Day 6 Antigua, Guatemala ~ Hobbitses and Art

I'm writing from Cafe Sky in Antigua, Guatemala. It's beautiful. I've linked my phone up to my bluetooth keyboard and writing as I watch the streets, volcanoes, and clouds.

Its beautiful up here. There was nobody when I first ascended but now some local, spanish speaking familes have joined me up here. Their little boy asked if he climb on the power cables and his parents laughed. I hear a flute off in the distance. I'm not sure if its a person or a recording but I'm glad to hear it.

There is a strong breeze, there is no sun, and it is in the mid 60's. The wind chills my skin. I'm wearing just a cotton t-shirt. Ive met a lot of single travelers; some couples too. The couples are often in their own world, but not always. I guess that's how you know who is in a healthy relationship and who is not.

There is a ruined church to my left. I'm not sure it is so ruined. It could be like the death-star; incomplete to the eye, but fully functional. 

 

I see a gringo son and father walking down the street, gesticulating about a line of motorbikes lined up on the street corner. The young man is in his 20's. He sports a robust array of hiking-ready gear: a warm, ribbed jacket, form-fitting pants. He is losing his hair in the same spot as his father. His father is a shorter man, dressed for a casual day at the office, and has sunglasses. I imagine this is how myself and my father would look if we traveled together.

Further out in the city, there are bars and strange buildings to which I cannot ascribe any particular function. Up in the distant mountains, I see el mirador, meaning the lookout. Ive heard of Miradors in many Central American cities and villages now. It's a concept that doesnt exist in the same way within the American city-scape. I think back to my days in Seattle, recalling how on the 46th floor of the city's Columbia Tower, there is a Starbucks with a great view (price: a cup of coffee) of the city. There wasn't a term used to describe it... it was just "hey do you want to not spend $45 atop the Space Needle and get a great view from above?"

 

The wind continues to chill me.  I hear that flute soundtrack drifting up from the adjoining restaurant. I'm reminded of Zelda: The Wind Waker. I recall its flutes and adventures on the  sea. Though there was another Zelda game which took place in the skies, I did not play it. Wind Waker was one of my favorite adventure games of all time. I also really liked Metal Arms and The Hobbit. Both are games that scored in the 80's but were recognied for being unknown classics. I like adventure games where you are a fat rotund thing that struggles to move. 

 

Looking out at Antigua,  one thing I notice is that much of the city is shielded, hidden within internal courtyards and nested between buildings with no apparent entrance. Sometimes I will pass such a buidling at night and see through a door 20 feet down a corridor some wedding party or church function.

The sun has just poked out and I feel it warming my body. Families continue to visit the terrace up here, but none stay. I watched one adult family taking turns taking pictures and I offered to take a picture and they offered the same. So, now I have a picture of myself where I'm at! I guess I could always have taken a selfie but it didnt really cross my mind because Im using this phone as a word processor right now. 

 

Outchea Heavily, Readily, and Identifiably

  

Also, in good news, a street preacher seems to have set up just below me. It's too bad. They try so hard to use this weird preacher voice (think Southern Baptist) that their Spanish becomes strained and I really can't understand them. Their holy message is lost on me... 

 

 

My Adventure in Hobbitenango 

Yesterday, I had an amazing day of adventure. Previously, I'd gone out drinking one night but this was different. This was a whole day steeped in the adventurer's spirit.

The day started quite late. I believe I woke, debated making or buying breakfast, made breakfast, had coffee, and began working for the day. I taught a student. I teach writing. Then I worked on business matters for 2-3 hours. Passing lunch time, I scarfed down some Pizza and set out to mount Hobbitenango.

I know its really inappropriate for me to do this, but I want to tell the preacher people down on the street to shut up or they're going to hell for bothering everyone. There's now a woman preaching and her voice is much clearer. I can understand her and its disrupting me. She needs to pass the baton back to her dotard male counterpart.

Hobbitenango is a eco-tourism spot. It's a hillside that has been masterfully crafted to resemble Hobbiton from the Lord of the Rings movies. I've always loved those movies and Hobbiton, specifically. There were moments yesterday I teared up, just so happy to be there. I'll attach photos to show what it looked like because I dont want to sit here and craft a fitting description.

I will say that the hillside design offered a fantastic view of the mountains and volcanoes in the distance. Really, really cool.

The lady just said that God talks to us in many forms. I'll cheers to that.  

 

 

I attempted to hire a shuttle up the mountain to Hobbitenango. I was informed that the shuttle was not running. I dug into why and it sounded a bit like the shuttle driver had fallen and was gravely wounded. Can't confirm that, but if so,

 

The office attendant wanted about $12 for me to take a solo taxi, which I was not going to pay, and so I was prepared to walk. I searched Google Maps, which said the journey would take 2 hrs on foot. I had on my walking boots and was prepared for light trecking, so I had a coffee and was mentally preparing for the journey, when a group of three blue-eyed gringos entered, asking into space on the shuttle. We decided to split a taxi together and the bartender gave us a phone number for "Marvin Uber" who showed up 20 minutes later and told us to get in the bed of his pickup truck... Marvin "Uber" ... I wonder what everyone means when they say ... Uber...

Damn ... There was just a car bumping a ragetton beat and the preacher lady was (still) going HAM, and I was convinced someone was playing 

 

 

 

 

That song goes in. She should consider a career switch.

So we rode up the mountain together and I sort of got to know the blue-eyed crew. Two of them were in a relationship and the man was anti-everything, including, eventually, myself. I was full of energy and I could tell they regarded me as some sort of undesirable erratic element. I checked my behavior and -- it checked out. When I feel enthusiasm in my soul, I'm not going to bite it down because it makes you feel uncomfortable. That's a you problem, blue-eyed crew. 

The preacher lady is screaming "YO SOY LA VIDA" -- I am the life -- and life is here imitating art. Who is suprised? 

 

 

We stopped briefly to let a car pass on the mountain path and I locked eyes with a stall owner. She was selling beautiful clay pots, frosted white and painted in vivid green, blue, and reds. I called out 'how much?' She shouted back "25 Quetzales" (about $2.75) and I just about threw the money at her (with respect) and she threw the clay pot at me (with respect). I'm not sure the pot will make it the three - six months I'm out here, but it sure is beautiful!

 

Artisan lady the moment I shouted out to her

 

The blue-eye crew in the truck bed commented "well, that was spontaneous" and "it will break." Yes it will. So will you. Live in obeisance of the fear of breaking and you walk your life broken... They clearly dont listen to drug rap.

 

 

 We continued up the hill together, stopped off -- I had a beer -- and then we hopped in another truck bed up to Hobbitenango. It was amazing. The music made me want to dance -- with Hobbits. There were homestead constructions built into the hillside with colored glass windows and large, circular entryways. Hobbitses!!!

 

People inside seemed to be having a great time, laughing. The sun shined down. Big airy cloths fluttered in the wind and clouds floated by at eye-level. There was a giant stone outcropping -- mano del gigante -- or something, where I took some amazing photos. The man depicted in that one perfect looking photo was the one who was less than warm with me as we mounted the hill -- one of the blue-eye crew. He was "It's going to break."  I wanted to share this photo with him but I really didn't have the chance because he was not open to it. If I happen to see him again, I will share it with him as a gift, in hopes that he will lighten TF up.

 

 

Hobbitenango was really fantastic. I loved it! I didnt buy anything but there were shops. There was an axe/machete/archery range that definitely wouldnt have passed safety inspections in the US. I threw some axes. I walked off path a little bit and it seems that the local infrastructure of villages, homesteads, and camp-sites is connected by a ton of small walking paths that cut through the hillsides. I was geared up for such an adventure but sometimes I have to tell the voice of adventure 'no' because sometimes it puts me in situations that are perilous -- which, if you read through this diary, is very obvious. It's the devil on my shoulder.

 

   

 

OMG THE PREACHERS STOPPED. That woman could really go. I cannot imagine that man could possibly satisfy her. That must be why she preaches so mad and good.

I decided to walk back to basecamp because there seemed to be some cool local attractions off the road. I'd sighted a hill-side bar that looked shitily constructed enough that it was not for tourists but tremendously beautiful. Indeed it was. This hillside bar had a beautiful sheet metal crescent moon construction that brought me back to my Neopets and Barbie Fashion Designer days. 

 

 

 Something about those shades of purple and the sharp curvature of the moon and its interplay of light and blackness. It's really good stuff. I spoke for about 20 minutes with the female bartender. We chatted for 20 minutes about the people of Guatemala and the culture. I found her warm and friendly. She even taught me some dance moves. I moved on, knowing I was approaching sun-down and the cessation of transportation services. As I continued down the path to Hobbitenango Basecamp, I dodged cars, peed behind some propane tanks, and saw a small local artisinal marketplace which I realllly wish I could have checked out, but I was on a time crunch and didnt have time to dally.

But that's when I crashed - smack - into an ART MUSEUM. What? Why was there an ART museum out there?!?!? It made no sense but, oh, it was fantastic.

I stopped at the gate, which was half-ajar. The building was of a strange construction. It was certainly modern, curved white concrete mixed with bay-view windows, but had so many compartments, I couldnt place what sort of compound it was. Music thumped inside. In the carport was a 100% facsimile of the Scooby Doo Mystery Machine. 

 

 

 I didnt know if this was some Phish fan's million-dollar getaway or what? I entered through the gate (sorreeeeeee not sorrrrry) and poked my head into the open door. What I saw perpexled me. The long corridor seemed to have modules build in, alongside the wall, running the length of the building - some 30 feet or so. There were splashes of colors and blaring neon lights. There was a basketball hoop and a giant mural of the hulk. A young man loped across the hallway and doubled back, looking at me. 

 

"Que estas haciendo?"  

 
"Uh, parece que este es un museo. Puedo entrar?"

"Estamos cerrados pero ya estas aqui.." which means we are closed but you are here (((so, yes))).

 

 
And he left to attend to whatever very important high fashion curator business he was engaged with. I went low-key art crazy, taking a bunch of shitty selfies. It was kind of like a lower angel had let me into the garden of Eden and somewhere god was like ugh Im gonna have to kick that SOB guy out -- and so I knew I was on borrowed time. There wasnt much time, so I went final form art crazy. 

RIP Jamie Roberts

True

so stfu

thats my final form

I went form exhibit to exhibit, 6 inches off the ground, soaking it in. I found a second floor which seemed to be an active photoshoot. Young Guatemalan men noted the out-of-place Gringo. One kid with a camera sneered at me so good I swear he was ready for New York! I generally avoided the assistants, camera-folk, and equipment and took some pictures. One young man was very nice to me an offered to take pictures of some of the more popular exhibits. See below how our photography styles differ.

 

 

I exited the random ass art museum to discover that I had, indeed, missed the last shuttle. Of course I did! The man who informed me was actually Marvin Uber from the morning ride up and, with a smile on his face, he informed me it would be about $15 to get down the mountain in his private uber -- I said Id find my own way. He said the offer was open. 

 

I walked over to a food stand that was feeding locals and was given the silent treatment. Eventually, the lady offhandedly told me all she could sell me was crisp bread "tostadas" while the people around me were eating fried plantains and tortillas filled with meat, onions, and avocado. I declined respectfully and posted up by a humongous metal ad sign.

 

Trucks, Busses, Cars, and Motorcycles came and went. A vertical pole in the ground had 10 or so signs hung on it. Each bore the name of a city and how many KM away it was. This was some sort of a transportation hub. I knew I'd get back, but not how. I overcame my nerves and began approaching random trucks and busses asking if they were going where I wanted to go. 

 

After 10 minutes of failure, I could sense Marvin Uber circling like a vulture. He was ready for me to pull the trigger on that $15 ride down in his "uber" truck. I decided that in order to wait him out, I'd become a tree. I rooted my feet in the floor and sunk into a meditative state. It was cold but I hardly felt it. I closed my eyes and let the day's stress and energy dissapate. I let the air in and felt at ease. I woke up periodically to scan my surroundings. 

 

Eventually I saw an out of place, well-dressed local couple waving off taxis. I asked if they were going to Antigua, and they were. They agreed I could join them. The ride was good. I asked the driver to play Enrique Iglesias and he put on Enrique's new music which sucks -- and I told him that -- and he apparently did not know young Enrique had music like Hero.

 

Anyways everyone in the car began chatting and the couple in the back was excellent, but the driver fancied himself some sort of comedian. And he was the kind of comedian that Spongebob was in that episode where he wouldnt stop talking shit about squirrels -- and I was the one from Texas, if you catch my drift... Half of what he said I did not understand but he had the car cracking up. When he asked me what I did, and I explained I took my laptop to Guatemala with no general plan, he was beside himself. He eploded: 

WHEN I GROW UP, I WANT TO BE LIKE YOU, he said.

That was pretty funny, but I struggled because he kept going for me lol. When we departed, I offered a couple of dollars to the couple that had trusted me and let me in with them. They declined and so I offered it to the driver, who accepted. I told him to remember he met a good Gringo.

My day hadn't quite concluded. As I walked home, I passed an active basketball court. I couldnt help but join them. I hid away my clay pot I'd purchased earlier and asked to play. I got into a rhythm and was drilling jump shots. The people I was playing with were excited and kept passing me the ball. We were having fun, when I noticed two guys circling my bag containing my clay pot. I knew they were trying to steal it. They didnt know what it was, but they knew it was mine and so they were going to steal it. I dropped the ball and approached them. They were about two feet from my hiding spot when I met them, grabbed my bag, and promptly left. 

 

 

I got home, exhausted, and met a Swiss couple: David and Jenny. I had purchased many ingredients from the local market the day prior. I bought basil, thyme, pepper, white onion, red onion, peppers, chilis, mushrooms, eggplant, eggs, sauce, cheese, for some bomb spaghetti. I have been flagged by facebook for "praising terrorism" I want to be abundantly clear that 'bomb spaghetti' does not actually explode and has no connection to terrorist groups or hate speech.  I had all my ingredients spread out when the Swiss couple entered. I could tell from their forlorn look that they wanted to cook , and I'd taken over the entire kitchen. I apologized and they asked for just a little room so they could cook a simple dish: spaghetti... We decided to team up. They hated cooking and I love to cook, so they added their ingredients into mine and we split up the work. It was the best Spaghetti I've ever been a part of. We gorged ourselves and ate every last bite. David and Jenny are going to San Pedro, which is where I will go Monday. Maybe we will have another run in!


TRUST

 Alright this is the part of the blog where I get very open and introspective. So if youre a hating ass bitch, step off.

I have been meeting with a therapist for the last six months. I entered that relationship seeking guidance in rebuilding my life after a difficult breakup. I specifically sought out someone who would speak to my spirituality, because I've always felt sort of like a spiritual wanderer, not dedicated to anything, really. I am a very spiritual person and I feel that the spiritual reality of the world is among the most important things to develop as a human. I can understand why people become ascetic monks. At the same time, this life that I live pushes me to be a machine, never-stopping, fuelled by coffee. It's not right and I wanted someone in my life who could speak to my developing psychology and negelected spiritual reality.

In discussing this trip, she pushed me to identify a goal... A reason... a thing I would leave this trip with... I selected trust. That doesn't mean trusting what people tell me. It means honing my intuitive senses and trusting myself, first. I made many such decisions in the course of this Hobbit day: I did not trust those boys circling my stuff. I struggled not to doubt myself when the blue eyed truck bed crew negged and treated me like an undesireable, erratic element. I did trust myself in deciding to back to Hobbitenango Basecamp, and was rewarded when I found the random bar and the art museum.

Trust is a narrow path. It's easy to fall off -- for me. I'm here to learn to trust myself more. My next destination is San Pedro la Laguna. I will also spend time at San Marcos la Laguna. These are known as hubs for alternative thinkers; hippies; white people with dreds who chant hindi mantras and take cacao. I've always struggled to maintain my identity around hippies, because they are so free. That freedom makes me doubt the regulation I impose upon myself. I feel a strong urge to give up. To give in to follow the same voice they seem to speak with -- and it tears at me. In those moments, I dont know what to do and I don't know who I am. My self identity crumbles and I feel like a scared child.

I am going to hippie nation becuase I won't be like that anymore. That is my trust in myself which is lacking. It's okay to give in and to fail or to discover something new. It's my job, then, to return to my original position, understand where I've been, where I'm now at, and where I'd like to be. Then to build in that direction.

Through meditiation, I've discovered a core feeling within myself I can actively consult when pressed to action. I find, often, that what I'm actively feeling does not match with what I know within myself. I might meet someone new and start blabbing about this and that and Kim and Kanye. If I can stop myself for just a second, I can usually identify a sensation of calm inside. I realize I have little reason to clamor over this person, and then it's done. I live my life after that moment. I go from floating down the river like baby moses to standing up in the river of life, at which point I am present and can choose to move in whichever way.
 

Day Five and I'm practicing trust, playing with art, and visiting hobbit holes.

 

 

Antigua, Guatemala ~ Day 3 ~ The Map Hatched out of its Frame

Yeah Im back

Wassup wit it, vanilla face? 

 I'm writing on Day 3 of 7 in Antigua, Guatemala. Antigua is a tourist-hub and the old capital of Guatemala. The capital was moved to Guatemala City after they grew tired of rebuilding Antigua, which is regularly barraged by Earthquakes and Volcanic Activity. There was a 6.2 which woke me out of drunken sleep just last night. I recall a fleeting dialogue in my head: what do I do if there's an earthquake right now? I really hope that's just a large truck rumbling by. If it's an Earthquake, Ill just do whatever everyone else is doing. That's not a good plan. Oh well... *falls asleep* 

    Day One, I arrived into Guatemala city at about 7AM. I flew overnight direct from JFK. NYC was a mixed bag. I managed to lose my hat, my sleeping bag, and the spanish language novel I was reading. I paid $24 for a shot of Jose Cuervo at a bar and when I drew issue with it, the bartender told me they were an expensive bar and Casamigos was $16. I was like, yeah, and Jose Cuervo is shit so it doesnt make sense Casamigos is cheaper and she was like beer is $11... and I was like right, so Jose Cuervo should not be $24 and this is when I realized I was dealing with an idiot, and I was the idiot. I didnt have time so I just ate the L. 

     I intended to get wasted at a super bowl party but it didnt end up that way. I spent the evening visiting with my aunt and her son. He is just as Pokemon obsessed as I am, and I love it. The whole super bowl didn't scratch the itch for me. It was like football ended with a consolation game this year. It was a Chessmatch of a game and I very much enjoyed seeing New York's own 50 Cent echo his music video from in Da Club. I watched the game at my aunts house. I love sharing with my aunt. She certainly made an excellent journalist in her day.I love seeing family, but NYC felt like a miss.

"I'd like to live a long life and age like wine. Maybe when I'm in my scrappy 40s I will carry a small one shooter or a wrist shooter adapted to be like Boba Fett's. Ugh I really need to get trained in combat arts."

    My plane departed out of Guatemala City at 2AM. I recall being in the line for Avianca check-in and of the 50 or 60 people there, I hardly saw a single white face. That gave me pause. What's up with it vanilla face, indeed. I wondered, what was on the other side of that flight? I had no idea, really. My planning style leaves enticing, humongous knowledge gaps. 

     I sat next to a big-boned 15 year old and slept mostly soundly. We arrived into Guatemala and I had flashbacks to Morocco, where you were preyed upon for your money. You have to know what you're doing. You need to play the game. If you lose or default into what's presented, you'll pay extra. That's all. I felt a bit unsafe in the sprawling ancient streets of Morroco's souks. Here I know that any 40 year old man who offers me something is taking a cut. Generally, sales are less pushy than in Morocco. If you say no, they generally wish you well and move on with a smile.

^ whatever 

    Anyways, I missed the shuttle from the airport to Antigua so I languished for a bit and bought a coffee. I ate a disgusting ham and cheese crepe but the coffee was excellent. I upon by a quixotic pair of Americans who were also trying to get to Antigua. I overheard they wanted to go there and approached them and we agreed to split a $30 taxi. The pair was comprised of a jewish douche who talked too much and thoughtful taciturn supplicant -- classic Top/Bot. I chatted mostly with the driver. He taught me some new spanish words. I eventually fell asleep to the wanton yapping of the d-bag in the back and woke to the cab rumbling on Antiguas cobblestone streets. The cab driver must have felt similarly about the asshole american in the back, bc he asked me where my hotel was, drove us there, and then announced the cab ride was over and everyone needed to pay. He effectively stranded the pair at my hotel entrance. I paid, tipped him for his performance art, and promptly dipped.

I arrived into Antigua by 10AM. My room was not yet ready so I had a wonderful parfait and did some laptop work.

I was able to drop my bags and go to explore the city. I traversed 15 minutes or so to the city center, passing all manner of restaurant and bar. I was mobbed by peddlers selling musical instruments (including Ocarinas, which made my inner Zelda-playing child swoon) and I kindly said no until one guy came up and cleaned my boots which looked filthy. I was actually cool with that. 

     With my feet lookin spiffy, I sat down and people-watched for about 30 minutes. I felt a weird sense of calm. I sat there baking in the sun watching locals, tourists, couples, and then I saw a kid in a Durant jersey and about had a conniption. I cannot begin to explain how strong my urge to play basketball is right now. I asked a very tall pair of twins who were passing by for the time. The taller of the two women said 2... I confirmed, 2? .... yes, 2... so I headed back to my appt. 

 I arrived at 12:15 and my room was still not ready (THANKS TALL PEOPLE) so I hung out in the little library cubby. I managed to sit down before noticing someone else sitting there in the room. I introduced myself to Tom, who is an online English teacher and has been out on the road for some time. We chatted for about 20 minutes before I started to feel exhaustion creeping in. I exited the conversation and pulled out my pillow from my bag and fell asleep.

      I drooled alot during that sleep. Possibly more than I ever have before. I woke up and didnt even care. I actually thought it was kind of cool. Drooling is kind of like dreaming; an amazing feat the human body performs independently of conscious thought. It's like, surprise! My whole beard was wet with drool when I finally got up and went to my room. Okay, kind of gross but nobody can accuse me of omitting details from my journey.

" It was cool to see Boba Fett riding me in the finale of Boba Fett and sometimes I also want to do this " 

 

    I worked for the rest of the day and fell asleep early. My bed is really nice here but it does get pretty cold (50's) at night. Day Two was really my first full day in Antigua. I woke up and sought breakfast. I stopped off at this interior courtyard filled with restaurants and bars. I loved the look of the place when I had initially id'd it during the previous day's walk, and I stopped in to find nothing open. So, I sighted a nearby coffee shop and stepped in. I do not like that some restaurants present a well-chuffed operation but are really just gringo-friendly facades operated by 15 - 18 year olds. Im not in Guatemala for starbucks. I paid an exhorbident $10 for coffee and a mediocre breakfast and dipped as quickly as I'd came. Wham, bam, thank you teens. 

 

    I decided to smoke crack check out the courtyard again and found shops opening. I paid $1.00 for a Zapote Smoothie that was fantastic. I ordered a subsequent coffee and started this blog post, which I'm finishing, now, on day three. I headed home and put in a great day of work. I have to bite down the formless enthusiasm which calls me into the city when I work. It's easy to lose track of time and just sink into euphoria. Luckily, I have practiced discipline which now allows me to straddle enthusiasm and work. 

 

 I continued on into the city center in search of toothpaste, electricity adapters, and some office supplies. I found everything quite easily and dipped into the local Mercado for some foodstuffs. The market was a mind ... idk if I curse on my blog... Umm, it was as if the mind had been extracted gently and lowered softly into roiling frying oil, pulled out after only seconds and re-inserted into the human. I've been in a few central american markets and so I kind of knew what was going on as I passed through sections for dry goods, fashion, electronics, toys (someone had a crusty binder of Pokemon cards -- god bless) and arrived, finally, into meat/vegetables which apparently sit right next to eachother with no temperature control. 

    Welp. I went for veggies first and connected with a purveyor who I had some banter with. I bought a stalk of celery, 6 small terd-looking potatoes, thyme, an onion, a sweet pepper, a handful of hot green chilis, some spices, and she snuck in some grape tomatoes which I had said I didnt want - bitch. It all cost about $5.00. 

    I asked her where to find the freshest meat and she pointed me toward a pie of plucked chicken carcasses that had a fly on it. It was my first time seeing a life form disembodied like that. In one moment it looked like a chicken. In the next, it was hacked to pieces and bagged. 

    Hours later I cooked it up with the onions, peppers, and spices... and it was really good! On my way out, I purchased some street food from a very wise-looking woman who seemed to be feeding alot of local people. She asked me "do you eat bread?" I explained that I'd been on a diet and hadnt had much bread for a few months. She grabbed and squeezed the bit of yellow dress covering her stomach and said "I eat bread" and told me I'd like her cooking, which I did. It was the best food I've tried, as of writing.

I returned home, did some work, had some meetings, and took a siesta. When I woke I got back to work, and hyped myself up for going out to party. I finished work at 7:30PM and headed out to a bar in that same intereior courtyard where I'd enjoyed a Zapote smoothie that morning. The bar, Sköl, is operated by a 6 foot + man with a big beard from I'd guess California. Upon entrance, it seemed like there was one giant clique at the bar. I overheard a table clamoring about their 900 Quetzales bill ($125) and I knew I needed to be careful at this place. I wasnt going to be able to drink enough to break into that group and make friends. Instead, I sat back, enjoyed a Gin & Tonic, made some idle chat, and dipped to the next bar.

 

    I landed in a brewery and sat at an empty bar. As I drank a decent beer called Chipias, I asked into where I could meet people. The bartender told me to go upstairs. I went up a spiral staircase to a series of tables and realized there was no bar, just tables. I chanced upon a girl standing in the corner on her phone and asked her if there was anywhere to actually meet people up here. She said 'not really' (that bartender downstairs is now on my bitch list) but that there was 'a really nice terrace.' I wished her a good night and saw, over her shoulder, her boyfriend eyeing me. Okay. Sorry, lord solid-cock. Anyways, I went upstairs and, indeed, it was freaking beautiful up there with the moon shining down and the temperature at a nice 69 degrees. Music floated up from all around and the town's surrounding hills shined with disparate lights of civilization. I enjoyed my beer as David Bowie played on the speakers.

^ El Barrio

 I departed and spotted a London-style red phone booth that said "Cocktail Lounge." I entered the phone booth and pushed through a curtain on the other side. If you know me, you know I fux with portals and thresholds. Call me Lil Threshold or Yung Portal. Pingas da Portal Boi. Portal Le Flare. Threshold da Frenchman. I answer to all these.

 

THIS was where I wanted to be. They had a bar full of strange liqours and walls lined with strange Mayan art. Up in the rafters, about 20 feet up, was a giant disco ball. The bar had a layer of epoxy which sealed in little plastic animals.

 

   

    The bartender, Jose, had an air of cool confidence and put me at ease. He told me they had no menu but if I explained my tastes to him, he would make me a fantastic drink. (I've decided I will frequent this location). I asked for a neat shot of Tobala Mezcal and it was fantastic. Mezcal is a liqour endemic to central america, similar to Tequila but of a higher quality. There are various traditional methods of producing Mezcal and one that I've learned to enjoy is Tobala -- also Pechuga -- The chicken skin one.

        A couple sat next to me and the woman almost immediately got into how effective her Ivermectin treatment had been for covid ("you know, what Trump got. What Joe Rogan got. The Joe Rogan treatment") and she went on to share opinions on masking, Guatemalans hating to dance, and then how Guatemala had the best accent for learning English and vice-versa. 

    A tad exdtra, but I quite enjoyed her energy and her silent husband seemed like a happy guy. I finished my drink and took Jose's recommendation for another bar, the Charleston, which was closed. On the way back home, I stopped into one of Antigua's most popular drinking spots: El Barrio - a drunken amalgam of touristy drinking establishments pouring sugary shit drinks. The crowd looked rough and schwasted. I had almost decided to leave when I spotted a sports bar with $1.50 margaritas. I ordered one and almost immediately the bar filled up with a group of german college kids, falling all over the place, making out, and latching on to eachother out of abject fear that they might interact with other people. German master race, and all that.

     Fine whatever. I started a yelling-conversation with an arab-looking man across the bar and what I heard of his story sounded really interesting. I had a second Margarita and went over to join a conversation with the arab man and a local man. We got to talking and I really liked them - Peter and I cant remember. Peter was celebrating his divorce and I cant remember was a successful importer of Teslas and real estate investor. I cant remember talked alot but also started buying myself and Peter drinks. I had a few shots, more drinks, and I cant remember was really enjoying himself. When security cleared the German children out (yeah, how does it feel on the other side, huh?), he handed the lady a $10 bill and asked for more time. He did the same for the bartender (Carl from Seattle!!!!) and we enjoyed the bar to ourselves. I was shitfaced and walked home the wrong way. It took me like an hour to get home, but I made it. Just as I fell asleep, there was an earthquake. I drifted off to the rumblings of tectonic plates.