My last night in the hotel, I searched online for a hostel that i had spent the previous day looking for. With address in hand, i found it no problem and decided to stay there the next night because although i was going to meet my friend, I still had to spend one more night in Guatemala city. This place was called Pension Meza and was actually an old haunt of the famed Che Guevara. Decked out with age old red and orange tile floors and murals covering many of the walls, Pension Meza looked and felt like the complete antithesis of what Guatemala city was supposed to be.
The next morning i carted my backpack and guitar the ten blocks or so to my new habitation. I promptly got a bed, set down my backpack, picked up my guitar and started to head out. after the ordeal with thinking i lost my backpack, i decided to never again leave my guitar unattended (however, this resolution didnt last too long). On my way out, i passed by a room with some flamenco coming from it. i peered my head in the door and saw a blond dreadlocked man strumming and singing with one of the most raspy voices i have ever heard. we made eye contact and through a series of hand motions decided that tonight when i return, we would jam. after that I was out the door and back into the mayhem of guatemala city. Pushing my way through the droves of people eyeing me up and down from my dirty feet to bearded face and begging me for every last cent, i finally hopped on a series of chicken busses that took me to a place called san jose pinula where i was to meet my friend.
Before I go on, I want to say how suprised, delighted and amazed I am to have come into contact with so many great people during my time in the czech republic. This group of people have over the past two years managed to stay in contact and meet up with eachother all over the world while seemingly still carrying the lust for adventure that we all had when in prague. Today i was about to meet up with yet another friend i made during my time there who i had not seen since leaving europe two years ago. we both happened to be in the same area (roughly) and she had some time off to travel, so with a little bit of initiative, we were reunited.
The day was spent catching up over coffee and getting a small tour of where she had been for the past few months. Anne was volunteering at an orphanage and happened to leave a few articles of clothing there, so she took me back and gave me the grand tour. All in all it seemed like she had made a very dramatic and positive impact on the place and would clearly be missed.
Shortly before the sun went down, we said our goodbyes and planned to meet up in antigua the next day. I hopped on another chicken bus to take me back into guatemala city, or guate as the call it and then caught a cab to get me the rest of the way home.
I was planning on heading to bed early because i knew it would be no easy task to get to antigua, but i heard the dredlocked guy playing again in his room. I stuck my head in and he motioned for me to get my guitar and come back. After that, we shook hands and introduced ourselves. his name was mateo and he was from france, but had been living in guate for a number of years. We really didnt have too much to say to eachother due to a little language barrier so we just got down to playing. we jammed for a good few hours and eventually got a tico guy who staying there and a guatemalan girl banging on pots, pans and bottles for percussion. after a good hearty dose of playing, we all said our goodnights and retired for the evening.
The next morning I underwent a series of comical events while carting my backpack and guitar throughout town following direction after direction given to me by the locals to the bus station. I then boarded yet another chicken bus and was on my way to antigua, the former capitol of all of central america.
Before i go on, i think i need to answer a question. what is a chicken bus? well, a chicken bus is basically a pimped out school bus with crazy colors, drawings, bling bling, and jesus stickers. I believe that the busses a privately run and it seems that the owners take great pride in making thier bus as flashy and fly as possible. There is also a rule for the chicken bus and that rule is "the bus is never full." There is always... always, room for one more person. On my way to antigua, we crammed as many people as physically possible into the bus to the point where youve got people sitting on your lap, the aisles were flooded and the entire bus gains a thick and pungent odor that reeks of perfume, working man, and stinky baby. If you google chicken bus, the images there will paint a decent picture.
I got off of the bus in antigua, the locally proclaimed "most beautiful city in the world" and headed to the central park where i was to meet up with anne. We had arranged to meet up at a certain building in the center at 1230 and then i was to check back each half hour if she hadnt shown. My day was lost waiting for this girl.
Around four in the afternoon, I was waiting in the meeting place and there was a ranchero band down the hall waiting to play in the center. A woman had come up to them and asked to use one of their guitars to play and sing a song. I heard her voice carrying down the hallway and walked over to get a better listen. After she played a song or two, she pointed to my guitar and said, "you play." without hesitation, i pulled out my little geetar and played the only song in spanish that i know. we shared light conversation in two languages but every few minutes she would look at me and go, "again" and this went on for four or five more songs. On the last two songs, the group of people she had been waiting for finally arrived and before i knew it, there about ten to twelve guatemalans in high spirits dancing, clapping, and singing the words to the beatles tunes i was playing. it was quite a happening and they were turning heads from all around our part of the central park. afterwards, they all gave me hugs, kisses, and handshakes and were off to their next destination.
5:00 rolls around and anne still hasnt arrived. A few trips to the internet cafe, a few cups of coffee, and multiple circles around the center with backpack and guitar in tow were useless. I began to wonder if they were just held up in traffic or what, so I finally went on a hotel hunt to find the cheapest room available. after arguing for a few minutes with a stiff businessman of about 10 years old, we finally came to a consensus on a fair price for a room. with that squared away and finally not needing to haul my backpack everywhere, i set back out for the central park and on my way, was confronted/befriended by a local drunk. He was pressuring me for money at which i refused to give the man and offered to play him a song instead. He asked me if the song was worth more than two quetzales and i told him it was good for his heart. After playing a tune, this business minded guatemalan decided he was going to busk me in the park and collect all the earnings. I really had nothing better to do and i figured if anne did come by, she might hear me playing, so i went along with it. sure enough, about fifteen minutes later, she appears out of the masses of people. It turned out that she had thought we were meeting in a different section of town so there we both sat for hours on end waiting for the other to show up. Together at last, we booked it back to the hotel, had a drink or two and then crashed for the night before we were to head to lago atitlan in the morning. this is truly where the adventure begins.
No comments:
Post a Comment