My girlfriend has saved my life.
Yesterday, Stephanie and I went to the fair. It is “Dia de Santiago” here in Antigua. Yet another excuse to play loud music, sell unhealthy food and blow each other up with fireworks.
We went with 2 goals in mind. Eat as much carnie food as possible and ride the Ferrous Wheel. Now, I have an obsession for Ferrous Wheels, notice I how capitalize the two words? Yeah, that important! From carnivals in Northern Michigan to Chicago’s Navy Pier, I have always loved Ferrous Wheels.
Upon our arrival at the market in Antigua, a lovely open air joint where a 6’3” bald dude is an easy mark for a tripled price, we were pounced upon by H2O. The down pour lasted for all of about 30 minutes. We waited it out in a carnie restaurant. This restaurant had 7 TVs and a HUGE sound system, for real, this thing was just off the Aerosmith stage! The TVs were hooked up to this sound system and they were all blasting Vincente Fernandez music videos. If you do not know this man, the dude is a Mexican…..romance?……singer. He wears HUGE hats, amazing gaudy outfits and has the corniest music videos EVER. Every song that he sings sounds like suicide is imminent and every song that he sings sounds exactly like the other 42 you just heard. He was in concert here not too long ago, it was a lovely show.
Once the rain ended, we ventured forth into the sea of bodies and mud. We began to take notice of the stellar safety precautions that we were surrounded by. Everywhere we look, taped, live wires ran through ankle deep puddles, fast moving machinery whirred just inches from kid’s faces and the Ferrous Wheel helper looked to be about a nose’s length from being bashed in the face by rapidly moving Ferrous Wheel seats.
I have been on many a Ferrous Wheel ride. I have never seen Satan in a Ferrous Wheel, but damn if the Red One wasn’t present in this wood and metal monster! The thing looked to be 1,000 years old. It had Christmas lights strung through it and the operator sat at what appeared to be a pick-up truck engine shifting through the gears, applying the clutch and brake as needed and laying on the gas a bit too much. The thing was a blur when it spun! I have never heard such screaming nor seen such terror from a Ferrous Wheel!
Steph and I stepped up, but we were informed that the tickets we bought were only good for a ride that was not working. Of course. This, I am ashamed to say, caused me to sigh in relief. The relief was short lived as Steph dug into her pocket for the necessary Q15 to ride. We loaded up. The helper put our lap bar in place, then stuck a rusty nail into the lock. That’s right, the only thing between me and the ground was a wobbling, rusty nail. Steph announced that the chair that we were in had no seat belt, upon further inspection, I noticed that she was correct. As the engine heaved us up to wait at the top of the Wheel, we cringed as the belts whined and popped during our ascent. They loaded and we slowly came back around. I took a little video and said some “hail Mary’s” as I was quite certain that we were going to either fall off or be struck by the ever present lightening which appeared to be hitting about 200 yards away.
It is at this point that Steph saved my life and my dignity. Steph took control then, she turned to me and said “We’re getting off.” She turned and gave the order to the operator and we were off.
I must admit, this was a huge relief for me as I had never been so terrified of a Ferrous Wheel in my life. We wandered around the carnival a bit more and stopped to watch as the ride began. It starts out slow, but then the moron on the controls cranks it up. The thing is literally a blur when he gets it going. I am so glad that we did not ride that thing! I would have been scarred by that Wheel forever as would it have been scarred by me, for I am certain that I would have wet myself on the journey!
I awoke today remaining very happy that we did not ride and die. I also awoke today with some choices to make.
At 10:30 this morning I had a meeting with Amanda from Casa Sito, an organization here in Antigua. I am to volunteer at their Music Festival this weekend. She wished to speak to me about PR, something that I am all too familiar with lately. Her enthusiasm was amazing, Casa Sito is a great project and I am thoroughly looking forward to helping them continue and expand their role here in Guatemala. That choice was easy.
My biggest choice comes in the form of "what am I going to do come October 14?" On October 14 the owners of the home that I currently live in will be returning to Guatemala. This means that I will need to decide what I will be doing with life. I recently discovered that my hometown newspaper has an opening for a reporter. I have readied my resume and such, but have hesitated. What if I get it? What if I get that job? That means that I have to go home! I do not think that I am ready to return to Northern Michigan. I think that life is outside of that place for me now. I just found a perfect job with a paper in New York City. Now all I have to do is find an apartment that I can afford there! What in the world?? There is an apartment on Craihslist that is described like this: “BEAUTIFUL studio in great location!” This “BEAUTIFUL” thing was literally a long closet with a tiny window that looked out onto a brick wall. They want $1300!!!!!!! PER MONTH!!!!!!!!!! Maybe per year, you idiots! WHAT IN THE WORLD?????
Anyway, Chicago is my home, but I have yet to find that perfect job there. I know that I will not be completely happy with a Michigan existence, yet I have been losing myself in fantasies of an Michigan existence lately. I found a 3BR house with a great deck and yard and 150 feet of sandy beach frontage for $1,000 per month (HEAR THAT NYC BASTARDS???? A BEACH FRONT HOUSE FOR A G!!). I began to allow myself to wonder what life would be like in a place like that. I enjoyed those fantasies, but something always felt wrong about it. Life has set up certain circumstances to allow for my return to “home.” But, life has given me a choice, go to the easy or stick with the unknown. That choice, my friends, is also quite simple. Unknown, here I come!
Random notes from my day:
I will not buy bread ever again from where I once lived in a homestay. I watched the lady bring the bread out, drop it on the floor, accidentally kick it under the oven, fish it out of there, pick it up and put it on the rack for sale. Nice.
What is the deal with the mullet down here?
The carnies were all better dressed than the normal folk.
“Stranger Than Fiction” is a great flick!
I love this adventure called life.
That is one huge bag of pink shirts, yo.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Friday, July 24, 2009
Tables Of Fury
Let me tell you about my first bar fight.
Life is lovely and…..slightly askew with Shannon (my gangsta Canadian friend). She does not care what she says or who hears, she dresses as she likes and has complete control of the radio at all times (always hip-hop/rap). She can throw so many gang signs, in fact, I am quite sure that she could probably offend everyone who is anyone in gang land! She is a very attractive red head that knows how to have a good time. In short, Shannon is my favorite person down here!
Shannon lives with other Safe Passage volunteers in a nice house in Guatemala City. She is a city chick, she loves the city life. She loves nothing more than good music and good company, especially when she does not have to wake up in the morning. Her and I wear our “fuck the future” attitudes proudly, living every moment as if it were our last!
It is in that spirit that she began going to what is now a Friday night tradition, Cien Puertas. Cien Puertas is a street that is closed to traffic. It is lined with doors, in fact, its name means “100 doors.” Behind each door lies a bar. Each bar is a bit different, most have that cool, kick back, loud guy and his guitar, screaming during conversation atmosphere that I have come to love in my pubs.
One, however, is completely different. That one is “Blanco y Negro,” (“White and Black). On Friday nights, some of the sickest (see Shannon? I am learning!) DJs in Guatemala spin their tunes to a crowd that is crammed in, using every inch of space in the relatively small bar. This, my friends, is an experience unto itself!
Now we come to the night.
Shannon had invited me to this Cien Puertas experience and, being the positive guy that I am, I completely agreed with her insistence that I attend. I caught a ride to her house, a huge group of us loaded into two VW convertibles and we were off.
We parked in an overcrowded parking garage, the kind where you will lose your car in the midst of others and if you wish to go home, you must wait until everyone else in the parking garage wants to go home as well.
We wandered the short distance to Cien Puertas and stepped through the gate. I was patted down by the heavily armed gate security because, yes, I do look like a gangsta who be packin’ heat. We attempted to get into Blanco y Negro right away, but, alas, only Shannon made it in as the rest of us were not possessing of her passion and ability to throw elbows. I went with some of the others in the crew to a great little sit down joint and ordered myself a litro. I have explained litros, yes? Yes, I did. Anyway, we talked, we drank, we laughed, we spoke mean, hurtful words about some of the people there and I was hit on by a dude. Typical bar night.
Toward midnight, Shannon came flying into where I was and grabbed me, we were off! I was quickly shown the fine art of making people move when there seemed to be no possible place for them to move to. I soon found myself facing Shannon in the middle of the dance floor. We began. I am a HORRID dancer and, personally, would not have been surprised if this story resulted in me getting into a fight defending my atrocious moves, but it does not. Shannon is amazing on the dance floor, so, I assure you, no one was looking at me! I turned away from Shannon to set my beer down…..and that is when it happened.
I thought it rather strange that a man should dance with a table, but the realization quickly hit that the man was wielding, not dancing, with that table. The piece of furniture quickly found its mark on the face of another dude, who in turn went flying and landed at my feet, literally face on my sandal. Being the slightly drunk person that I was, I pointed at this gent and said something like “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” I quickly realized that my whole half of the bar was in a massive brawl, with me in the midst of it. As soon as this realization hit, a strong, straight gangsta arm wrapped itself around my mid section and pulled me back out of the ruckus. It was Shannon. She indicated that now was a good time to leave. But, as we turned to exit, the fight spilled over into her half of the bar. I made a feeble attempt at pulling her back just as she had done me, it worked and we both stood in the middle of a HUGE fight sort of chuckling to ourselves.
Yes, obviously I made it out alive. Yes there was blood. Yes, stuff did get spilled. Yes, the table did die. And yes, it was some of the most fun that I have ever had.
The DJs stopped the music, the security guys weeded out the morons and the fun started again. We finished the night gyrating to the beats of Guatemalan and Central American hip hop.
When in doubt, say yes, when in a fight, be sure to have a bad ass chick there to protect your moronic self and when in Rome, dance!
Life is lovely and…..slightly askew with Shannon (my gangsta Canadian friend). She does not care what she says or who hears, she dresses as she likes and has complete control of the radio at all times (always hip-hop/rap). She can throw so many gang signs, in fact, I am quite sure that she could probably offend everyone who is anyone in gang land! She is a very attractive red head that knows how to have a good time. In short, Shannon is my favorite person down here!
Shannon lives with other Safe Passage volunteers in a nice house in Guatemala City. She is a city chick, she loves the city life. She loves nothing more than good music and good company, especially when she does not have to wake up in the morning. Her and I wear our “fuck the future” attitudes proudly, living every moment as if it were our last!
It is in that spirit that she began going to what is now a Friday night tradition, Cien Puertas. Cien Puertas is a street that is closed to traffic. It is lined with doors, in fact, its name means “100 doors.” Behind each door lies a bar. Each bar is a bit different, most have that cool, kick back, loud guy and his guitar, screaming during conversation atmosphere that I have come to love in my pubs.
One, however, is completely different. That one is “Blanco y Negro,” (“White and Black). On Friday nights, some of the sickest (see Shannon? I am learning!) DJs in Guatemala spin their tunes to a crowd that is crammed in, using every inch of space in the relatively small bar. This, my friends, is an experience unto itself!
Now we come to the night.
Shannon had invited me to this Cien Puertas experience and, being the positive guy that I am, I completely agreed with her insistence that I attend. I caught a ride to her house, a huge group of us loaded into two VW convertibles and we were off.
We parked in an overcrowded parking garage, the kind where you will lose your car in the midst of others and if you wish to go home, you must wait until everyone else in the parking garage wants to go home as well.
We wandered the short distance to Cien Puertas and stepped through the gate. I was patted down by the heavily armed gate security because, yes, I do look like a gangsta who be packin’ heat. We attempted to get into Blanco y Negro right away, but, alas, only Shannon made it in as the rest of us were not possessing of her passion and ability to throw elbows. I went with some of the others in the crew to a great little sit down joint and ordered myself a litro. I have explained litros, yes? Yes, I did. Anyway, we talked, we drank, we laughed, we spoke mean, hurtful words about some of the people there and I was hit on by a dude. Typical bar night.
Toward midnight, Shannon came flying into where I was and grabbed me, we were off! I was quickly shown the fine art of making people move when there seemed to be no possible place for them to move to. I soon found myself facing Shannon in the middle of the dance floor. We began. I am a HORRID dancer and, personally, would not have been surprised if this story resulted in me getting into a fight defending my atrocious moves, but it does not. Shannon is amazing on the dance floor, so, I assure you, no one was looking at me! I turned away from Shannon to set my beer down…..and that is when it happened.
I thought it rather strange that a man should dance with a table, but the realization quickly hit that the man was wielding, not dancing, with that table. The piece of furniture quickly found its mark on the face of another dude, who in turn went flying and landed at my feet, literally face on my sandal. Being the slightly drunk person that I was, I pointed at this gent and said something like “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” I quickly realized that my whole half of the bar was in a massive brawl, with me in the midst of it. As soon as this realization hit, a strong, straight gangsta arm wrapped itself around my mid section and pulled me back out of the ruckus. It was Shannon. She indicated that now was a good time to leave. But, as we turned to exit, the fight spilled over into her half of the bar. I made a feeble attempt at pulling her back just as she had done me, it worked and we both stood in the middle of a HUGE fight sort of chuckling to ourselves.
Yes, obviously I made it out alive. Yes there was blood. Yes, stuff did get spilled. Yes, the table did die. And yes, it was some of the most fun that I have ever had.
The DJs stopped the music, the security guys weeded out the morons and the fun started again. We finished the night gyrating to the beats of Guatemalan and Central American hip hop.
When in doubt, say yes, when in a fight, be sure to have a bad ass chick there to protect your moronic self and when in Rome, dance!
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Non-Funny Reflection On The Dance.
I’m alive…..I feel stronger and more powerful and more beautiful than ever. I’d rather take a leap of faith than lose out on forever, I’m alive!
Life is grand, perfect and wonderful. Yet some allow life’s wonder to be clouded. They allow things that should never catch their step to send them sprawling. This is a habit that can become quite comforting, for lying by the wayside is a much better proposition than fighting one’s way into new territories. Life’s path leads us here and there. Some learn to create their own paths, some choose to stop at every snare in the road. This habit can become a faltering point, a point in which they loose everything. For, while they are lying in the path, those around them are moving forward with life and accepting its chances. Those around them move on to new things and new experiences. Those around them leave them behind.
I have encountered such people before on my path into life and I continue to experience such beings from time to time. I do not understand their insistence upon allowing themselves to be sidelined by life’s opportunities. I do not understand the way that they let life, and those living it with them, pass them by. Experiences they could of known waltz on without them in the darkness of their path, just beyond their reach, waiting for them to say yes, waiting for them to stop caring about the trivial. Chances run fast and furious on this path. Chances wish to be met head on. Opportunities, experiences, good and bad, love, loss, all of this and more await the willing. Time stands still for no one. Time has pity on no one. Time does not offer second chances, it does not offer repair or do-overs.
I see these apparitions at the edge of my vision, these people who choose to be bogged down in the menial and meaningless. They allow crutches to hold them in place, habit to dictate their existence, the fear of being hurt to hold them back from the chance, however small, of being completely happy. I spend but a moment weeping for them. I have seen the closest to me fall to these desires, this lack of passion for a real life. I feel for them, but I will not allow their sorrow, their pit, their inactivity to grab hold of me, to force me to miss life. I will not sacrifice my life of living for their lack of it.
And so, I move on. I grab a new hand. I dance to a new tune. My partners are many and my smile is infinite. I am alive. I will take any who wish to share it on this ride. I reach out to them even now. I waltz just beyond the darkness of their rut, reaching through the cloud, beckoning them to come and dance with me. I cry out to them as their chance nears its end, but I can not stop. Nor should I. Life is stronger and more powerful than even I. I will not end my dance. I am alive, anyone can be alive, anyone can love this gift of life.
Simply reach out and grab its hand! DANCE! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! DANCE!!!!!
Life is grand, perfect and wonderful. Yet some allow life’s wonder to be clouded. They allow things that should never catch their step to send them sprawling. This is a habit that can become quite comforting, for lying by the wayside is a much better proposition than fighting one’s way into new territories. Life’s path leads us here and there. Some learn to create their own paths, some choose to stop at every snare in the road. This habit can become a faltering point, a point in which they loose everything. For, while they are lying in the path, those around them are moving forward with life and accepting its chances. Those around them move on to new things and new experiences. Those around them leave them behind.
I have encountered such people before on my path into life and I continue to experience such beings from time to time. I do not understand their insistence upon allowing themselves to be sidelined by life’s opportunities. I do not understand the way that they let life, and those living it with them, pass them by. Experiences they could of known waltz on without them in the darkness of their path, just beyond their reach, waiting for them to say yes, waiting for them to stop caring about the trivial. Chances run fast and furious on this path. Chances wish to be met head on. Opportunities, experiences, good and bad, love, loss, all of this and more await the willing. Time stands still for no one. Time has pity on no one. Time does not offer second chances, it does not offer repair or do-overs.
I see these apparitions at the edge of my vision, these people who choose to be bogged down in the menial and meaningless. They allow crutches to hold them in place, habit to dictate their existence, the fear of being hurt to hold them back from the chance, however small, of being completely happy. I spend but a moment weeping for them. I have seen the closest to me fall to these desires, this lack of passion for a real life. I feel for them, but I will not allow their sorrow, their pit, their inactivity to grab hold of me, to force me to miss life. I will not sacrifice my life of living for their lack of it.
And so, I move on. I grab a new hand. I dance to a new tune. My partners are many and my smile is infinite. I am alive. I will take any who wish to share it on this ride. I reach out to them even now. I waltz just beyond the darkness of their rut, reaching through the cloud, beckoning them to come and dance with me. I cry out to them as their chance nears its end, but I can not stop. Nor should I. Life is stronger and more powerful than even I. I will not end my dance. I am alive, anyone can be alive, anyone can love this gift of life.
Simply reach out and grab its hand! DANCE! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! DANCE!!!!!
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
"What Up?" To The Baby On My Leg
I saw a deformed baby today. But let’s not talk about that right now.
Last night I went to a volunteer meeting at Le Pena Del Sol Latino, a great Antigua restaurant. The meeting was with an organization known as Casa Sito. They are running a music festival in a small village called Santiago Zamora. I am to be a volunteer! I suppose that I will be playing the role of stage manager for this thing. It should be quite fun and perhaps offer some pretty good contacts.
I came by this opportunity because of a “Yes” that I uttered when a friend of mine asked if I would like to get up at 6AM on a Sunday and go spend the day on the ocean. Seeing as how I had never even seen the ocean before my move to Guatemala, I decided that it was best for me to get as much ocean as I possibly can whilst here, thus improving my chances of being chomped by a shark before my return to the Great Lakes, where the only deadly hazard one must learn to avoid is some tanned head, white torsoed moron on a jet ski.
During this trip to the ocean I sat in the back of a lovely little VW convertible. The top was down, the sun was blazing (always great for the skin cancer farm that is my bald head) and the company was perfect. I spent the hour or so ride conversing with a lovely German girl named Esteema. By lovely, I of course mean she would fit right in at those fabled German hardcore rock concerts where everyone can kick my ass. She is tall with jet black hair, a muscular build and possesses a swagger that George W. Bush would be proud of! This girl sports a tattoo that runs the entire length of her back and covers fully more than half of it. She is hardcore, she could indeed kick my ass and she is one of the coolest people that I have ever met. Oh yeah, she is also a volunteer at Casa Sito, she is actually the one in charge of this whole festival thing. We spent most of the day chilling together and talking about various things. Thus was born the conversation of the music festival and the resulting presence of your’s truly at last night’s meeting. I am very much looking forward to this thing. It sounds like an insane amount of fun. It will happen on the 2nd of August, but we are all already working hard to get the word out. I have put up a poster at Dominos! As I stood waiting for the “Delivery Experts” to prepare my order I marveled at the power of my newly placed poster. Children called their parents to it, girlfriends called their men (and in one case woman) and families began their planning, all because I chose to chew off a few pieces of tape and stick a fancy sign to a wall. That’s right folks, I bring joy to Guatemalans everywhere.
I also wondered why all of the Dominos’ signage was in English. This is Guatemala, after all, one is shocked and amazed at anything in English. Seeing a sign in English is almost like seeing Jesus down here! People flock to it, hover under it because they feel at ease with it and speak of it for days to come.
Sometimes I just love where this writing thing takes me. From Dominos to Jesus in one sentence! Billy Graham would be proud!
On my wander home from the meeting, I conversed on the phone with Claudia (another friend from Germany, one of my favorite people in Antigua and a fellow blogger, see her here: http://claudiainguatemala.wordpress.com/about/). We set up a lunch date for today. Thus begins the tale of the deformed infant.
Claudia and I always meet in the plaza mejor (central park). I usually arrive early to do a bit of people watching, as I love that sport and the watching is always good at this park. Usually I am accosted by indigenous folk selling linens, flutes, bracelets, necklaces and drugs. Yes, drugs.
As a lone white dude sitting on a bench, I suppose that I come across as a desperate drug fiend looking for a fix. The game usually goes like this:
I sit for 5-10 minutes just chilling and looking around. Soon, I am shadowed by a rather grungy looking Guatemalan dude (never the same one, they must get whacked all the time). After about two minutes of pacing just outside of my comfort zone, the dude bursts my bubble of personal space and sits next to me. He then asks me what my name is, then where I am from, then how long I have been here, then how long I will stay, then if I like it, then he will list off all of the differing kinds of marijuana he has on him today. If I balk at that, he will list off all of the harder drugs that he has on him, because if I don’t want marijuana, surely I must want heroin. Usually I politely decline and he will move on (I say usually because sometimes I must be a bit rude with the decline before they move on, not because I sometimes say yes to heroin).
Today, there were the indigenous peeps selling their crap, but their was also a rather red neck looking Guatemalan chick with a baby in a trashy stroller. I first saw them out of the corner of my eye. As I turned to look at them, she pushed the stroller right up next to me, I mean, it was right there. She had the kid’s legs touching mine. She went into this well rehearsed schpeel about how she needed money. During this schpeel, she bent forward and lifted the shirt of the baby. The kid had some sort of hernia or something. A large red, moist, bulbous thing protruded from its stomach. The kid looked normal, happy, healthy, but for this……thing. The mother said that she needed money for an operation. I told her that I did not bring any money with me, which was true, unless the kid was also a credit card machine. She backed the stroller up and moved on to the next most foreign looking dude. The sad thing about this whole ordeal is that if I had given her money, it would not have gone to the kid. Curing that child would remove her only source of income. She would not do that. This is the way that many beggars make a living down here. They expose their deformities for money, never intending to use that money for hospital care, as they claim. This child will be 40, on the street with its mother, showing that thing off, no matter how much anyone gives her right now.
The best part of this tale comes from Claudia and my end of the day ice cream chat. This has become a habit with us. We will finish our outing with ice cream, people watching and talking at the park. This woman came back to me because of Claudia. Claudia’s face was one of pure shell shocked horror when this happened to her. The only thing she could muster was a weak “No gracias” which sent me into fits of laughter. Once her shock wore off, she laughed as well. She said no gracias, like the mother was trying to sell the squirt. Which, to be honest, was what I thought was going to happen when she slammed the stroller into my leg. To be fair, the only thing I could muster when this happened to me was a weak “What in the world?” after greeting the lady with a rather shocked “What up?”
So, as the cricket descends on my kitchen (I’ve got to find that little bastard) and the darkness begins to fall, I will leave you and go begin a movie. I am really in the mood for one. The day has been awesome and life remains good!
OH YEAH! I also bought another bottle of Arbor Mist. Perhaps they will read this and make me a spokesperson for their new “Manly Mist” line!!
Last night I went to a volunteer meeting at Le Pena Del Sol Latino, a great Antigua restaurant. The meeting was with an organization known as Casa Sito. They are running a music festival in a small village called Santiago Zamora. I am to be a volunteer! I suppose that I will be playing the role of stage manager for this thing. It should be quite fun and perhaps offer some pretty good contacts.
I came by this opportunity because of a “Yes” that I uttered when a friend of mine asked if I would like to get up at 6AM on a Sunday and go spend the day on the ocean. Seeing as how I had never even seen the ocean before my move to Guatemala, I decided that it was best for me to get as much ocean as I possibly can whilst here, thus improving my chances of being chomped by a shark before my return to the Great Lakes, where the only deadly hazard one must learn to avoid is some tanned head, white torsoed moron on a jet ski.
During this trip to the ocean I sat in the back of a lovely little VW convertible. The top was down, the sun was blazing (always great for the skin cancer farm that is my bald head) and the company was perfect. I spent the hour or so ride conversing with a lovely German girl named Esteema. By lovely, I of course mean she would fit right in at those fabled German hardcore rock concerts where everyone can kick my ass. She is tall with jet black hair, a muscular build and possesses a swagger that George W. Bush would be proud of! This girl sports a tattoo that runs the entire length of her back and covers fully more than half of it. She is hardcore, she could indeed kick my ass and she is one of the coolest people that I have ever met. Oh yeah, she is also a volunteer at Casa Sito, she is actually the one in charge of this whole festival thing. We spent most of the day chilling together and talking about various things. Thus was born the conversation of the music festival and the resulting presence of your’s truly at last night’s meeting. I am very much looking forward to this thing. It sounds like an insane amount of fun. It will happen on the 2nd of August, but we are all already working hard to get the word out. I have put up a poster at Dominos! As I stood waiting for the “Delivery Experts” to prepare my order I marveled at the power of my newly placed poster. Children called their parents to it, girlfriends called their men (and in one case woman) and families began their planning, all because I chose to chew off a few pieces of tape and stick a fancy sign to a wall. That’s right folks, I bring joy to Guatemalans everywhere.
I also wondered why all of the Dominos’ signage was in English. This is Guatemala, after all, one is shocked and amazed at anything in English. Seeing a sign in English is almost like seeing Jesus down here! People flock to it, hover under it because they feel at ease with it and speak of it for days to come.
Sometimes I just love where this writing thing takes me. From Dominos to Jesus in one sentence! Billy Graham would be proud!
On my wander home from the meeting, I conversed on the phone with Claudia (another friend from Germany, one of my favorite people in Antigua and a fellow blogger, see her here: http://claudiainguatemala.wordpress.com/about/). We set up a lunch date for today. Thus begins the tale of the deformed infant.
Claudia and I always meet in the plaza mejor (central park). I usually arrive early to do a bit of people watching, as I love that sport and the watching is always good at this park. Usually I am accosted by indigenous folk selling linens, flutes, bracelets, necklaces and drugs. Yes, drugs.
As a lone white dude sitting on a bench, I suppose that I come across as a desperate drug fiend looking for a fix. The game usually goes like this:
I sit for 5-10 minutes just chilling and looking around. Soon, I am shadowed by a rather grungy looking Guatemalan dude (never the same one, they must get whacked all the time). After about two minutes of pacing just outside of my comfort zone, the dude bursts my bubble of personal space and sits next to me. He then asks me what my name is, then where I am from, then how long I have been here, then how long I will stay, then if I like it, then he will list off all of the differing kinds of marijuana he has on him today. If I balk at that, he will list off all of the harder drugs that he has on him, because if I don’t want marijuana, surely I must want heroin. Usually I politely decline and he will move on (I say usually because sometimes I must be a bit rude with the decline before they move on, not because I sometimes say yes to heroin).
Today, there were the indigenous peeps selling their crap, but their was also a rather red neck looking Guatemalan chick with a baby in a trashy stroller. I first saw them out of the corner of my eye. As I turned to look at them, she pushed the stroller right up next to me, I mean, it was right there. She had the kid’s legs touching mine. She went into this well rehearsed schpeel about how she needed money. During this schpeel, she bent forward and lifted the shirt of the baby. The kid had some sort of hernia or something. A large red, moist, bulbous thing protruded from its stomach. The kid looked normal, happy, healthy, but for this……thing. The mother said that she needed money for an operation. I told her that I did not bring any money with me, which was true, unless the kid was also a credit card machine. She backed the stroller up and moved on to the next most foreign looking dude. The sad thing about this whole ordeal is that if I had given her money, it would not have gone to the kid. Curing that child would remove her only source of income. She would not do that. This is the way that many beggars make a living down here. They expose their deformities for money, never intending to use that money for hospital care, as they claim. This child will be 40, on the street with its mother, showing that thing off, no matter how much anyone gives her right now.
The best part of this tale comes from Claudia and my end of the day ice cream chat. This has become a habit with us. We will finish our outing with ice cream, people watching and talking at the park. This woman came back to me because of Claudia. Claudia’s face was one of pure shell shocked horror when this happened to her. The only thing she could muster was a weak “No gracias” which sent me into fits of laughter. Once her shock wore off, she laughed as well. She said no gracias, like the mother was trying to sell the squirt. Which, to be honest, was what I thought was going to happen when she slammed the stroller into my leg. To be fair, the only thing I could muster when this happened to me was a weak “What in the world?” after greeting the lady with a rather shocked “What up?”
So, as the cricket descends on my kitchen (I’ve got to find that little bastard) and the darkness begins to fall, I will leave you and go begin a movie. I am really in the mood for one. The day has been awesome and life remains good!
OH YEAH! I also bought another bottle of Arbor Mist. Perhaps they will read this and make me a spokesperson for their new “Manly Mist” line!!
Sunday, July 19, 2009
A Bit Of Rembering TC
Throughout my days on this rock, I have dreamed. My dreams have been grand, vast, massive in scale. When I sat and envisioned my future life, I saw myself in one specific scene. I stood there, in the midst of my downtown apartment, surrounded by friends, after a night of playing in TC. My apartment was me in every way, as was my car and my job.
This dream was a long shot, I thought. One must work hard to obtain such a perfect existence. I chuckled as the scenes ran through my mind. This is an episode of “Friends” or “Seinfeld” I thought, this will never come to pass, people do not actually live like that.
So, my dream intact, but still just a dream, I went on. I laughed, I loved, I cried, I worked. A relationship blossomed and then fell apart. Friends came and went. Jobs came and went. All the while, in the back of my brain danced my dream. On the outskirts of my reality, it beckoned me to join in its little jig. I laughed at myself for allowing such a thing to take hold and trudged on. Yet, it called to me, a bit louder each time. As the months passed and turned into years, its call began to be delightfully unbearable. Soon, instead of laughing at myself, I was blushing and turning away from it, much like a frightened boy at his first dance when the girl of his dreams holds out her hand. No longer did I mock it, banish it, no. Now I reveled in it, wanted it more than I wanted anything. I was as a horse behind the gate, stomping and jumping, yearning for that bell to ring and for the doors to fly open.
Then life took control. One day I had a familiar, if a bit bland, existence. The next, I was full of pain and confusion as that world fell apart. Slowly, the pain and confusion became joy and hope. Suddenly, I was free. I began to reach for the dream that had beckoned for so long. When life laid choices at my feet, I was unabashedly fearless with my decisions. I stood at the precipice of obtaining my dream and I decided to jump.
Before I knew what was happening, I was living in a perfect downtown apartment, every inch of it spoke of me and my personality. I was surrounded by great friends. I quickly began to look forward to our Thursday night flights from work and play to Kilkenny’s for lady’s night and Mike Moran. When most of your friends are girls, lady’s night is the greatest thing since Oberon! We drank tea at “Serenity,” we saw artsy flicks at the State, we discussed random topics deep into the night, we lived. My car was big and comfy, just like I wanted it to be, and not too old to boot! My job was writing and my life was good.
One night, amidst the lamplights of TC’s 2AM, whilst wandering back to my perfect little joint with a rather large crew of people staying the night, it hit me. This is what I had dreamed of. No longer was my dream dancing at the fringes of my imagination, it was taking place right here, right now. I was dancing my dream.
Now, I am off dancing to a bit of a different tune, but still holding onto the vision that my dreams and hopes and wishes have all come true. I will always treasure that year that I spent watching life give me everything that I had always wanted. The future appears just as bright and just as fun. The present continues to be a dream come true.
This whole journey has taught me that I am in control. No matter what life throws my way, be it debt, a boot on my car, a breakup, or a dream come true, I have control. Now, I wonder why I ever let my dreams dance on the outskirts when all I had to do was take their hand, accept their invitation and roll with the punches until I obtained my goal.
It’s a funny thing to dream. People speak of them as wishful thinking, or a way to escape reality. I prefer to live my dreams. Why escape reality when you can love every second of it? I have made real life the escape and dreaming the inconvenience.
This dream was a long shot, I thought. One must work hard to obtain such a perfect existence. I chuckled as the scenes ran through my mind. This is an episode of “Friends” or “Seinfeld” I thought, this will never come to pass, people do not actually live like that.
So, my dream intact, but still just a dream, I went on. I laughed, I loved, I cried, I worked. A relationship blossomed and then fell apart. Friends came and went. Jobs came and went. All the while, in the back of my brain danced my dream. On the outskirts of my reality, it beckoned me to join in its little jig. I laughed at myself for allowing such a thing to take hold and trudged on. Yet, it called to me, a bit louder each time. As the months passed and turned into years, its call began to be delightfully unbearable. Soon, instead of laughing at myself, I was blushing and turning away from it, much like a frightened boy at his first dance when the girl of his dreams holds out her hand. No longer did I mock it, banish it, no. Now I reveled in it, wanted it more than I wanted anything. I was as a horse behind the gate, stomping and jumping, yearning for that bell to ring and for the doors to fly open.
Then life took control. One day I had a familiar, if a bit bland, existence. The next, I was full of pain and confusion as that world fell apart. Slowly, the pain and confusion became joy and hope. Suddenly, I was free. I began to reach for the dream that had beckoned for so long. When life laid choices at my feet, I was unabashedly fearless with my decisions. I stood at the precipice of obtaining my dream and I decided to jump.
Before I knew what was happening, I was living in a perfect downtown apartment, every inch of it spoke of me and my personality. I was surrounded by great friends. I quickly began to look forward to our Thursday night flights from work and play to Kilkenny’s for lady’s night and Mike Moran. When most of your friends are girls, lady’s night is the greatest thing since Oberon! We drank tea at “Serenity,” we saw artsy flicks at the State, we discussed random topics deep into the night, we lived. My car was big and comfy, just like I wanted it to be, and not too old to boot! My job was writing and my life was good.
One night, amidst the lamplights of TC’s 2AM, whilst wandering back to my perfect little joint with a rather large crew of people staying the night, it hit me. This is what I had dreamed of. No longer was my dream dancing at the fringes of my imagination, it was taking place right here, right now. I was dancing my dream.
Now, I am off dancing to a bit of a different tune, but still holding onto the vision that my dreams and hopes and wishes have all come true. I will always treasure that year that I spent watching life give me everything that I had always wanted. The future appears just as bright and just as fun. The present continues to be a dream come true.
This whole journey has taught me that I am in control. No matter what life throws my way, be it debt, a boot on my car, a breakup, or a dream come true, I have control. Now, I wonder why I ever let my dreams dance on the outskirts when all I had to do was take their hand, accept their invitation and roll with the punches until I obtained my goal.
It’s a funny thing to dream. People speak of them as wishful thinking, or a way to escape reality. I prefer to live my dreams. Why escape reality when you can love every second of it? I have made real life the escape and dreaming the inconvenience.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
The Japanese Love A Good Brew
Well, today began like most days have here in Guatemala……with a hangover and an appointment with a real Japanese Geisha.
In adhering to my constantly positive outlook on life, one that I have had for sometime now and has only been reinforced by my current read, “Yes Man,” I decided that, even though I could find no one else who wished to pay the Q50 cover charge, I would still go to Casbah and watch the Cirque Soleil experience! This was to be a liberating hour long adventure. Just me, myself and I in Antigua’s “best” discothèque, watching what promised to be (by the picture on the brochure) an exciting bit of daring!
I arrived at Casbah at 8PM, the designated time for the event to begin and also the designated time for the beginning of an hour’s worth of free drinks that came included with your cover charge. So, as often happens when free things are offered in Guatemala, Casbah was, of course, still closed at 8PM. Always the adventurer, I made my way into Reilly’s, an Irish pub on the Arch Street.
Now, I have heard stories of beautiful bartenders…….stories that would make even the hardest sailor blush and shed a tear…….stories of such beauty as not to be believed. My friends, this bartender beat them all! I stood with my back to the bar, scoping out the Irish Guatemalan scene when I heard her ask for my order. I turned and choked. As I turned I said the following “I would like a guy…..” To this, she smirked a bit. Her eyes twinkled with mischief and she remarked that I may want to try another bar for that one. I cleared my throat with a high pitched cough and finished my order by saying “Oh……I would like a Gallo!” Now, Gallo is the national beer here in Guatemala. It is pronounced “Guy-yo.” So, being cut off by my man brain in mid beer order gave off the impression that I was, in fact, ordering myself a healthy piece of man meat, when, in fact, I was not. Anywho, back to her looks. She had a sort of Cleopatra thing going on. Very short, black hair, very sharp features, sporty as hell and incredibly black eyeliner that made her appear as though she may, at one time, have been Satan. He is supposed to be God’s most beautiful angel, you know, and some say Satan is a chick. Well, send me to hell lads, for I am in love with Satan!
I nursed my beer, keeping an eye on Casbah’s door. When it opened, and a proper amount of blokes and blokets had entered, so I would not appear creepy as I was with myself, and only myself, I plopped the empty Gallo bottle on the bar and turned to go.
“Sure you don’t want another guy, babe?” Ahhhhhhhhh, the sound of the dark one. I chuckled through my renewed embarrassment, said thanks, but no, promised I’d be back to order something with an easy name and left. NEVER hit on the bartender chick! They know how to play a bloke! Especially when they used to be Satan.
I entered through the darkened hallway and black light ambiance of Casbah. I was already mostly deaf before I even made it into the club. The thieves at the door took my Q50 and the thieves at the bar (not anywhere near as fun as Satan had been) claimed that they had no knowledge of any free drinks. Of course not. I made my way to the second level, eager to avoid the dance floor. I have only been to Casbah a few times since my arrival in Guatemala. Believe me, Casbah could be fun, but not for a lone person. I am 6’3” and no slouch when it comes to a brawl. I am quite certain that I have been raped there on at least one occasion. At 15 minutes to 9, I had a slightly worried feeling that this night wasn’t going to be the quick in, grab a beer and some pics then out night that I had envisioned. The show hadn’t even begun yet. I stood at the railing overlooking the dance floor, laser lights penetrating my pupils as increasingly annoying music penetrated my ear canals. I watched people in various states of duress, or bliss, could not quite figure which, ply their art on the dance floor. Some began popping tiny white pills at about 10PM. I had been standing at the railing for over an hour buying overpriced beer so that they would not make me move into the madness that had now penetrated up onto the second floor. For my troubles, my horrid beer tab and my incredibly stupid Q50 at the door, I had seen one juggler, a man who could not even juggle as the lighting was club lighting (strobe lights, lasers, etc.) and thus not too conducive to juggling. I was getting dirty looks from the DJ and hot and heavy looks from his girlfriend. A pair of hippie chicks (the only other foreigners in the place) were getting a bit too close for comfort (these types ALWAYS have incredibly awkward proposals) and an unhealthy ratio of guys to girls had blossomed. It was time for me to go. But where? I had Gallo flowing through me like Red Bull, I did not want to stop, I had just caught my second wind!
When my pocket vibrated, I at first thought that the hippie chicks had finally gotten to me, but then remembered my phone. I reached for it and found a text from a very good Guatemalan friend, Karen, inviting me to Riki’s, a sweet little joint loved by locals and non-locals alike. I made my way out of the club and into the street. There I found street performers doing their thing for FREE!!! I wandered to Riki’s shaking my head the whole way.
In Riki’s I found Karen with Rachel (another friend here in Antigua, from the Boston area) sitting at the bar. I ordered myself another Gallo and began the convo! We talked about Safe Passage (always a lovely topic, especially when I am not there anymore), sex, beer, love, the beach, Brooks getting raped yet again at Casbah, and myriad of other things that I can not, at the moment, recall. By this time in the evening, I was not possessing much memory talent.
I received a phone call from Stephanie (girlfriend) and decided to finish my beer (a litro, did I mention that? Yes, one needs to buy a liter of beer so as to not have to push one’s way through a sea of people every 10 minutes to get another beer, brilliant, yes?) and make my way to Mono Loco where she was with friends. I threw back the rest of my brew, kissed the girls goodnight and went off to my fourth bar of the evening.
Upon my arrival at Mono Loco, I, you guessed it, ordered yet ANOTHER beer (perhaps 50 for the evening) and sat amongst Ed, Erick, Barbara and Stephanie and talked…..mostly about Safe Passage, but also a bit about how I had just been robbed by fake jugglers and wiley circus folk. By 1AM, we had raised our last bottle and were fumbling our way through the park. We made our way to the taxi stand and tried to get a proper price for a cab home, but no one was willing to bargain, so we decided to just walk it. Steph and I discussed the Universe on our 15 minute walk home. We decided that it did revolve around her. When we arrived, we found Erick and Ashley waiting to share one more round before bed.
Now, thanks to my conviction that yes, I was going to go to the circus thing, I had just done a full evening of bar hopping by myself! Have YOU ever bar hopped, and had a completely smashing time, by yourself??
“Ahhhhhhh,” thought I as I sipped my Arbor Mist yet again, “Life is good.”
This morning I awoke to the prospect of finding Steph and me some breakfast. I wandered into the middle of Antigua where a marching band was hammering away. I would really like to meet the moron who introduced the Guatemalans to marching bands and beat the daft chap over his head with a tuba! There was a book fair, a chess championship, a carnival, a stage with loud music (that went brilliantly with the marching band) and a line out every restaurant’s door. So, I ventured into Pollo Campero and bought us a typical breakfast of eggs, fried plantains, black beans and bread and returned home.
This afternoon I went with an acquaintance turned friend to a traditional Japanese tea ceremony. It was tranquil, lovely, Zen and tasty! The tea was strong, the pastry sweet and the people cool. The Geisha who led the ceremony was incredibly hot to boot, so, all was good in the world, yet again!
Life is sweet here in Central America! Only in Guatemala would I find a traditional Japanese tea ceremony put on by a Spanish speaking Japanese Geisha to be the perfect cure all for a thumping head after a night that began with falling in love with a girl who was quite possibly the devil herownself, moved on to being ripped off by the circus (wasn’t even a bloody elephant!) and ended amongst good friends and my lovely girlfriend, who does not know that I fell, ever so briefly, for the Princess of Darkness, but would completely understand if she found out.
In adhering to my constantly positive outlook on life, one that I have had for sometime now and has only been reinforced by my current read, “Yes Man,” I decided that, even though I could find no one else who wished to pay the Q50 cover charge, I would still go to Casbah and watch the Cirque Soleil experience! This was to be a liberating hour long adventure. Just me, myself and I in Antigua’s “best” discothèque, watching what promised to be (by the picture on the brochure) an exciting bit of daring!
I arrived at Casbah at 8PM, the designated time for the event to begin and also the designated time for the beginning of an hour’s worth of free drinks that came included with your cover charge. So, as often happens when free things are offered in Guatemala, Casbah was, of course, still closed at 8PM. Always the adventurer, I made my way into Reilly’s, an Irish pub on the Arch Street.
Now, I have heard stories of beautiful bartenders…….stories that would make even the hardest sailor blush and shed a tear…….stories of such beauty as not to be believed. My friends, this bartender beat them all! I stood with my back to the bar, scoping out the Irish Guatemalan scene when I heard her ask for my order. I turned and choked. As I turned I said the following “I would like a guy…..” To this, she smirked a bit. Her eyes twinkled with mischief and she remarked that I may want to try another bar for that one. I cleared my throat with a high pitched cough and finished my order by saying “Oh……I would like a Gallo!” Now, Gallo is the national beer here in Guatemala. It is pronounced “Guy-yo.” So, being cut off by my man brain in mid beer order gave off the impression that I was, in fact, ordering myself a healthy piece of man meat, when, in fact, I was not. Anywho, back to her looks. She had a sort of Cleopatra thing going on. Very short, black hair, very sharp features, sporty as hell and incredibly black eyeliner that made her appear as though she may, at one time, have been Satan. He is supposed to be God’s most beautiful angel, you know, and some say Satan is a chick. Well, send me to hell lads, for I am in love with Satan!
I nursed my beer, keeping an eye on Casbah’s door. When it opened, and a proper amount of blokes and blokets had entered, so I would not appear creepy as I was with myself, and only myself, I plopped the empty Gallo bottle on the bar and turned to go.
“Sure you don’t want another guy, babe?” Ahhhhhhhhh, the sound of the dark one. I chuckled through my renewed embarrassment, said thanks, but no, promised I’d be back to order something with an easy name and left. NEVER hit on the bartender chick! They know how to play a bloke! Especially when they used to be Satan.
I entered through the darkened hallway and black light ambiance of Casbah. I was already mostly deaf before I even made it into the club. The thieves at the door took my Q50 and the thieves at the bar (not anywhere near as fun as Satan had been) claimed that they had no knowledge of any free drinks. Of course not. I made my way to the second level, eager to avoid the dance floor. I have only been to Casbah a few times since my arrival in Guatemala. Believe me, Casbah could be fun, but not for a lone person. I am 6’3” and no slouch when it comes to a brawl. I am quite certain that I have been raped there on at least one occasion. At 15 minutes to 9, I had a slightly worried feeling that this night wasn’t going to be the quick in, grab a beer and some pics then out night that I had envisioned. The show hadn’t even begun yet. I stood at the railing overlooking the dance floor, laser lights penetrating my pupils as increasingly annoying music penetrated my ear canals. I watched people in various states of duress, or bliss, could not quite figure which, ply their art on the dance floor. Some began popping tiny white pills at about 10PM. I had been standing at the railing for over an hour buying overpriced beer so that they would not make me move into the madness that had now penetrated up onto the second floor. For my troubles, my horrid beer tab and my incredibly stupid Q50 at the door, I had seen one juggler, a man who could not even juggle as the lighting was club lighting (strobe lights, lasers, etc.) and thus not too conducive to juggling. I was getting dirty looks from the DJ and hot and heavy looks from his girlfriend. A pair of hippie chicks (the only other foreigners in the place) were getting a bit too close for comfort (these types ALWAYS have incredibly awkward proposals) and an unhealthy ratio of guys to girls had blossomed. It was time for me to go. But where? I had Gallo flowing through me like Red Bull, I did not want to stop, I had just caught my second wind!
When my pocket vibrated, I at first thought that the hippie chicks had finally gotten to me, but then remembered my phone. I reached for it and found a text from a very good Guatemalan friend, Karen, inviting me to Riki’s, a sweet little joint loved by locals and non-locals alike. I made my way out of the club and into the street. There I found street performers doing their thing for FREE!!! I wandered to Riki’s shaking my head the whole way.
In Riki’s I found Karen with Rachel (another friend here in Antigua, from the Boston area) sitting at the bar. I ordered myself another Gallo and began the convo! We talked about Safe Passage (always a lovely topic, especially when I am not there anymore), sex, beer, love, the beach, Brooks getting raped yet again at Casbah, and myriad of other things that I can not, at the moment, recall. By this time in the evening, I was not possessing much memory talent.
I received a phone call from Stephanie (girlfriend) and decided to finish my beer (a litro, did I mention that? Yes, one needs to buy a liter of beer so as to not have to push one’s way through a sea of people every 10 minutes to get another beer, brilliant, yes?) and make my way to Mono Loco where she was with friends. I threw back the rest of my brew, kissed the girls goodnight and went off to my fourth bar of the evening.
Upon my arrival at Mono Loco, I, you guessed it, ordered yet ANOTHER beer (perhaps 50 for the evening) and sat amongst Ed, Erick, Barbara and Stephanie and talked…..mostly about Safe Passage, but also a bit about how I had just been robbed by fake jugglers and wiley circus folk. By 1AM, we had raised our last bottle and were fumbling our way through the park. We made our way to the taxi stand and tried to get a proper price for a cab home, but no one was willing to bargain, so we decided to just walk it. Steph and I discussed the Universe on our 15 minute walk home. We decided that it did revolve around her. When we arrived, we found Erick and Ashley waiting to share one more round before bed.
Now, thanks to my conviction that yes, I was going to go to the circus thing, I had just done a full evening of bar hopping by myself! Have YOU ever bar hopped, and had a completely smashing time, by yourself??
“Ahhhhhhh,” thought I as I sipped my Arbor Mist yet again, “Life is good.”
This morning I awoke to the prospect of finding Steph and me some breakfast. I wandered into the middle of Antigua where a marching band was hammering away. I would really like to meet the moron who introduced the Guatemalans to marching bands and beat the daft chap over his head with a tuba! There was a book fair, a chess championship, a carnival, a stage with loud music (that went brilliantly with the marching band) and a line out every restaurant’s door. So, I ventured into Pollo Campero and bought us a typical breakfast of eggs, fried plantains, black beans and bread and returned home.
This afternoon I went with an acquaintance turned friend to a traditional Japanese tea ceremony. It was tranquil, lovely, Zen and tasty! The tea was strong, the pastry sweet and the people cool. The Geisha who led the ceremony was incredibly hot to boot, so, all was good in the world, yet again!
Life is sweet here in Central America! Only in Guatemala would I find a traditional Japanese tea ceremony put on by a Spanish speaking Japanese Geisha to be the perfect cure all for a thumping head after a night that began with falling in love with a girl who was quite possibly the devil herownself, moved on to being ripped off by the circus (wasn’t even a bloody elephant!) and ended amongst good friends and my lovely girlfriend, who does not know that I fell, ever so briefly, for the Princess of Darkness, but would completely understand if she found out.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
The Beginning of All Things..................
So, it took moving to Guatemala to figure out that Arbor Mist truly is amazing! What is this undeserved reputation for tackiness all about? I had purchased this bottle to help me become nicely toasted during my birthday celebrations. The bottle said that it has only 1% less alcohol by volume than a regular bottle of wine and had a huge cardboard sign wrapped around its neck proclaiming its first place finish in some competition. Lovely! Why had my friends and girlfriend scoffed and laughed when they heard that I had purchased it? This thing is amazing! I did not need it for my birthday gathering as others gifted me with such things as rum and tequila. This is the inaugural run, I just popped.....or, I suppose, twisted the bottle!
My first sip of Arbor Mist Blackberry, or any Arbor Mist, for that matter, has come nearly one year into my life of being an “ex-pat.” At 28, I am a rather young ex-pat, and with a plan to move back to the States or Europe in late October, I am truly a short lived ex-pat!
My journey to this lovely bit of wild frontierdom began not one year ago, but more than two. I had discovered a few things toward the end of 2007. Thing number one……my fiancé was cheating on me with one of my best friends. Thing number two, and most important, was that I had never tasted freedom. Oh, I had tasted many things in my life, mostly fatty, tasty things. This was made abundantly clear by my fast ballooning weight and my ever increasing time in the 100 yard dash (which was years now, as I had not done a 100 yard dash in five years). The shock of the break up left me a shell of a man…..for about a week. I used South Park as salve for my broken heart, alcohol as my means to reconnect with friends and my own wants and desires as my new moral compass. I let the girl take my cat and let a stranger (well researched, I assure you) take my dog. This actually hurt more than the break up, but I digress. Before I knew it, I was firmly ensconced in my very own downtown apartment, buying whatever I wanted for the fridge (usually something sweet, something alcoholie, something meat and something to put my PB&J on), decorating in whatever fashion I wished, keeping whatever hours I wished and keeping whatever company I wished. Life was good. I worked for three newspapers and a men’s magazine, had an amazingly fun car and a group of friends that I would die for, and often almost did during our many nights to the pub and club!
Guatemala came knocking one day in the form of my lovely friend Ia. Some months before, we had held a bit of a discussion on a walk through the sand and waves. We had discussed a group called Safe Passage and a Support Team that would be heading from my home town in Michigan to Guatemala for a one week volunteering stint, of which Ia was a part. I decided that I should go along.
One year later, here I sit. After almost 11 months of volunteering with Safe Passage, my commitment to them has finished. I now write full time and enjoy the fruits of that labor here in Guatemala.
What has this little excursion granted unto me? Well, Stephanie, my Support Team guide for Safe Passage over one year ago, is now my girlfriend. We spent an amazing evening together the day before I returned to the States in May, when my Support Team stint was through. We stayed in contact and are now working on one year of bliss. I have a new circle of friends the likes of which I never even pondered having. I am dating a girl from the Bay Area. One of my best friends is from Ottawa, way up there in Canada, another is a Guatemalan who lives in New York City, another is a French Jewish Princess from New York City, another is a Belgium citizen who grew up in South Africa, yet another is a current resident of London Town and still another is from Boston (despite our differences in Baseball, I like the Yankees, we seem to get along just fine). Yesterday, I spent the entire afternoon having lunch, scouting the market and just enjoying the Antigua, Guatemala sun with a beautiful new friend from Germany.
This new life has taken me from the amazing little downtown apartment in Michigan to my life here, begun amongst modern circus performers and in a small apartment. I have lived with the South Africa chick and now have scored a gig as a house sitter to a mansion. My adventures have been many and they will certainly continue.
In these pages I will expand upon my life’s story thus far and upon some of the topics in this very introduction (perhaps you would all like to hear the tale of how the cheating fiancé is now married and in a trailer park in the same town that I left behind?).
My approach to life is simple, I will live it. I will live it until I can live it no more. Whatever kills me will be the very thing that I love. Whatever I die doing, I will die loving it. Time and old age may take its toll, but I will not let the hope for a long life stand in the way of my living it.
As I finish off this “Merlot,” I am again struck with how it is that I, a boy from Michigan, who had barely traveled from it, now finds himself living in Guatemala surrounded by people that he loves, people that he never knew existed one small year ago.
AH! I hear the dulcet tones of a dying ice cream truck! Think of the typical ice cream song, but the battery is dying and a horror movie is being made! Quick! Run with me! We must get some coconut!!!!
My first sip of Arbor Mist Blackberry, or any Arbor Mist, for that matter, has come nearly one year into my life of being an “ex-pat.” At 28, I am a rather young ex-pat, and with a plan to move back to the States or Europe in late October, I am truly a short lived ex-pat!
My journey to this lovely bit of wild frontierdom began not one year ago, but more than two. I had discovered a few things toward the end of 2007. Thing number one……my fiancé was cheating on me with one of my best friends. Thing number two, and most important, was that I had never tasted freedom. Oh, I had tasted many things in my life, mostly fatty, tasty things. This was made abundantly clear by my fast ballooning weight and my ever increasing time in the 100 yard dash (which was years now, as I had not done a 100 yard dash in five years). The shock of the break up left me a shell of a man…..for about a week. I used South Park as salve for my broken heart, alcohol as my means to reconnect with friends and my own wants and desires as my new moral compass. I let the girl take my cat and let a stranger (well researched, I assure you) take my dog. This actually hurt more than the break up, but I digress. Before I knew it, I was firmly ensconced in my very own downtown apartment, buying whatever I wanted for the fridge (usually something sweet, something alcoholie, something meat and something to put my PB&J on), decorating in whatever fashion I wished, keeping whatever hours I wished and keeping whatever company I wished. Life was good. I worked for three newspapers and a men’s magazine, had an amazingly fun car and a group of friends that I would die for, and often almost did during our many nights to the pub and club!
Guatemala came knocking one day in the form of my lovely friend Ia. Some months before, we had held a bit of a discussion on a walk through the sand and waves. We had discussed a group called Safe Passage and a Support Team that would be heading from my home town in Michigan to Guatemala for a one week volunteering stint, of which Ia was a part. I decided that I should go along.
One year later, here I sit. After almost 11 months of volunteering with Safe Passage, my commitment to them has finished. I now write full time and enjoy the fruits of that labor here in Guatemala.
What has this little excursion granted unto me? Well, Stephanie, my Support Team guide for Safe Passage over one year ago, is now my girlfriend. We spent an amazing evening together the day before I returned to the States in May, when my Support Team stint was through. We stayed in contact and are now working on one year of bliss. I have a new circle of friends the likes of which I never even pondered having. I am dating a girl from the Bay Area. One of my best friends is from Ottawa, way up there in Canada, another is a Guatemalan who lives in New York City, another is a French Jewish Princess from New York City, another is a Belgium citizen who grew up in South Africa, yet another is a current resident of London Town and still another is from Boston (despite our differences in Baseball, I like the Yankees, we seem to get along just fine). Yesterday, I spent the entire afternoon having lunch, scouting the market and just enjoying the Antigua, Guatemala sun with a beautiful new friend from Germany.
This new life has taken me from the amazing little downtown apartment in Michigan to my life here, begun amongst modern circus performers and in a small apartment. I have lived with the South Africa chick and now have scored a gig as a house sitter to a mansion. My adventures have been many and they will certainly continue.
In these pages I will expand upon my life’s story thus far and upon some of the topics in this very introduction (perhaps you would all like to hear the tale of how the cheating fiancé is now married and in a trailer park in the same town that I left behind?).
My approach to life is simple, I will live it. I will live it until I can live it no more. Whatever kills me will be the very thing that I love. Whatever I die doing, I will die loving it. Time and old age may take its toll, but I will not let the hope for a long life stand in the way of my living it.
As I finish off this “Merlot,” I am again struck with how it is that I, a boy from Michigan, who had barely traveled from it, now finds himself living in Guatemala surrounded by people that he loves, people that he never knew existed one small year ago.
AH! I hear the dulcet tones of a dying ice cream truck! Think of the typical ice cream song, but the battery is dying and a horror movie is being made! Quick! Run with me! We must get some coconut!!!!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
