From Dusk til Dawn and Back Again

* Disclaimer: The computer I am using for the next several days is only in spanish. Meaning, spellcheck is yelling at me the whole time I type becuase apparently it refuses to accept engish as a viable and useable dialect. Therefore, any misspellings are not the fault of the author, but the Guatemalan internet system.

There is no possible way. I mean it. No humanly possible way for me to accurately depict the facinations, frustrations and vocalizations of today. Oh, I´ll do my best of course, but this is my caveat. There... is... no.... way.

I´d like to start with revewing and recanting any lost details from ayer, I mean yesterday. Did I mention that I am starting to think in spanish? Wait, I digress. As much as I´d like to lazily scribe anything remotely memorable on the date of January 18, any such facts, stories or exaggerations will - I guarentee it - PALE in comparison to the events, situations and diverstiy of January 19. Today.

I woke today at 6:30AM. Why you ask would a sane or thinking person even consider waking at such a vile hour on her vacation? I have one answer: Macaw. Do you know what a Macaw is? Um, let´s see... oh, I know, think Tahoe and go bigger, louder and a gazillion times more annoying. Yep, that´s a macaw. Right outside my door. Now normally I´d be thrilled with exotic animals hanging out anywhere they rightly see fit, but for some reason, this morning didn´t seem like the best timing on the whole giant parrot thing. ButI made the best by dragging my sunburned body out of bed and into the garden outside my room where I held this Macaw´s very own morning photo shoot. I learned there were two of them. Of course there were.

Move on to breakfast. Breakfast is always a nice event at the Hotel Atitlan. This hotel I´d been staying in since Wednesday morning is by far the nicest (read: most pretentious and overpriced, yet gorgous) on the Lake. The dining room overlooks the pool, which fades directly into the Lake. Not a bad view over eggs and coffee. Today´s breakfast consisted of what has become a normal mealtime routine - I read, I drink coffee, I stare at the lake and mountains while I practice my pathetic version of spanish with my waiter. Today, however, breakfast was slightly hurried, as I had PLANS. Yep, plans! Off to the market in Solola...

Markets, or Mercados are a huge and gloroius event in Guatemala, and each community has specified days for their community. Although I assume markets are similarily celebrated in many latin countries and elsewhere around our globe, today I only cared about the market in my corner of the globe: Solola, Guatemala. Taking place each and every Friday, the market at Solola is fabled to be the BEST and most authentic (meaning no touristas) in Guatemala. Solola is about 20 minutes up the mountain from Panajanchel. Oh Tuc Tuc - to Solola, por favor!

Oh wait, a Tuc Tuc... I must explain. To simplify, it´s a moped that has been cleverly turned into some kind of powered chariot complete with a backseat, hood and a few extra mirrors tossed in for good measure. They´re cheap and abundant. Why not. Sadly for these little vehicles of torture for all who ride, they don´t do very well on steep, curvey mountain passes. Hence, on my way to Solola, my trusty driver had to drop me off about a mile from the market, as his clutch finally gave way. I should have taken it as a sign from god himself...

After a long walk uphill, I spotted the Mercado in the distance. I didn´t know what to expect. I assumed it would be colorful, full of exotic produce, willowy flowers and wierd looking fish. What I didn´t expect was 1000´s, literally 1000´s, of Guatemalan people pressed into each other in what I can only describe as an orgy of dead chickens and freshly plucked plantians. Toss in a few blankets, beads, live chickens and fish I wouldn´t feed to a dying bear, and there you have it. Now, don´t get me wrong. It was glorious. In fact, I didn´t want to leave. The thing went on for - what seemed like - miles and miles. I´m sure it was more like blocks and blocks, but after the 76th dead chicken stand, I was spinning and feared I was going to fall into a bucket of lima beans or a tub of shrimp. (and trust me, there were a lot of both)

Perhaps that was the problem. I should have left. Not taken breaks to sit down in the park in between the market places to smile at children and photograph dogs. No, I should have up and went back to Pana. Pana, where my money and credit cards wouldn´t have been stolen.

Yes, that´s right. I am, right now, in Central America with no money. Go ahead, laugh or
be worried or tell me how estupida I am. It doesn´t matter becuase I´ve already beaten myself into a bloody pulp. Now I´m recovering. And it doesn´t hurt that I am doing so in the most amazing place I´ve ever stayed. But more on my new hotel later. Let´s get back to the drama, but only for a moment, as I am working on getting over this trauma as so I can enjoy the remainder of my week in motherfucking Guatemala. (Now, I don´t really mean that, as I really am falling in love with this place, but I feel a little anger is healthy, considering...)

So, it´s fairly straight forward -- I was in the most crowded market in the country and sandwiched between what seemed like the rudest and most physically ignorant group of people in the universe, and poof! Someone pick-pocketed me. I am pretty sure I can remember exactly when it happened, too. That´s the annoying part. Well, that´s the second most annoying part next to the fact that I put over $200US dollars and my credit cards in my fucking pocket, but again, I digress. I suppose this is a good time to explain why I had so much cash on my person and why why they didn´t take the 20 bucks worth of Quetzals (Guat currency) in my other pocket. Simple, I wasn´t about to leave all that cash in a hotel room and everyone warned me that "they´ll cut the straps to your bag so don ´t keep anything valuable in there." I put my US currency in one pocket with my Credit cards and the Guat money in my other pocket with my switchblade. (yes, I have a knife. Call it what you will, I´m a single chick traveling around Central America...) So, either the knife seemed too scary for a robber or it made me look too cool to steal from . Not that it matters anymore... It´s probably important to mention that I actually planned my outfit on purpose just to avoid this from happening. That´s the mindfuck of it. Cargo pants are officially on my shit list.

Sparing you all the details of the moments that immediately followed my realization of this, you could imagine my hightailing it to the nearest Tuc Tuc and winding my way back to Hotel Atitlan to call my bank and crumple up into a ball of emotional unravel. Acutally, the emotional unraveling never took place. Either I´m a lot stronger than I think, or I´m D-O-N-E. I´m going with the strong theory. You can wage your own bets. Either way, good friends are wiring me money and with any luck I´ll be rich again in the morning.

I think I´ll say buenas noches now and save part II of today´s tale for tomorrow. I will, however, mention that the hotel I am staying in for the next 4 nights may very well be the most absurdly fantasitc place I´ve ever been.

Until manaña.