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Published: September 29th 2012
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On my final day at the lakes decide I must go swimming. I climb through the path of a natural wildlife park and then scramble down the rocks and drop into the beautiful deep emerald water. I have the lake completley to myself – the basin of water is lit up silver by the sun like a bowl of mercury lapping at the foot of the green hills that rise in smoky peaks around me. Yellow butterflies dance at the waters edge, electric blue dragonflies ski over the water. Further down there are small boys jumping off trees into the water. I make my way back to the posada- San Marco is a litte rabbit warren of tiny cobbled streets leading up hill dotted with gringo cafes and restaurants along the way. In some of the gardens are saunas – little circular baked stone houses that you sit in - more like a sweat lodge than the swedish variety. At night the vegetable and fruit stall holders light candles to keep their shop opens, and old women in traditional long skirts and rainbow coloured tops sell tamalae (ground corn) on the roadside.
The next day I sit down and have
pancakes and maple syrup overlooking the lake. Naz joins me for a farewell coffee then I go wait for the bus to Antigua. On my way I order freshly made home baked bread with mashed up avocado and lemon juice. Its delicious.
Stray dogs have been following me all around south and central america- I call them Rabid Dogs although hopefully they are not. One particuarly miserable looking customer starts begging from me, I can see his ribs under his skin and the fleas jumping from his fur. I take pity and throw him a crust but then can't shake him as he follows me around. I wait for the chicken bus to Antigua but am told by the woman i've booked from that as i'm the only person on San Marco I have to get a tuc tuc to San Pedro where I will be dropped off outside a church enroute to meet the minivan there. She bundles a tuc tuc driver some money and I get stuffed in with my backpack and a mother and her child. Sure enough i'm dropped off outisde a church near San Pedro a few mins later the chicken bus pulls over
to let me on.. For the first time I delight in the fact that I'm travelling by myself. If I was with Ian his head would have probably exploded by now because of the deviation from plan and impromptu nature of the travel arrangements. I may be a terrible traveller physically when it comes to motion sickness but a flexible and naturally laid back attitude also take me a long way. That and the fact i'll eat almost anything.
On the chicken bus is a huge and gregarious American called Ford – tanned, shaved head and dimpled - a slightly cuter version of Ben Affleck. I have him pegged as Australian because he's so big and goodlooking but he takes great pride in telling me he's from “Chattanuga Tennesses” which he says quickly with a big grin. Like the blues number- chattanuga choo choo. I idly wonder how big his choo choo is. There is also a more reserved Stockard Channing esque lady on the bus – probably about my age but with greying hair
“what are your preconceptions about Chattanuga then I ask”
“oh honey – she's just impressed I got all my own teeth” says
Ford with a big grin.
He and another guy have been in Antigua for about 4 months so take us to the most popular hostel - El Terazzo.
“We'll be here tomorrow around 3 for a drink,” he says. I debate coming back – Maria the Swedish girl is also staying here...but decide against it. Its still too soon after saying goodbye to Nico to contemplate any hot sex with good looking strangers...no really it is!!!
The hostel is fully booked anyway so we make our way to another one called El Gato Negro – The black cat.
The next day Stockard Channing and I have breakfast (deep fried french toast – yuk) and she tells me about the job she does for Not for Profits distributing healthcare to interfaith children's institutions. Her eyes light up with a sparkle and take ten years off her when she starts talking about her work...that's the kind of work I want to find.
A tall, rangy, very good looking German boy with chocolate eyes and goatee sits down near us with his friends - “good morning!” he says loudly and confidently in my direction. Ah the confidence of
the young...he looks hungry in more ways than one so I donate him my french toast to help curb his appetite and then make a hasty retreat to go check out the markets.
Guatemalan women with long black hair sit at the roadside with huge baskets of strawberries – its Dickensian in a Central American kind of way....in the distance above the cobble stones and the pastel paintd little houses and churches of the village – a lowering volcano smokes.
I finally attempt a budget meal and sit down in the equivalent of a workers' cafe and have "El menu de dia" which is pasta with shrimps, side salad, and strawberry juice. It costs around the equivalent of two pounds fifty.
I feel out of sorts here and wish I' stayed at Lake Aititlan a bit longer. The main thing to do is climb the volcano but I just can't be bothered!!! so decide to just stare at it from afar. There are more American tourists in Mexico and Central America than South America and they annoy me too - for no reason - particularly their American accents when they speak Spanish. Apart from Ford of course
Antigua
in the distance a volcano glowers (so i don't bother going up it...) - whose way of drawling "claro" (of course) was quite enjoyable on the ears.
I'm not sure what gives me the right to be so critical...my Spanish isn't exactly brilliant! I'm beating myself up for not getting into the right routine for anything – exercise, spirtual practice, writing. Aaarrgggh - it doesn't matter where you go in the world you can't escape yourself!!!
The good looking German joins me for breafast and invites me motor biking with him and his friends. Aside from the fact no one should ever see me try and ride a motorbike I decline as i'm planning to leave later in the day. Again i'm tempted - there's a chemistry and i could if i wanted to "go there" but again - its still too soon after Nico to think about being intimate with someone else. I'm just not in the right mindset for anything Antigua has to offer quite frankly. I go change some money at the bank but the exchange rate is terrible and so begins the first of much getting ripped off...
An old american with grey beard says hola and smiles pointedly at me. I am catnip for the
octegeneraian. I'm not feeling Antigua so decide to ship out for Flores and the mayan ruins of Tikal.
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