating (like a crazy person): “Muy peligroso! Muy, MUY peligroso!” To summit, we crossed a freaking babbling brook of lava. LA-VA. Like, Hot Lava Monster, lava. At one point I looked down through a crack in the rock on which I was standing and could clearly see a neon streak of skin-vaporizing molten. 6 inches under me. I was literally standing half-a-foot above an underground lava aquifer. And let me also tell you- There’s not like, a trail to the peak of this active volcano. Which, by the way, we reached at sunset. (Read: Hiked back down in the dark.) It’s just a super giant pile of ankle slicing, newly formed, black volcanic shards over which we stumbled- in small single-file groups, with gaps in-between each group, because the rock isn’t SOLID ENOUGH to support the weight of too many people. WHAT?!!!

Whatever. I did survive. And I suppose I’m happy I can say that I’ve climbed an active volcano. But I’m certainly not going back for more.  (I’d post a picture of me on the volcano but fear, lack of make-up, and a hideous running hat prevented any evidence gathering.)

I also paid about $20(US) for a coffee plantation tour. Overrated. I learned a bit, but nothing I couldn’t read online. I hear the Macadamia Nut farm is much more cool- it’s next on my little hit list.  PS- Guatemala exports 85% of their best coffee to… guess who? (Hint: Think Seattle and green straws)

The biggest adventure of all is just learning to acclimate to this new life, the pace (everyone is late for everything, all the time), the culture of a town with clashing cultures and little accountability, and a lifestyle that is so totally different from what I know….

My feet have been filthy since day one and I’ve given up on the idea of anything different. It’s like camping. You just surrender to the dirt. I’ve met some incredible people here, but I miss my friends and the intimacy that comes from being comfortable with people you love. I can feel myself settling in- just a tiny bit.  I’m getting lost less and adjusting to regular “life-in-Antigua”. Little things are hard… like if I want black beans for dinner, I needed to start soaking them yesterday. I’m starting to feel sick but it’s not as simple as calling my doctor to make an appointment. And I HAVE TO LEARN TO REMEMBER not to drop the toilet paper in the bowl… don’t get me started.

However, at this point, I can confidently hit the local open-air market a few times a week and negotiate for non-gringa prices on staples like aguacates, tomates, y lechuga. Also. I’ve discovered a little restaurant that sells the most amazing chocolate truffles with chunks of fresh ginger and a dusting of cinnamon. They’re bite-sized, super gooey and vegan. Hello amazing-ness. (I’m also pretty sure they’ve got some crack inside, because since finding these stupid things I’ve been compelled to walk 6 blocks out of my way to consume about 3 of them a week. Officially. Addicted.)

In Antigua we walk everywhere. (Which justifies the truffle consumption.) But to get out of town, the cheapest mode of transportation is on a Chicken bus. It literally took me to the end of the 2^nd week to figure out that “Chicken busses” were the black-exhaust producing, old-fashioned school busses that fly around town like the bus driver from The Simpsons is behind the wheel. I kept looking for like, a flat bed truck transporting stacks of caged chickens from town to town. I figured you thumbed one down and climbed on board. Not so much. …I’ve yet to ride on one of these Chicken busses. And probably won’t. I’m absolutely positive they are more peligroso than lava, and for a few bucks more I can take a shuttle anywhere.  It’s one adventure I think I’ll skip.

I’m not dreaming in Spanish yet, but I’m starting to think in Quetzales instead of Dollars. (Except when justifying truffle expenditure. I THEN convert to Dollars, shrug my shoulder, and hand over the cash.) I even picked up a job bar tending. No. I don’t have any experience.

I’m lonelier than I’d like to be and much more incomodo…  But still. I’m pressing on.

We’ll be following Robyn’s journey with regular posts of her trial and tribulations in Antigua, Guatemala. You can also follow her blog.

Written by DIWYY guest writer, Robyn, who recently moved to Antigua, Guatemala from Silicon Valley.

I’m in Antigua.

…No, no. Not the warm Caribbean paradise with 5 star, all-inclusive resorts and swim up bars.

I’m in Antigua, GUATEMALA.

Every time I say that, this is the neurotic conversation that takes place in my head:

“I’m in Guatemala? Wait. What? …Que?”

(Repeat with panic: “I’m in Guatemala!”)

“I’m in Guat-e-freaking-mala! On one way ticket no less. I’m a high-maintenance Vegan! WHAT AM I DOING HERE?”

I mean. Guatemala???  Where toilet paper can’t be flushed, “beans and rice” are not necessarily vegetarian, and where, more importantly, I don’t speak the language.

And let me just say that I am SUCH a Silicon Valley girl. Phrases like “IPO” and “emerging technology” make my heart beat faster. I read VallyWag.com more often than US Weekly. I get email on my Smartphone, Twitter like they pay me, and as far as I’m concerned- a day without Facebook just doesn’t happen.

I do not dress down. Ever.

I wear stilettos to the grocery store and spend more time at Whole Foods than some of their employees. I consider The Daily Show my news outlet, and TiVo the hell out of Prime Time. I also love my own bed.

In short, I AM NOT a traveler.

I’d like to be a “traveler”. The same way I’d like to be one of those girls who doesn’t own a TV and says things like, “I’m more of a reader.”

I wish I were that girl. But I’m not. And yet, somehow, I’m in Guatemala.

(I just had that conversation in my head again.)

Retracing the steps….

Silicon Valley failed me. After a major layoff at my company, I found myself without a job, or an identity.  And then the boy I loved so much cheated on me. We broke up and all of I sudden, I was lost. And though 12 lbs lighter from post-breakup angst, I could hardly pull myself out of bed (Or off his Facebook page) to enjoy the skinny jeans I could be wearing.

A few months prior to the breakup disaster, a friend of a friend mentioned he was going to Central America to write. He threw out a half-serious, and quickly dismissed invite to go with him. I mean. How could I leave my boyfriend? Or Silicon Valley? In my mind I was already getting behind in life. I needed a mortgage. And impressive business cards. And a husband.

But my plan wasn’t going that way I’d anticipated. So in a daze of post-breakup-self-empowerment, I called my friend’s friend and asked, “Is Guatemala still on the table?”

So I’m here. And I’m all in. And I didn’t even pack a single pair of heels.  I’m confident I will be a huge disaster. But the adventure is on… and there’s no backing out now.

We’ll be following Robyn’s journey with regular posts of her trial and tribulations in Antigua, Guatemala. You can also follow her blog.