Many Cities Did She Visit…

Continued from “With a Ticket to Central America…”

The culture and art I was so sorely missing in San Pedro Sula, Honduras abounded in Antigua, Guatemala. Even before I arrived, I could feel the buzz of Antigua’s creative energy. On the ten hour bus ride I had unearthed an Antigua area guide. It was filled with ads for restaurant after restaurant, art museum after art museum, bohemian cafe after bohemian cafe, artisan shop after artisan shop, announcement after announcement for dance lessons, Spanish language school after Spanish language school. Tours of coffee farms and coco farms. Ecological lodges. Hikes up volcanoes. This was a city of art, expression and adventure!

I arrived in Antigua late, well after dark, not sure what to expect. In Honduras, you don’t walk alone after dark. I had heard just as many warnings about walking Guatemala City after dark too. But, Antigua was supposed to be different. Well, I had no other choice but set out on my own in a dark and strange new city in Latin America. I had a hostel in mind and so I determinedly marched on in search of The Black Cat. There were people here and there on the streets so that felt reassuring. A quick interrogation of a couple of guards left me pointed in the right direction for the Black Cat. I found it quickly. With continued luck, I had arrived just in time to claim the last bed for the night. Perfect!

My experiences that followed in Guatemala were a whirlwind of excitement, adventure and life at some of it’s richest!

Sadly, for now, I’m only going to list brief highlights. There is much more to tell, and I long to tell it all. But I am leaving for new adventures in Europe in two days. I’m hoping I’ll be able to come back to this on the plane and fill in the gaps:

*Make tons of friends in a flash at the Black Cat. The hostel has a constant, enthusiastic vibe with people of all walks of life always coming and going. So many enlivening spirits and glowing hearts! I wander the quintessential bohemian, artisan paradise of Antigua, Guatemala – a city of ancient colonial buildings, ornamented in well-kept but weather-worn detail. A city colored brilliant and bold by the rainbows of its traditionally dressed Mayan women. Artisians abound. Ruins around every other corner. Vibrant. Bustling. Imagine an authentic, rustic and hippie version of The Plaza in Kansas City and times it by 100 and you’ll have a taste of Antigua. Generously magnify Talaquepaque in Sedona, AZ and sprinkle it with the Mayan women of color and you’ll have a taste Antigua. So much to discover! So much to savor! Beauty… everywhere.

*I meet fellow photog and jewel of a woman, Gretchen, in the street. The next day she, Leigh (a quite successful young Australian entrepreneur I met at the hostel) and I set off to hike the slopes of Volcan Pacaya. I was jittery with excitement. I had already been to twelve new countries that year, but this was a first! Stunning landscapes, open ease and chatter amongst new friends, silly humor most others wouldn’t understand, huffing and puffing up steep trails, glowing lava, sunset in the ashy mists of the eery world of volcanoes. So much bubbling forth from the depths below…

*Leigh, his friend Tirram and I become a close-knit threesome for a few days of decadent, international cuisine, the sharing of decadent dreams and eager exploration of Antigua’s decadent night life. Leigh gives me a crash-course in becoming a biz savvy mastermind. I’m now more empowered than ever with ideas for my journalism work and cacao project for Latin America. I’m till working on the finding the time part… but, Leigh freely hands over important, official documents for me to copy… when I tackle them it will prob save me thousands from paying a lawyer to draw them up. Leigh and I connect over big ideas and bold, confident belief that we can achieve them. Leigh is a bit ahead though. He’s 26 and already owns his own business that earns him a six-figure salary. I was overjoyed to have him as my newfound mentor!

*I meet Sofia and Michelle and quickly join in on their mischievous, but harmless nights out on the town. Sofia is local Guatemalteca and Michelle is bold one from Australia. Hanging out with these girls gives me an instant into the local scene and I get to know not just travelers in Antigua, but bartenders, restaurant and shop owners, etc… Antigua is quickly starting to feel like home. A wonderfully magic and artsy home.

*I crave baleadas. I can’t find baleadas. Guatemala doesn’t have baleadas (Honduran-style burritos).

*Michelle and I go on a wonderful little beach getaway to the black beaches of Guatemala. A brief escape from the chilly, mountain breeze to the heavy, salt-ridden seaside. We stayed in a small, cement, open-aired shack. Like a permanent camp-out on the beach, shared for the weekend with Michele’s friends. You hike on foot through the poor villages to get there. Pot-bellied kids and pigs scurrying out of your path, squealing… staring.
The stars, brilliant and infinite in the deep darkness, are more than magnificent. The waves crash far far out on the sand bar and rush over the distance, foaming at our now ash-colored feet. Another one of those moments where your soul quiets and you wonder at the magic of this world, you wonder why YOU get to taste that magic so richly. This is decadence. The next day we hike for miles in the sun. Greeting the occasional fisherman as we pass. Finally, we come upon extravagant luxury. It’s like a mirage. You don’t believe it’s really there. We were surrounded by poverty, dirt and bamboo villages… and suddenly an oasis of the wealthy. Mansions… that even I didn’t mind dreaming of a life lived in them. Grandiose, but most architecturally retained their Guatemalan identity and flair. Lagoon after lagoon. Pool after pool. Unabashed luxury… right in the middle of basic want – where people could never fully grasp any idea of such wealth. We wound along the posh streets of Juan Gaviato to the oh so grande, and luxe clubhouse. We sipped our cocktails – mine were pina colodas – and indulged in a lifestyle that amounted to a bit more than our own. I enjoyed the afternoon. I enjoyed the luxe. But, the absence of the raw life and passion of the less indulged quietly nagged at me. I’ll be honest: I thrive when I’m in the wild jungle with nothing more to own than what I can carry on my back. But, it sure is damn nice to stumble upon the occasional opulent oasis. I felt conflicted. What did I want? The truth is: I want both. I want to flip-flop. I want raw followed by refined and polished indulgence. And the truth is: I can have both. Is that fair? That question still nags at me. I hover in the middle. Torn.

*Back to Antigua. Back to more nights of delicious fun with Sofia and, this time, Dana. Just like Sofia, Dana is a sweetheart and very easy company. Both so unassuming, friendly and welcoming. I’m quickly becoming known as the “Queen of Ice” with the men. I would tease and leave. I wasn’t ready for anything resembling romance. I start losing track of the days of my easy, bohemian existence in Antigua. Not too luxe, not at all of want. Hovering in the middle…

*Time for me to break it up again. I leave for Lago de Atitlan, an expansive and mysterious lake shrouded by volcanoes. And I thought Antigua was hippie. San Pedro de la laguna is a true hippie hideout of the world. Rastamen. Handmade goods. Drugs. Local baked goods. I go visit the drug doña out of pure and imprudent curiosity. I buy nothing. Yeah, that’s smart. Go visit a drug dealer and buy nothing. I wasn’t there for the drugs. I was with someone who was though. So, I wasn’t that imprudent. Really… I’m just not into them. I get enough, believe you me, from life and adrenaline and my high life of strong emotion. But, I was there for the intrigue. Admittedly, this curious cat needs to be a little more cautious with some things before she gets burned. But, I’m a journalist. I can’t help it. It’s my nature. We always want to go “get a looksee.” I mean, I have designs to get into war coverage. It’s not because I want war or encourage war. On the contrary. But I can’t help but want to see and experience what’s really going on – since it is going on. Write about the reality. Not the censored bull shit. So that, perhaps, my writing could in some little way spark a change… even the smallest of one. How is writing about this visit to the drug doña sparking change? Well, it’s most likely not. But, it’s experience under belt… for who knows what to come?

*Friends come often and easy at the lake just like in Guatemala. Within a day I have handfuls of co-conspirators in a life of chillin… at the lake in the abyss of the volcanoes. We share stories of adventure and travel. I hear rumor of El Mirador… the hidden Mayan pyramids of Guatemala. Biggest in the world. Not tallest. Those are in Egypt. But biggest, most expansive. So the story goes, you hire a guide for a couple hundred bucks to lead you miles through the raw, wild jungle – wielding machete in hand, slashing your own trail through the bush. The roaring calls of the howler monkeys fill your head. You wake to the songs and chirps of an abundance of exotic birds. You freeze in the night. You’re covered in monkey-poop slime. You’re in the thick of it… of the wildness. Three days in… you discover the ancient, pre-classical pyramids. Thousands of years old. Only archaeologists are on site. Still studying, and unearthing these ancient remnants. Pay enough and you get to hack your way and see it too. From the top of the Pyramid, you sit before dawn and watch the sun creep across the endless jungle. You watch it slowly come alive with the birds and the beasts as the rays crest beyond one more and light up on more canopy. Thing is, it’s no rumor. I saw the video. I shivered with desire. There’s one thing I want. I want that experience. The truth is: Juan Gaviato didn’t make me shiver and shudder with desire like this story did.

*I made tons of friends. But, I was still the “Untouchable” when it came to romance. But, by now I was sick of being the “untouchable” though. i was sick of my dreams being haunted by Michael. Michael taking me back. Michael still pushing me away. Michael. Michael. Michael. Arrrrrg! With oh so perfect timing I met Rodrigo, a young, well-off and handsome Guatemalan. I was ready to try easing back into a little romance. He would do. I actually let him touch me and, gasp, kiss me.

*Excursion up Indian’s Nose. An oh so grueling hike with fellow adventurers up, up, up to the peaks. Logging more unforgettable views in my mind’s eye. Unfortunately, not my camera. All my pictures from that hike accidentally got deleted. Long, relaxing break at the height of it all. Tearing through the woods at break neck speeds down the backside. Stop for soup to warm us up. Locals stare in wonder at the gringos that materialized out of the forest and paraded through their back yards. We successfully hitch hike back around the lake to San Pedro de la Laguna.

*By now, I’m earning the trust of not just my fellow travelers and wanderers but also of the more rooted locals. I’m greeted with a smile from a friendly face around every turn. Local friends call out my name as I pass. At first, the town was a little too hippie for me. Too much drugs for me. But, I was learning it wasn’t all drugs. There was a lot of real, Guatemalan culture here. I was fitting in quite comfortably and nicely. I enjoyed walking the winding paths, stumbling upon impromptu chats with fellow wanderer and local alike. Ingrid, a delightful Norwegian girl and I, take la olancha (small boat) to another little town on another part of the lake, San Marcos. It’s a smaller, more posh hippieville on the lake. Yoga. Meditation. Massages. Local kids running through the mountain paths. On the way I had managed to pick up two handmade tambores (drums). Don’t ask me how. I had wanted one, but wound up with two. I let the kids tote them around for me and in return they delighted me with practicing my Spanish, showing us the small village, teaching us words in the local Mayan dialect (nothing close to Spanish). Ingrid and I fed them lunch and then she took off to go back to San Pedro. I stayed and enjoyed an afternoon of chatting, soccer with the locals and joyously pounding out horrible beats with the kids on my new drums. My three new friends, Luis – eleven, Edgar – eleven, and Jose – fifteen waited with me on the dock for the next olancha… well past dusk. They wanted to “protect me.” How cute! All day I had relinquished most control over my camera and they were thrilled with snapping so many photos! The next day, I met the kids back in San Marcos early in the a.m. We had planned on a morning of cliff jumping into the icy lake waters, followed by a yummy breakfast. I took them with me back to San Pedro in the afternoon. My plan was to kidnap them and keep them. Kidding! I bought a cd and burned all their photos from the past two days and handed it over to them. Then we met Ingrid and her brother to help make huge, paper balloons… like hot air balloons. It was a surprise from Ingrid’s brother for her birthday. Finally, it was a tearful goodbye with the kids. I was leaving the lake soon and wouldn’t see them again. In a moment of generous inspiration, I had adopted the company of these kids simply to treat them. But seeing how much they already hated saying goodbye, how upset they already were… I didn’t know if my generosity was so generous. Was it, in truth, horribly it cruel to swoop in on these little kids, instantly become their best friend, treat them feed them and then just as quickly disappear and say goodbye forever. Oh, my heart broke as I waved goodbye to them while they sped away on the olancha. That night we lit the paper balloons and watched them flickr soft, rich and colorful glows as the floated away to join the stars. The kids should have been there for that. They had helped make the balloons. I felt wretched that they weren’t with us. I wonder if they saw them across the lake. I wonder if they knew it was us and the balloons were theirs. Ack, I’m going to cry again right now… writing this.

*There were these locals. They had these smiles. These spirits. I saw them at the hippie-style night club when I was still “untouchable.” They watched me dance. And they watched me and my hot and cold antics with men. I would dance with them and then walk away from them. The locals with the smiles watched it all. Then I saw them again. My traveler friends didn’t welcome them like I did though, not at night at the hippie club. And then, I saw them again, this time in the day. Next thing I knew, I was in, one of them. My last few days I the Lake I spent hanging out with them. Chilling out with them. Listening to music. Listening and trying to keep up with rapid-fire Spanish. My Spanish was greatly improving… and I was feeling what the life of a local, twenty-something was like. Not so harsh. Certainly not so decadent. Yet, they worked in the restaurants and bars that served all the travelers. They knew of better life. They had tastes of it. But, they were just outside of it. They couldn’t just save some cash and go travel the world at the snap of a finger. They had to work a LOT harder and have a bit more luck. They had to deal with visas and fees. They earned a lot less and had to save for much longer. For some, it was just too long. So they lived just outside of that easy life… dancing on the fringe of it, drinking cheap powdered coffee while the backpackers sipped lattes. They made leather wallets with Marley and Che, while the backpackers bought them. They served the beers, while the backpackers drank them. They smiled… always. And laughed just as much. They had dreams but they were at ease, content. “What’s yours is mine” their life philosophy. A brotherhood. And I was immediately invited in to that brotherhood. I reveled in that brotherhood. The gringa girl, that broke into the young, local brotherhood. From the moment I first met them, I couldn’t stay away from them. I felt so good just being around them, their smiles, their ease, their joy. Pedro, Selvin, Phillipe, Edgar, a few others. Secrets. Shared licuados. Stolen visits. Little wanders. Stolen hugs and kisses. Treasure moments.

*I hated tearing myself away from the Lake. But, I had to… I was running out of days before my return flight to the States. I still had other places to visit. I hated leaving. But, Selvin, the one with the best smile, the best spirit, would be meeting me in a few days time up north. I mentioned I was going to Coban on my way to Semuc Champey. He was from Coban and it just so happens he was going home to visit. We would meet then! So, leaving wasn’t so bad. My favorite part, it turned out, was coming along.

*I was in and out on my third return to Antigua. A couple more fun nights with Sofia and Dana, including the “Burning of the Devil” party – a pre-Christmas Latin tradition – and a night out with Sofia’s friends in Guatemala City (just about 40 mins drive away). A quick phone call and I discovered Selvin was in Antigua. I was supposed to be at the beach, but I hadn’t gone. So Selvin and I could leave for the north together instead of finding each other there. Perfect! And thus began my tumultuous, rich, bitter-sweet experience with Selvin…

My experience with Selvin gets the final post for this Latin American saga. Entonces, to be continued… (on the plane to Europe because I can’t bear staring at this computer anymore right now!!)

Click here to view the Antigua Flickr album.
Click here to view the Volcan Pacaya Flickr album.
Click here to view the Lago de Atitlan Flickr album.

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This entry was posted on Friday, January 9th, 2009 at 6:51 pm. It is filed under alive, Guatemala, Honduras, Latin America, passion, Travel and tagged with features. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.