The little yellow city. Part 2

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The next few days in Antigua were a bit of a blur, to be entirely honest. I really didn't know what the hell I was doing there or where I was going. I could have spent six months waking up to the crispy cool air and a view of the mountains right out the front door of my hostel. I could have sat in Cafe 2000 watching subtitled American films every Saturday afternoon. Antigua was the kind of place you went slow, a place where the days could fade into one another, and you could lose yourself.

I hadn't done anything meritorious as a “traveler” since my arrival. I kind of lazed around drinking and soaking everything in. I eventually ended up meeting some of the other girls in my hostel. They were all Swedish and Dutch girls, with the exception of an entirely obnoxious half-Vietnamese kid from Seattle named Josh, whom nobody liked. I liked everyone quite well, and hung out with them often.

I ended up drinking far too much the first two days I was there, though it could
have been the ice cubes in my drinks. Regardless of what caused it, I ended up sick as fuck- throwing up constantly. Montezuma's revenge, or whatever the fuck they call it, had taken over, and those screwdrivers I had been chugging were quickly replaced with Cherry Pedialyte (the only flavor I could stand). They were 25Q a piece, and I blew through a few of them until I falsely felt good enough to go out for Kine's last day in town before she flew to NYC, followed by Reykjavik, then back home to Oslo....kind of a “going away party”.

We went to a place called Santo (it's on 6a Calle Poniente #7, Antigua). If it's still there, ya'll should go. Cheap Gallo, ladies drink free, and dancing all night long. Everyone drank their faces off, and I swore up and down to my stomach that I wasn't going to booze that night...so I mostly kept the free rum and cokes out of my hand. I didn't want another bout of serious illness.

So the story goes- we waltz into this place and make a bit of a scene with the local crowd- 3 gorgeous blondes and myself- dressed to the nines (for backpackers, anyway). All is going lovely when the girls find a suitable place to sit...and we bullshit for a while about travel and men and home. Then, it just so happens that this stupid Josh starts dancing like an angry crack head with a touch of the downs. He had reached his “peak” of three drinks, and the asshole behaviour soon followed.

Kine cajoled me into having a few drinks while we watched our hostel mate writhe around the dance floor like a dying snake. I drank a little and we laughed. The dance floor was full, or I'd have been laying it down. We stayed until the place closed down, and nearly as soon as we walked out, there were a myriad of tuk-tuks standing by to take unsuspecting gringos and gueras to the “after party” for 20Q. Kine and I declined. The Swedish girls and the dutch girl went.

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I had been looking at Marine corps brochures. I wanted to be a combat journalist. I wanted excitement. All my mom could say was... “Don't you think you'd be happier in the Air Force?” She didn't understand how terribly I craved excitement and adventure. It was so bad that I was willing to sign my life away for 4 years to the Corps, and ask to be shipped away to the Middle East. I was thinking about leaving my boyfriend. We had talked about marriage- but, how could we marry when I had all of these unrealized dreams and aspirations, but he wished for nothing at all?

He was gobsmacked at the Marines idea. This would take me away from him, and I felt it was the only way I could escape the life I had been living- no life at all. He fished nearly every day and smoked pot, while I worked. He had no job. He lived at his parents, and I at my mother's. We lost our apartment in St. Petersburg, because I simply could not hold down the bills on my own- and he had no intentions of getting another job. It was the lowest point I had been at. I wasn't in school- it was too expensive when my entire paycheck went to bills and food. I wasn't doing anything with my life. And, he- he didn't care enough about his own life to work together and help make something for both of us.

I spent most of my time when I worked, thinking about leaving and how it would change my life. I wanted to chose a path that would do what I had failed to since I got out of high school- give me a future. I was sure that with the lack of financial stability and resources, the military was my only option if I wanted out of that city. I was bitter about how my boyfriend had chosen to neglect our future in order to fuck off. It was proof that he wasn't ready to have a relationship. I meditated endlessly about what I was going to do. I even called a recruiter. And, at that point, my boyfriend put himself on the chopping block- “I'll do it,” he said.

And, it didn't take much. He walked into the Naval recruiting office and within a few weeks, tests were administered, papers were signed- and by the end of April, he was off to boot camp. He was going into the Navy- purportedly for the both of us. But, he was never really about both of us.

Marriage was on the bill. We made an impromptu date to go get hitched. My heart ached inside. I knew deep down I wanted out of this- but I couldn't bring myself to say the words.

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