Well, as Guatemala showed H and I, we aren't the most adventurous pups out there. People say that, "The more you travel, the more you realize you don't know shit and you ain't seen shit". This could not be more true. Not only was everyone we met on our trip gone for four months or more, touching Mexico all the way to Cape Horn in the South of Chile and Argentina, but they were staying in seedier places and practically drinking the tap water (well, not quite, cause they would be peeing out of their asses, but I could tell they wanted to). While I am still covered in mysterious bug bites, varying in size and swollen, mound-like shapes, H and I did not slum it. We did stay in dorm rooms but we also got private rooms. We also had a lot of fruit smoothies and french fries. We even stayed at an eco-friendly hotel on Lago de Aititlan, an absolutely gorgeous mountain lake surrounded by volcanoes. The hotel was fairly obnoxious, where people glare at you checking Facebook on the ten year old computer in the living room because, ahem, you are supposed to be free of technology. Of course, these same people have IPads in their rooms, but whatever. This hotel was super chic and, may I say, the outdoor bathroom had the best view of any toilet I've plopped down on. It made the early morning scramble and grumble across a ledge well-worth it when you get to pee and watch the sunrise over the water.
Somehow, though, I swear all these travelers had nicer clothes than us. H brought a couple pairs of brown shorts and shirts, and I naturally had some hippy dresses I adorned, but other than that we were kinda gross and couldn't imagine it being any other way. But some people, these alleged 'more adventurous travelers' had polo shirts and tight skirts that clung to their hips, more ready for a handsy salsa experience than trekking through poorly laid cobblestoned streets. Speaking of cobblestones, H ate shit pretty hard our first day in Antigua and I am ashamed to say I laughed, like the kind where I nearly peed my pants....
My first encounter with questioning what type of person I was came when H and I were sitting in the Plaza Central in Antigua. The Plaza is lovely with trees everywhere, a fairly pornographic fountain where water flows from breasts, and surrounding cobblestones. It is downright European looking except for the height of the natives and bountiful colors of necklaces and blankets being thrust at your pale face everywhere you go. Well, as we were sitting on an ancient bench, a lovely old Guatemalan mans comes and sits down next to us, rattling off in Spanish. I am craning my neck to hear, trying not to translate every word and just let it all wash over me, when I hear him ask how I like the cathedrals. I respond that I love them, but why is there not holy water available when you walk in? Well, this excites him because I have revealed that I have some Catholic in me. Well, let me tell you, if the quantity of my Catholic background were in the form of clothing, I would still appear naked to most people. But to him, the floodgates for Jesus-talk had opened. He quickly told me about Semana Santa, the harrowing voyage Jesus made through the desert, and ended with insisting that he show us some churches not on the main drag the next day. I smiled and agreed, while H sat next to me, looking concerned that perhaps her naive travel companion had just sold us into white slavery. She expressed concern the next morning, minutes before our planned meeting with the old man, that, perhaps we should not go because we could indeed be kidnapped. I thought about this, swirled it around in my mouth for a minute, then eventually spat it out, wanting to be the kind of person that certainly meets a local and spends the day being showed the city! In reality, I was patting my little blond head, cursing myself for insisting on more bleached highlights before we left, knowing now they might as well be flashing white light in a brown sea, guiding robbers to my purse. No matter, we met the little man, towering over him in our boots, and walked with him for the morning, seeing a hospital, two churches and ruins so beautiful, H and I naturally were convinced they would be the perfect setting for an American horror movie where two precious American girls follow a stranger to the outskirts of town before getting pulled into one of the many 'cryptos' where we are tortured on the hour......But no, this was not our fate, and H was quite vigilant in assessing each van that passed, knowing that could be the one that pulled us in and then scalped my messy blond curls. Unfortunately, our little old tour guide took a liking to touching me and by the end, he had kissed my cheeks so many times things were getting downright awkward. H and him had a standoff at the end, her not wanting any pecks (rightfully so, I mean, we're 'merican) until finally it just happened. After he left, 100 Q richer, we both smiled at each other, glad that we were in fact the people that trust the locals, and see intimate parts of the city.
The next time I really thought about who I was was at the end of our trip, fast forward to northern Guatemala, a 13-hour bus ride filled with guys all over 6 feet tall and H and I squished among them. Finally, at 10:30 PM we arrive at Zephyr Lodge in Lanquin. This lodge is housed on a hilltop in the mountains, feeling like you are in a treehouse that is pleasantly stocked with alcohol, pancakes and Nutella. We signed up to see Semuc Champay, the magical turquoise pools and caves that were apparently going to blow our minds. Let me tell you, this trip was the most bad-ass I have ever been in my life.
We started with a bumpy hour drive that left me feeling nearly violated, and clammered into a covered space where we were told to take our clothes off, and our shoes, wearing just our suits. Then, we had to walk up stone steps where we met the cave opening. Immediately, you are getting into brown water that creeps up to your ribs. Now, I don't think I'm irrational or anything, but who isn't thinking WHAT THE FUCK LIVES IN HERE? Apparently, only I was thinking this, because I was clutching H's back like a freaking cat-post, squealing and then forcing an over-smiley French guy to stay behind me so I wasn't the last one in the cave. We were each given one stubby little candle and basically left to the mercy of a tour guide we didn't even the name of. Inside that cave, which quickly turned pitch black but for our little line of wicks and flame, you could hear the squeaking of bats and thrashing of water. Next, we swam, yes swam, in a very pathetic doggie paddle fashion, as the ground disappeared, our candles barely above the water with one arm, not knowing how long it would go on. In parts, you had a rope only to keep you from falling victim the the viscous current tearing at your ribcage and trying to convince you to go into the rapids ahead. Then, after doing some climbing on slippery surfaces and H having to very calmly say, "Maybe move your hand, Kristen" as a huge spider casually walked next to my thumb, we came on a waterfall whose ferocity rivaled Zeus's anger. I quickly realized that yes, we would have to walk through this waterfall. The worst part was, other than no light and a cacophony of water noises, you could not see the survivors ahead of you, they just disappeared one at a time with the Guatemalan guide, never to be seen again. When it was my turn, I was shaking, and before I knew it, his arms were around my slippery and bare mid-section and I couldn't breathe from the gushing water plowing my body, and then, we did a little jump, yes a jump, just me, a rope and his arms. When he deposited me on the other side, the water was still so intense I couldn't see, but luckily two white saviors, one Scottish guy the other English, pulled me as though I were a baby being pulled from a waling mother's private bits while giving birth, and I am sure I flashed them as I tried desperately to pull my bathing suit bottoms (purchased three years ago in Thailand, so already janky as hell). Luckily, both were too polite and denied every seeing my white bottom at all. The last part, and at this point the adrenaline had practically started making me foam at the mouth, we had to crawl on our backs under a rock so low I earned serious limbo points, and there our guide pushed us donw a rockslide into a dark pool of water below, how deep you ask? No one knows. So I closed my eyes, and was flung down, all the while picturing my mom screaming at me asking, "ARE YOU INSANE?" And when we emerged into the world, the light hurting our washed out eyes, it was like we had all survived Vietnam together.
So it stopped there, right? Get real! Next, we came to a bridge where little kids were trying to sell as chocolate circles and I was thinking wow, I have never felt so naked. And there was the bridge, my Everest. I had jumped off a tree the day before when we went tubing, and been proud that I had done it, though of course I was trying for nonchalance. But this, it was close to a 30' drop and the current was strong. Balls. I watched as the people in our group plunged their bodies into the water, one by one. H had said she wouldn't, so it was down to me and the Israeli guy. He was as afraid of heights as me, meaning that most of nightmares involve me falling and waking up gasping for solid surfaces. I swear some commercials give me vertigo. But, I wanted to be a person who DID jump off bridges. I already had gone through the scariest freakin cave and survived, and I decided, fuck it, if I want to be that person I have to just do it. I still feel butterflies just writing about the jump, because the free-fall feels like you absolutely will meet your death, and your throat is high-fiving the bottom of your feet and your stomach has crept up to your scalp and holy shit, it was so scary. But I DID it and then I realized maybe I am that person, if I want to be.
So later, after a beautiful if not rigorous as shit hike to the vantage point of the magical pools, where I had chatted with the tour guide, Carlos, I was feeling amazing. When we reached the pools, and I was floating on my back in the turquoise bliss cascading from one pool to the next, I almost got caught up enough in the surroundings to think I was worthy of a brush stoke or two, with oils.
The trip ended, after H scissoring me (yes, I used that phrase) as she fell down a rock slide and took me down from a standing position to flat on my ass, (not to mention more jumping and terrifying pushes by Carlos) and then being told there was "Un mas cueva." Oh, wow. I turned to the others and said, "He says there is one more cave." They all looked at me like, crap, this day never ends. The last cave was terrifying. By terrifying I mean that of course I said, "Hell no, there is no way I'm doing this," before actually doing it. You had to pop your head in between little breathing pockets, the water up to your neck because you're swimming, an inch or two of air between you and death. Luckily, Carlos saw the panic in my face and H's because he accompanied us as closely as a horny male prom date when the music ends, and when I panicked before the underwater part, he smiled and told me "Tu puedes, Christina!" In English, it means "you can do this". As I brought me head up, hoping it would meet open sky and air, I realized I did do it.
As our whole group limped, all patched of blooming blue and purple on our bodies, their was a giddiness that comes with overcoming something so intense and awesome that your confidence is pretty high (well, not that you look good, because frankly I was pretty sure I looked like shit, but no matter). After Carlos asked me to stay in Guatemala (my 3rd and final marriage proposal on our trip-I need to not be so smiley and chatty in Spanish in the future), and I told him no, I loved America and my life there, I realized that even more importantly than my geographic locality, I loved who I was. Even if my leg hair was longer than it possible ever had been and H and I didn't have dreadlocks or tattoos with obscure song lyrics, we had had an incredible trip and though she doesn't like hugs, I still wanted to squeeze her and squeal, "Can you believe what we just did?!"
So there it is, a snippet really, but I just had to document at least a sliver of our time in Guatemala. A trip which I will pretend did not end with our driver abandoning us on a strange street in Guatemala City where someone through a firecracker at us (which of course sounds like gunshots) because frankly, we had an amazing trip, and there is nothing wrong with me being happy as hell that I can put toilet paper in the toilet instead of a trash bin. Amen!
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