THE UGLIEST AMERICAN: Grounds For Dismissal
Trip Start
Nov 04, 2006
1
15
Trip End
Dec 03, 2006
Antigua,
Guatemala
Sunday, December 3, 2006
Thursday, in San Pedro De Laguna was a hard day of nothing much at all, walked around town in the morning and there is this one street where there are 3 orange juice ladies with separate stands only 20 feet from the other
05 Volcanic Dick
. They are the usual reserved and sedate Guatemalan women until you walk by and they all start shouting at you to get your attention. I have enough problems getting my own attention, so I just gravitate towards the warmest smile, and the juiciest fruits. And that, is how I met Anna.But regardless of which stand I choose, you canīt beat fresh squeezed and I put down my 3 quetzales and drink like the gluttonous gringo that I am. Unfortunately, I have suffered numerous setbacks and mishaps on the coffee and beer front. Iīve become a stickler for cold beer, which is not a commodity here. I canīt help but think that Terry Huettl has been my co-pilot down here in my travels for this reason. I actually will not let them open a beer until I can touch it to see if it is fria. And coffee, letīs just say itīs either made right in front of me, or I donīt drink it. Ainīt got time for NesCafe, Davey.
Hit the bars with the posse, albeit a smaller one, on my final night in San Pedro. Always a good time. John, Jamie, Jamie 2, Tony, Michael, Caroline and some new faces. Everyone filled me in on how my afterparty went the night before, and more specifically, how it ended. Turns out my upstairs neighbor didnīt appreciate the fiesta downstairs
and yelled at us
Antigua, Not all colonial splendor
. John briefly passed out in the hammock, Jamie (who lived with a local family for a homestay as part of her Spanish School) had to climb the fence to get to her bed, Caroline claims she took a dump in my bathroom, (gauche but weirdly calming), and the little dog, I think he was just trying to get a piece of ass. Or a piece of chicken that was in my bathroom garbage. The foreign beer bottles were accounted for, the cash I lost was found in my shoe (?), and the mystery was at last solved. TTīs afterparties: Come for the feral dogs, stay for the amnesia.Observations about Guatemala while on tour:
Nobody ever has change for anything. I find myself drinking more Mozas just so I donīt have to haggle for my change.
The police: For Sale. (and business is good)
In 3rd world countries, you donīt flush your toilet paper. Think about that when you tip the maid.
The only debt I have in the world is two unpaid bar tabs in San Pedro
How I found my way home in San Pedro
.Joesy is the ultimate instigator.
British women are prim and reserved. Until the rum flows and then their pasty white boobs usually hatch some sort of escape plan. God Save The Queen.
My hotel security consists of a homeless dude with a flashlight.
Somewhere in San Pedro, at any hour, there is a happy hour.
We are the sons of no-one.
And Guatemala should be called the "Land of the 3 Legged Dog". Where did all these legs go? And WHAT was my street kabob made from? Seriously, I saw 3 dead dogs along the road yesterday and I realize I have no stomach for gore. I wonīt describe some of the things I saw in these instances, but death isnīt pretty.
Back to my last night in San Pedro
My last view of Lago de Atitlan
. Toned it down a bunch and stayed within the realm of cervezas, smart move. Many of our guests were recent Spanish School Gradeeates and we celebrated accordingly. We hit Buddha Bar, then Barrio until it closed. Another small soiree at my place, (because Iīm the closest) but me and Two Brit dudes is nothing but Black Pudding, right? Woke up and did my morning walk of town, bought juice and other street yummahs, took some final pix, paid my tabs, and made transit arrangements to Antigua and beyond. Turns out my seafaring mishaps were pretty flocking far from over. Because the small boat across the lake turned out to be worse than the ferry in Honduras. Lago De Atitlan was completely windy and the boat was bucking so hard that both my bags took on water (Thank you, Sea Line dry bag) and my ass was more sore than a prison orientation.
Got to Panajachel without drowning, and ate some street vendor ceviche. They actually tried to put fake crab in it. Yuckahs. Crabless, it was great, they put Worcestershire in it and these great peppers Iīve never seen. Hopped my shuttle to Antigua and met Carly, a Canadian about to go home as well. Got to Antigua, hit late happy hour with Carly and then, GOOD-Nite!!! Man, had to rest before climbing the volcano, right?? Old assed man
San Pedro's Juice Alley
.The next day, I hit the markets, a bit overwhelming, and nobody had bulk coffee. itīs interesting how they recycle American used clothing everywhere. Perkins polo shirts, "Whoop!! There it is" hats, and Old Navy everywhere. Recycling is cool, kids. Had a few coffees at a cafe and then a Moza to smooth me out. Met a local lass named Maria at my fave restaurant, Cafe De La Mixta, who wanted to practice English, but knew almost none. She was cute as a button and 17 years old. And asked me to go meet her at the park later, within a few minutes of striking up our "conversation". Yeah, I quite like to brag. Sure,anybody can ATTRACT a 17 year old girl, but how many guys actually get to teach them the English word for "p-whipped"?
Later on that day, I hopped a shuttle to go hike up the Pacaya volcano. Met Francesco, an Italian guy, and Louise and Kristine, two Swedish ladies in every sense of the word. Them, me and some various stragglers made our way up the active beast to encounter intense fog and wind near the summit. We had signed up for the Sunset trip to see the lavaīs glow and watch the sun go down. Halfway up, one of the Swedes opted out due to the strenous (it wasn't bad at all) hike up. But the mountain is known for semi-frequent robberies, and she may have put herself in more danger than us. I found out soon that that assumption was incorrect. About 45 minutes later we could see maybe 50 yards ahead of us by the time we hit the lava fields. Either my pictures look like they were taken from the inside of a lit bong, or they look like out of focus shots of a campfire. The darkness proved to be daunting when we scaled near the summit. The ground was all cooled lava and very unstable, several shoes got eaten in the process. We stepped around many lava "wells" and it became increasingly windier as we scaled. The group took a vote and I lost out on the chance to summit it. Bogus, as it were. Our guide, Juan, was a maybe 15 year old kid who was seriously on some sort of hallugenic drug. He used the flashlight for everything but safety during our descent. Seriously, he was truly on something and scared the bejesus out of some people in our group. The climb down got a little dangerous at the beginning, because of the instability of the ground beneath us and the guide in front of us. We definitely went down a different way than we came up and I began to wonder in the dark if one of us would not accidentally step in one of many lava portals. That sounds sensationalistic, but it DID enter my mind. As we left the lava fields for the vegetation, we saw a group of police/EMTs heading up the mountain, someone was lost and possibly hurt. In that darkness and foggy murk, it would have been relatively easy to become separated. I was the only member of our party besides Trippy the Guide who had a light source. The Petzl Tikka headlamp saved the day and I unwittingly became the safety person for this international crew. Everybody got down OK, the Swede defector was safe, and I even gave a tip to Shroomy McTripperson.
We didn't get back to Antigua until 10pm. But some of us went out to a Gringo Bar called Mono Loco and then headed to La Sin Ventura for a bit of dancing and Gallo (most unpleasant). The evening ended up at someone's hostel drinking a bottle of dark rum and shooting the shite til the wee hours. I got a bit lost on the way home, but maintained.
So here it is, the last day in Antigua, and really, Guatemala. I'm sitting on this rooftop terrace overlooking this old city at it opens its eyes and stretches on a Sunday morning. In front of me, on the table, I am looking at the first and last step of my journey to this country. Yep, I'm having one last cup of the reason I came here in the first place, the Antiguan Coffee. This buzz will no doubt carry me across the Gulf Of Mexico and home to my familiar world, a place without chicken buses or the constant trebly drone of Marimba. But I've purchased a few bags of beans, as much as a souvenir as the bug bites and battle scars of Honduras. These glorious coffee beans that were born and raised on the volcanic slopes of this beautiful place have managed to teach me a few things about life:
That you sometimes need the care and nurturing of others to help you to thrive.
That where you come from is just as important as where you go.
But mostly, that life can be really bitter, but it is ALWAYS well worth savoring.
And that, my friends, is quite a lot to get out of drinking a simple cup of coffee. . .
Peace, Love, and Medium Roast,
TT
Thanks for tripping with me. Hope you had a time. Mad props to Colin Fletcher. Get ready for the big surprise, y'all!
Comments
interesting
dynamite journal entry. I'm heading down to Guate for the Christmas to NYE shift. Shame our paths will not cross as it seems you have the right outlook on life and traveling. Can't wait to check out the sights.