I can tell this is going to be a different sort of trip already. For starters, the trip from San Francisco to Guatemala City required only eight hours and I could read most of the signage. Moreover, my stays in places may be shorter as I keep moving down the Cebtral American Isthmus. This combined with a lot of places not allowing the uploading of photographs due to Internet bandwidth limitations, may cause me to combine multiple stops into one post, like this one, which covers all three of my stops in Guatemala.
The first stop, Guatemala City (aka Guate), was basically trashed by my guidebook as a tourist destination and it was right. It is a gritty and grimy city of about 1.5 million with churches (and we all know how I feel about those) as its alleged highlights. Luckily, I wasn´t spending long here - only two nights and the first one didn´t really count because I didn´t get settled into my hotel until about 10:30 p.m., and it was in a rougher part of town with little nightlife, although the hotel was a nice converted home with a pleasant courtyard that was completely non-descript from the street.
The following day I wandered around the Old Town, the highlights of which were lunch and the National Palace. For lunch, I sought out traditional Guatemalan food and was rewarded with a pleasant courtyard restaurant (see pic). (Like Cuba, it appears that buildings and homes here mostly enclose open courtyards containing lush plants in order to get air and sun, keep surrounding rooms cool, while not being open to the street and crime.) I wanted to get the tepezcuintle, a large rodent, but they were out. Instead, I had turtle soup and Kak´ík, a red/brown turkey stew with achiote, coriander, and a number of chilies of largely eaten by the Q'eqchi' Mayas of Guatemala. Although both dishes were good, that big rat remains on my radar.
The National Palace was interesting because I got a decent history lesson about Guatemala, and the palace is so rediculously extravagant, having been built by an egomanical general during World War II complete with two-ton chandeliers by Tiffany, 24-carat gold gilt everything, and bannister poles made from expended shell casings. The centerpiece is a statue of two hands representing Guatemala´s peace since the end of its 36-year long civil war in 1996, and containing a whole bunch of other symbolic references I won't bore you with, although I had to suffer through it.
That night, I took a taxi (everyone told me not to walk parts of the city alone at night) to the Zona Viva - the New Town, where all the modern hotels, nightclubs, swank restaurants and bars are located (and where one can walk alone at night). The problem was that it was a Wednesday and the places I wandered through were dead and overpriced (for example, $5 beers in a country where they usually are less than $2.50). I can do one or the other, but not both. I also made the mistake of following Fodor´s advice that, if I had only one meal to eat in Guate, it should be at Jake´s. Well, that would have been fine if I wanted Morton's or Ruth Chris'. Fuck you, Fodor, for sparing that big rat for another night while some cow died for my pleasure instead.
Thursday, I "traveled" to Antigua, the former Colonial capital until 1821 (or something). I say"traveled" because it is less than 30 miles away from Guate, but those thirty miles make an incredible difference. First, they are uphill through dramatic canyons and (surprising to me) mostly evergreen hardwood forest (rather than jungle) to over 5,000 feet, so the temperature was much more pleasant. Second, the city itself is much more appealing, with cobblestone streets lined with brightly painted Colonial buildings and littered with churches and ruins. Third, the town is clearly more affulent and a destination city for other Guatemalan tourists destination with dozens of boutiques, handicrafts stands and stores, wine and chocolate stores, and so many international restaurants that it was hard to find traditional Guatemalan food. Fourth, it is littered with Spanish language schools and students who come for "immersion" study of 5 or so hours a day for one to six weeks, which makes for an interesting and casual international bar scene. It may be overtouristed for some purists, but I liked it and can totally see how it is one of those places that people come for a few days and end up staying for much longer.
Plus, I feel I earned my Central American wings because I rode the "chicken" bus up here for a little over a dollar rather than the $7 tourist shuttle. This wasn´t by choice. Rather, when I told the taxi driver I wanted to go to the bus terminal for Antigua, he took me to the terminal where the locals go from, and I failed in my efforts to explain that there was another place for the tourist shuttles, so I just got out and got on. I wouldn´t want to do several hours on it, but one hour was great. It was a converted schoolbus, and we cruised along the side of the highway with a guy standing at the door yelling out our destination, and stopping if anyone waved. People got on and off through the front and back doors and the bus jockey (there is a Spanish name for him but I forgot it) wold sometimes go over the roof to collect fares from the back boarders). By the time we were out of Guate, most of the seats designed for two had three people in them. Further, everytime we stopped someone would jump on and try to sell candy, food, or gewgaws, working their way up and down the aisle, and then getting off the next time we stopped. No actual chickens on the bus, but, all in all, a classic experience.
Most of what I did for two days in Antigua was wander around, eat local food like chorizo tacos, plato typicos of tortillas, beef, sausage, guacamole, salsa, beans and plantains, and lamb stew, and drink at a few local watering holes. The first night (at an Irish pub of course) I had a minor epiphany when I realized that I would be mostly surrounded by American travelers on this trip (at least until South America) instead of the almost complete lack of American travellers and expats in Asia and South America. Even Europe has relatively few Americans compared to the amount of other Europeans, Aussies, Kiwis, Canadians, Israelis, etc. that you meet. Accordingly, there is probably going to be a lot less political talk since most Americans are not going to bring up George Fucking Bush in the first minute of a conversation after realizing where I am from.
Instead, for example, I had dinner Thursday night with a woman from San Diego who was polishing up her subjunctive case in preparation for the California Spanish teaching credential examination. She had been here for two weeks so, on her advice, we went to a restaurant called "The Green Bellies" because of the amount of avocado they eat. I had an excellent robalo, which they tranlated as "snook" and said was a kind of sea bass. Later, I had a conversation with a woman researching her dissertation on Central American women poets of the 1930's. Had she been better looking, I might have tried to care.
Friday night, however, I found the bar which would be my local, should I ever be a local here. Called the No Lo Se, it was everything I like in a bar - funky decor, interesting people, at least a couple of attractive women to give one hope, good music played at a volume allowing conversation, cheap drinks, and a fun attitude. Their slogan is in the picture and you cannot argue with it. Unfortunately, Thursday night had apparently been a blowout bender lasting until 4:30 in the morning, so the place was somewhat empty and the owners and several of the regulars were clearly hurting and left early. However, I did get my first weird bathroom experience - this one had propane tanks in the shower (see pic).
I wish I could have come back the next night, but I had already booked two nights at a somewhat infamous hostel on the shore of Lake Atilian, a little over 110 kilometers north of Antigua - about 2.5 hours by shuttle on winding roads through pretty astounding mountain/canyon scenery until you arrive at the lake surrounded by three 9 to 10,000 foot volcanos. The lake was best in the morning, when the skies were clear and sunny, and the water was calm to reflect the volcanos. However, May is the beginning of the rainy season throughout Central America (likely to be a recurring theme) so the sky would grow more overcast throughout the day and there was rain by late afternoon both days. I opted not to go diving or snorkeling given that these first rains bring the dry season's accumulated scum, waste, pollution and bodily effluent washing off the slopes and into the lake. Four divers went out on Saturday; four divers got sick.
I, however, enjoyed myself immensely. The hostel - Las Iguana Perfida (The perfidious iguana) I stayed at was not in the main shoreside town of of Panajachel, which has a reputation from the 1960´s and ´70s as a hippie hangout. Sort of a Guatemalan Berkeley with more short brown women with stuff on their heads. It did appear to be infested with shops selling the handicrafts of the local indigineous people, tourists, hippies, new agers, massage, spas and "organic" everything, but I heard that it was actually more mainstream now and the hippies had moved around the lake to another spot. La Iguana Perfida was a short 15-minute water taxi counter-clockwise around the lake, below a traditional local village called Santa Cruz. The main attractions were lazing, hiking, diving, swimming, and lazing. I read a lot of the 940 pages of my current book while listening to the rain pelt the jungle, walked around the lake a bit, explored the village, and hung out meeting people.
The highlight was the Saturday dinner barbeque and cross-dressing party. I missed Bay to Breakers this year and Burning Man last year, so this was my first time in a while to dress up, or down, depending upon your point of view. I ended up as some sort of pre-op Laura Ingram (from Little House on the Prarie) tranny, and it was not a good look. A pinata containing, among other things, condoms was broken by a birthday boy. Fire was twirled. Many $1.25 vodka and dragonfruit shots were drank for charity (1 quetzales - named after the national bird - and maybe the most unusual term for money - other than "dong" - I have used yet, about 13 cents, out of each shot was used for local town projects). Catwalking and costume changes occurred. Balloon boob rubbing was quite popular. And, certainly not least, two guys sang great songs like "My God Has A Bigger Dick Than Your God," "My Girlfriend is Spinning From the Ceiling Fan," and "I Am the Only Gay Eskimo in My Tribe." My pics probably do not entirely do it justice - it gets five stars for goofy backbacker trail hostel events - and it reminded me why I like hostels, despite the often spartan quality of the accomodation.
The following day and night were extra lazy since most people had checked out and the others were pretty hung. I was the only one who drank beer at Happy Hour and dinner, and I only had a couple. QED. Hell, the staff put "Adaptation" on the DVD and everyone watched and/or slept it. And that was it for Guatemala. Six nights was too short, but I gotta move if I am going to see what I want to see, so next up is:
San Salvador, El Salvador
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