1-17-10 Antigua, Guatemala

Antigua was a welcome change from northern Guatemala where things were less civilized.  The town is very easy to live in and many Americans have set up a second home her.  It's a UNESCO world heritage site which has its pros and cons.  Signage is kept to a bare minimum which makes finding places a little difficult.  Also, all the blockslook identical with their cobblestones and colonial style buildings.  Navigation is best done by the volcano on the edge of town. 

Being that we were a couple dirty guys we set out to do some laundry and wash the bikes.  Wanting to get the most laundry done, Luis donned a pair of long underwear which he trounced around in for the day while waiting on the 'lavanderia'.

Luis also found a newfront  tire for the bike as his previous one was designed for a chopper.  He'd bought it in Phoenix on his wasy down as that was all they had in stock.  While Luis was out getting the tire I stayed back at the hostel, leaned up against a concrete wall writing.  Without a sound I felt the wall push me so I turned around and looked at it trying to figure out what it was, but just saw the wall.  Then then I heard all sorts of bottles and plates and tables start to vibrate and buzz around, lights and fake parrots were swinging violently fron the ceiling.  "I bet this is an earthquake". And I scurried towards the courtyard area which was covered with just a tarp. 

The quake subsided and no damage was done.  These are quite common here due to the volcanoes though the locals never get used to them.

In March of 2009 I spent a month in Antigua studying Spanish.  While there I kept a very similar travel blog to what you're reading now.

Here are a few stories from back them, some have heard them, most have not, enjoy....


I've been living with the Gonzalez family in a large home near my Spanish school on the eastern side of Antigua, Guatemala.  The home looks quite old and is made mostly of formed concrete, however it was almost entirely rebuilt a few years ago when an earthquake destroyed most of it.

There is an open courtyard in the middle of the two-story home that is maybe 4 yards by 4 yards and encloses a tall avocado tree, loaded with softball sized fruits.  The kitchen, dining room, family room all border the courtyard and are exposed to the elements, hacienda style.  The mornings are unusually cold and I can see my breath in my room when I awake.  It usually isn't like this, Sr. Gonzalez says.  Luckily the days heat up to mid 80s.

I am aproximately a foot taller than everyone else in my host family which has certain disadvantages.  I realized quickly that I was collecting cobwebs throughout the house with my head for the first few days.  Luckily I've got almost all of them and things should be clean for a while.  I frequently bump into door jams, light bulbs and the ceiling in one room.

Most homes don't have hot water here in Guatemala, however mine does, quite the luxury....kinda.   The shower head comes down to my shoulder as it was built for little Guatemalans.  The water heater is built into the shower head which resembles a Coolwhip tub with holes in the bottom and a birds nest of loose wires in the top which I recognized as a potential problem despite having barely passed my electrical engineering class a few years back. After a few minutes of running the water (which trips a switch for the heating element) the water becomes less cold and warms up slowly about half the time, though sometimes it just stays cold.

While squatting under the shower head washing the shampoo out of my hair during my first shower, I accidentally stood up, touching the shower head with my head.  My whole body instantly became rigid, my jaw locked shut and I felt my eyes roll back in my head and saw a painfully bright light.  Not sure if it was the afterlife or electrons bouncing off my retinas.  I was able to pull my head from the coolwhip tub and staggered zombie-like out of the shower, chuckled for a second and got back in, this time more wary.

My first day of Spanish lessons were great except for a few minor incidents.  I was introduced to Paula, mi profesora, and we walked together to our little cubicle in the courtyard under a terracotta tile roof.  There are bout 20 such cubicles surrounding a fountain and an avocado tree which causes a scramble of students whenever a fruit falls to the ground.

In our little cubicle there was an old wooden table that wobbled a bit and two small chairs.  Upon sitting down in one of the little plastic chairs, the legs splayed out like a horse on ice, and of course, I wound up on the ground.  I stood up but the chair was wedged about my child-bearing hips which I had to wrestle off.  I now use a wooden chair.

During our morning break, I ventured off into the streets to find something to eat and came across a lady selling various snacks out of a large basket.  I had a guacamole sandwich and a cup of atol, a soup-like drink made out of rice, beans and corn.  The sandwich was great and cost 40 cents.  The atol was not good so I went to drop it off in one of the small trash cans they have mounted shoulder-high on telephone poles.  Upon dropping the nearly full cup of atol into the trashcan I received a flood of hot liquid down my right leg and shoe.  Apparently there was no bag in the can.



During my Spanish lesson one day, after being there for several weeks, another profesora came to my desk and asked, "You're Ben from Colorado, right?" I agreed and she went on to tell me that there was a man outside the school on a horse that wanted to talk to me.

"Must be Ole" I thought.

Upon heading outside, my suspicion was confirmed.  Ole was atop a scrawny, unusually hairy and very sweaty horse.

"What are you doing on that thing?" I asked while we shook hands.

"Oh, well, I twisted ma knee yesterday when I was runnin' in ma boots, hurts to walk on, don't think I can do salsa either tonight with the ladies."

Ole and I have been taking daily salsa dancing lessons with Anna and Edwina, from Australia, and have gotten reasonably good for rookie gringos, or so we like to think.  Anna and 'Ween' had been traveling throughout Central America for a few months together before studying at my school where we met.  Most evenings after salsa the 'mericans and the Aussies' head to Sky Bar, a rooftop bar that overlooks the city for a few drinks and exchange the funny stories of our daily lives in a foreign country, of which there seem to be many.

Not long ago I recalled an amusing story that had happened to me recently....

...About a week ago while at a local market I was asked by a salesman if I needed any help with the merchandise.  I politely declined and kept on browsing.  The salesman stayed with me and struck up a conversation with me and became interested in my Spanish studies.  He informed me that he was a private tutor and would be happy to tutor me.  I declined as I'm already settled into a school that I like and thanked him for his offer.

The next day, while walking the city I saw the same salesman across the street on the sidewalk.  He came over and greeted me, "Hola Benjamin!" I didn't remember his name, but Javier shall suffice.  We chatted briefly and again, Javier asked me if I'd like a personal tutor.  Again, I declined.  While about to leave he took out a piece of paper, wrote his name, phone number and email address on it and told me that if I ever changed my mind that I should give him a call.

"This guy really wants to tutor me" I thought.

The next night I saw Javier yet again while heading to the gym.  This time he ran over to me again and extended his hand to greet me.  What happened next was rather strange.... He began pulsing his thumb against my hand while we shook hands.  Being the astute traveler that I am, I assumed it was some local Guatemalan custom, and gave him a few pulses back.

To this Javier's eyes lit up.  "Oh, Benjamin, mi casa es tu casa"

"Oh, gracias, muy amable" I replied.

"Y Benjamin, mi cama es tu cama" -(My bed is your bed!)

"OH HELL NO!"I replied in English, pulled my hand back and got out of there.

I soon came to find out that the pulsing of the thumb is a sign amongst the gay community down here.  And now I know what not to do.


"I dare ANYONE to do that to me! Ole proclaimed, slamming his fist on the table.

Ole is quite the interesting character.  His real name is Oliver, but can't recall ever being called that in his life.  He grew up in Jefferson, Texas near the Louisiana border and is a redneck by anyone's standards.  He was raised in a cabin with no electricity or running water until it burned down when he was 10.

He can't remember ho many heer he's poached in his life, all of which were eaten, though.  I don't have a problem with that.  He is currently being investigated for poaching a deer back home but is confident that "They don't got nothin' on me, I'll be fine."

During a lapse of judgment last year while trailer sitting for a friend, he accidentally shot his friends new flat-screen TV with his pistol that he thought was unloaded.  Embarassed of what he'd done, he proceeded to drop the TV on the ground so as to make it appear that it fell off the wall and was damaged in that manner.  He did, however, buy his friend a new TV.

Ole's younger brother was paralyzed for "...a few months when he drove into the shallow end of the pool a few years ago." He has since made a near complete recovery but has problems with his hands at times.  "Sometimes I'll put a buncha' quarters on the ground in front of my brother, 'cause it takes him forever to pick 'em up!" He said laughing.  "Luckily he's got a good sense of humor too."

Ole may or may not have 'taken care' of all the stray cats in his backyard with the help of his bow and arrow.

Though lacking in 'formal education', Ole is still a very sharp guy who has a good world-view.  He's traveled throughout the Americas and speaks near perfect Spanish with virtually no accent despite his thick southern drawl while speaking English.  He learned his Spanish while working on drill rigs with Mexicans throughout Texas and while doing mission trips with his grandparents in Central America.  He is also conversationally fluent in Norwegian because his dead-beat Norwegian dad spoke it when he was around.

Ole refuses to wear shirts with sleeves down here, however I suspect he does the same where ever he goes.  He currently found work as a bouncer/bartender at one of the nicer restaurants in town and and continues his sleeveless policy while at work.  He's already been in a few interesting bar fights, one fight last week ended when he kicked a drunk Guatemalan in the stomach, out the door and onto the sidewalk.

"Yeah, I thought 'bout punchin' him but... ya know... kickin' worked jus' as good!"