Gringo Haven

---

So, we've been hanging out in Lanquin, at this place called El Retiro for the last few days. It is one of these places you encounter every once in a while when travelling: located in a slightly out of the way place, in an idyllic setting where some gringo came years ago, discovered he didn't want to leave, and decided to open a hostal/guest house/retreat. There is usually one particular attraction in the area that has been a tourist draw for ages, and often little else of note. But the hostal/guest house/retreat ends up becoming a destination in itself.
See, at this type of place, they provide everything you could possibly need within the grounds of the establishment. There will be a restaurant serving breakfast and lunch, coffee and tea, beers and sodas, licuados and milk shakes, all day long, just meters from the bungalow/room/hammock where you are sleeping. Typically, at night, a communal dinner is served, after which the dining area turns into a bar, the cuba libres start flowing, Manu Chao is probably playing on the stereo (unless, god help us, someone starts strumming a guitar), and the single boys start scouting around for whoever they think they can go home with tonight.
Throughout your stay, you never pay for anything. Put away your money and forget about it, enjoy the beers, the nice staff are keeping track (more or less) and will be sure to charge you when you decide to leave. Which, if you're not careful, could be awhile. In fact, usually the nice staff are travellers's just like you who stayed a week and got offered a job, and now have been volunteering for room and board at this little piece of paradise for anywhere from a month to two years.
Now don't get me wrong. These places can be a godsend at times. They are like a little bubble amid the chaos where you can, for a time, forget your culture shock, relax, enjoy the company of interesting people from home and other parts of the world (not this part of the world, of course), and just generally not have to worry about anything.
Picture it, right? You are woken up by birds chirping at eight or nine, roll out of bed and stumble from your bungalow to the open air resto/bar, where somebody has coffee waiting. After a few minutes with your coffee and a smoke sitting back looking out at the valley/river/lake/mountain, you write down what you want for breakfast in a little book and sit back down with a book or a magazine from the library. In a few minutes, breakfast comes and while you are eating familiar faces from the night before begin to wonder in and start their own morning. If you're feeling social, you can have a chat, otherwise keep reading. Eventually you will probably want to move to a hammock and swing while reading or staring idly into space.
If you are feeling particularly energetic, after a few hours of sitting around, somebody is bound to be mounting an expedition to go climb the mountain/see the caves/swim in the waterfall/tube down the river. You can join up with them, instant friends for the day. More likely, however, if you have been staying here for a while and have begun to fall under the place's spell, you will stay in your hammock, moving eventually to order lunch, perhaps later for a nap or to play soccer or to sit by the river, and then back in the afternoon to start on the beer. All the while sizing up the new arrivals, saying farewell to the friends from last night/week, discussing places you've seen/are going to see/want to see or the reasons you came travelling/can't stand office jobs/love the locals.
And then it is time for dinner followed by the bar, maybe a little dancing, and then you start all over again.
So you see it can be very tempting. And you really can meet lovely and interesting people. But something still bothers me about it, especially after more than a few days. Like I didn't come here to be comfortable, or to talk with europeans and americans about why the Guatemalan way of life is so much better than ours, or to pat each other on the back for being so clever as to be here, or to lie in a hammock, even. Well, no, maybe I did come here to lie in a hammock, at least some of the time. But the rest, I don't know, it gets tired.
By the way, I don't mean to pick on El Retiro here. It is a lovely place, seriously, for a few days. Paradise on earth. And the people who run it are equally lovely, investing in the local economy as well as the local society, providing jobs, coaching local soccer, etc. It's not their fault that they have hit on a formula that brings in and keeps the gringos in droves. But there is something about this type of place I find disturbing. Why do we, (generally) white people from all over the world, come to these countries and then flock together in these little protective bubbles, eating our tuna fish sandwhiches or hamburgers, drinking our banana licuados or nutella vodka shots, forming mutual admiration societies because we choose (and happen to be privileged to have the opportunity) to go out and see the world.
Dunno, maybe I'm just grumpy today.

---

Comments

[anonymous]

yum
Nutella vodka shot? - Maya's Dad

[anonymous]

I know...
I know exactly what you mean about these places Chris. At first you feel like your prayers have been answered, and three days later you feel a scowl coming on... It's like in that zombie movie 28 Days. They find the last living humans all hunkered down in a well fortified country manor... and two days later they're all ready to get back to the zombies. That's a loose analogy, but I know what you mean. Remember Centaur House Australia..? Take care. - Steve

[anonymous]

Yum
No question that Nicholson loves that stuff...I see him sitting by the pool saying to Chris "What's wrong? This is great" - TKL

[Chrissy C]

Dawn of the Dead
I remember Centaur House clearly. The last time I played volleyball well, and there were two cute German girls. Maya's dad would indeed love it. In no time he would be analysing the residents, finding their weaknesses, suggesting we all come to dinner nude, etc. but eventually even he would get bored, and go off to make friends with the locals..