The Give and Take Vacation
Spring/Summer 2009 Girlfriend Getaways> Subscribe Now
"On a scale of one to ten, with zero being me, how would you rate your skills?" I ask Melanie.
"A four," she tells me.
Pam, however, is more of an 11. She's gutted three houses and could probably build a Viking oven from scratch, so I'm elated when Rufus pairs us up. We hit it off instantly once we learn that we're both Libras and huge Broadway fans. After ticking off the plays we've both seen, we make plans to check out some more shows together in New York.
With constant supervision from Rufus on day one, we fall into a steady rhythm, mixing the cement and then affixing bricks in neat rows to build the base of the stove, all while listening to the soothing pitty-patty thrum of the women's hands flattening the dough. We work nonstop each day, occasionally taking a break to talk with the kids who run in and out (in my case, that means a few words in halting Spanish). One afternoon, the women invite Pam and Matt to make tortillas, but they can't get the dough to stop sticking to their hands, causing all the women to hoot and holler. On the last day, we run out of bricks just as we're about to finish the last stove. It's a defining moment for me—I can't jump in a car and drive to the Home Depot. Like the Buch-Tatuíns, I have to make do, cementing broken bricks together.
When the stoves are finally complete, the women chatter animatedly and hug everyone. "Thank you for your generosity," Maria Josefina says in Spanish, her eyes welling with tears. "We will remember you every time we use our new ovens." One by one, each daughter comes forward to give a speech, and soon there isn't a dry eye in the place.
No work and all play
After three days of trying not to cement a free-roaming chicken to a stove, I'm more than ready to spend a day relaxing and having cocktails on the lawn of the Earth Lodge, a laid-back retreat in the hills above Antigua. I've already been busy bonding—after a few drinks, Abbie and I discover we share a love of all things related to reality-TV star Flavor Flav, much to the chagrin of everyone else. The next morning, we're off to the Vulcano Lodge, a hotel two hours northwest of Antigua on the edge of blue-green Lake Atitlán. This will be our base camp for the rest of the trip while we hike, bike, and row our way around the lake. The hotel is run by a Norwegian named Terje Maeland, who has outfitted each room's terrace with a hammock. When we sit down to eat that night, I'm pleasantly surprised: The Guatemalan meal—butternut-squash soup and peppers stuffed with smoked chicken—is one of the best home-cooked dinners I've had in years.
There's no need to count calories: That afternoon, we bike over hills covered with 12-foot-tall cornstalks. It's exhilarating to be outdoors after days spent cutting bricks with a dull hacksaw, but my excitement turns to panic when we pick up our kayaks the next morning. I've only canoed before, and by the time our guide, Juan, finishes his safety lecture—which includes a tip to stay calm if we roll over (thanks!)—I'm petrified. Sensing my fear, our leader, Jodi, who's tackled rapids in Patagonia, volunteers to share a double kayak with me. With her at the helm, we skim across the water, and I come out looking like the pro.
On the hike back to the lodge, we pass through hamlets where kids as young as 7 are hoisting bundles of firewood on their backs. I think of my nieces, who can't carry their lacrosse sticks from the car to the house without whining. At that moment, I resolve to live my life a bit more simply (OK, Marc Jacobs sample sales don't count) and find happiness Buch-Tatuín-style by bringing my newfound skills back home with me—if only to cement a few friendships.
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