Antigua, night time, 0utside of the gringo bar we are in, I can see the red glow coming out of the crater of Volcan Fuego. It's a magnificient scene and one I can hardly get enough of. All around me I can hear, once again, fucked-up spanish spoken by the many americanos that, like in Panajachel, have come to this part of the world to study El Castellano. Antigua is actually the old capital of Guatamala and has weathered several earthquakes, floods and fires, but like they say, it gets a licking but keeps on ticking. It really is a most beautiful city with colonial buildings that look sturdy. Like in Panajachel, the city's streets are full with indio women dressed in their colorful embroidered clothes carying babies on their back and trying to sell handicrafts. ... read more

San Petro, 11 febrero 1990. the painting After a confusing night full with bizarre dreams - must have been that dope we smoked last night - I woke up to that darned "Knock-Knock-Kncok" on the door, not being really surprised it was that Crazy Belgium again 7o'clock, James, it is your newly found belgium buddy who wants to volcano climbing with you. By now it is nearly noon time and I'm sitting in my rented canoe smack in the middle of Lago Atitlan, a great and hot guatamalteca sun beaming down on me and a fine joint in my hand. This is much more fun than climbing volcanos with crazy belgiums, not a soul to be seen, tranquility rules here on this lake. Far out in the distance I can see a few locals fishing out ... read more

San Pedro, 11 -02-1990. I am still trying to get over the bashing man-hating construction-type lesbian that was on the ferry with us from Panajachel to this little but very pretty Quetchua village called San Pedro. For reasons unknown to me this man-hating bitch tried to bash me into the bottom of Lago Atitlan for wearing a T-shirt with cut off sleeves while her little lady-friend timitly looked at everything but me. Hey, common mon, I just said "hello" to her petite friend whose eyes were - from under her eyelashes - gorging on the muscle work of my arms. They're americans from New York - judging from their accents - and the Construction Bitch gave me everything anti-male she could think off, her voice loud enough for everybody aboard who could understand english, to enjoy ... read more

Panajachel, night time. So we found ourselves a reasonable good hotel, a shower and a few hours to sleep off that all that beer we consumed after getting of the bus from Quetzaltenango. We are now in a bar and we know it is a gringo bar even though everybody around us is doing their very best to speak spanish, I told you in the other entry that this place is nicknamed Gringotenango because of the huge number of gringos studying spanish here. Though James is constantly bla-bla-blaing in my ears, I try hard to eavesdrop on the confusing babble of converstations going on around me. The bar is packed and most of the spanish I hear from gringo throats is completely fucked up. If this fucked-up spanish is what the guatalmaltecas teach around here, I ... read more

Quetzaltenango, 08-02-1990. We made good on our cancelled date last night with Anne and Sue by taking them by taxi to Almolonga. Such a nice little indigenous village full with kids that looked at us from open doors and dusty streets. The raelly little ones from the hips and laps of their mothers. Both Anne and Sue did seem to have A GOOD TIME. On our return to Quetzaltenango I would have liked to take them out to diner but James was in a real hurry to get back to our "special bar" downtown. I couldn't really blame him considering he has been paying 50 dutch guilders a f... to the women behind these famous red light windows for years, back home in Amsterdam. ... read more