Blogs from Lago de Atitlán, Western Highlands, Guatemala, Central America Caribbean - page 12

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 Petro, night time. I'm lying flat on my back on my bed here in our little room trying to let the effect of that joint we just had do its work. WOW, tell you mon, this was really good shit. Has been a while since I smoked such good mariuana, I'm really tripping on this dope. Memories of the past are coming back, filling my head but in a real positive way, African colors are swarming in front of my eyes, Thai female voices call to me from the other side of world, oh yeah no doubt about it, I'm really tripping......happens very rarely you can trip so good on plane mariuana...you usually need something stronger to get to this mental state. James is on his own bed rolling us another joint, bla-bla-blaing away about ... 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

After spending every hour of every day with the other volunteers here we end up being almost like a family. So when some of the longer term ones leave its a bit tough, not only because we end up doing more work until new volunteers come, but because we really miss them around the house. This month six of those special people have left us, Miguel & Lara the couple from Madrid, their good friend Pilar, Ana, another Madrider, Maria from Andalucia, and one of the longest term volunteers, Quique from Galicia. The three Madrileños left because their time was up and after four months had to get their plane back home, Ana and Maria left to carry on travelling, and the Gallego left because the motor for his hydroponic greenhouse broke down and he's been ... read more