Guatemala, Summer '08

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August 12
Oh my sweet peanuts, I love it here. Back to crazywild excursion:
Our grupo included an Israeli couple on honeymoon. Yogi, the guy, is a drummer in a band called Coolooloosh (“You haven’t heard of us? We’re very popular in Israel!”). At first I thought they were cool, but then: van ride, too long; food, disgusting; restaurant, too cold; coffee, ick; service, too slow—ya know. Oh brother, people. The wife was a lawyer, smart-seeming and laid back. I really couldn't see what possible logic she'd applied in marrying George Costanza, but where is the logic, ever, in matrimony? Oh don't get me started.
Cristiana from Germany proved again that I am a terrible judge of character, cause I didn’t like her at first. When Cass sat down next to her in the van, she looked so very pained. But then, it turned out, she’d lost her luggage and had a million other reasons to despair, but she didn’t. She was adorable—every man transformed around her. I could be talking to any male and she’d sashay up and they (every time, every guy) would suddenly turn into this smooth-talking Don Juan—it was hilarious and gross. I felt really disgusted on her behalf, to have to face that every minute. I’m so relieved to be able to have a real (actually, which is real? I don’t really know) (I guess I mean without them wanting to get into my pants) conversation with a guy. Of course, I was also jealous of her youth and beauty and a little nostalgic for the days of yore, but sweet Jeebus. Anyway, it was never remotely that when I walked in a room, but I would not want to be 23 right now. I am so so happy to be 42 and with a kid.
Oh, then there was this couple from Paris—oooooh lala. She, a fashion designer with huge dark eyes and these crazy prominent cheekbones, so so chic. But her dude. I died a thousand times. The sweetest part was that I got his story in French, which made it even more perfectly exquisite. His father was an intellectual professor type in Cambodia when Pol Pot decided to expunge all intelligence from the land. So the new man of my dreams (only four years old at the time) and his family had to run away, ON FOOT. His mother was pregnant during the mad dash, and gave birth in some doorway by the side of the road. They hid in the grass during the day and covered as much ground as they could at night. They ended up in Paris.
How do people survive? Of course we’ve all read about the human capacity to endure, but...could I? Could Cassady? The boy has suffered no real physical hardship in his life. He can’t empty the garbage without whining about it. But could he run to Canada if he needed to? Or Mexico?
Uh oh. I haven’t explained the weekend yet. Good grief!

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