Shall I weave you a tale of fisticuffs?
Birthdays remind us that life is precious. The more birthdays that one has, the quicker the next one seems to come. I have had 28 birthdays thus far. The years certainly do fly by now. I like to think that it is because I am having so much fun with life, for, as they say, time flies whilst having fun!
It was in celebration of the birthdays of Liz and Shannon that three friends and myself made the hour long trek once again to Cien Puertas in Guatemala City. Cien is in Zone one. This zone is not the poorest of Guate, but it is certainly nothing like one would see in an American city. The feeling of safety is not present, the buildings are all very Soviet in their design, the colors are neutral and adventure seems to be lurking just beyond the next ignored stop sign.
We arrived at Cien in a brand new pick up truck. A very handsome Mazda extended cab thing that Valerie had just bought the day before. The night began on a strange note. We found a parking garage that was not full. This truck is a long thing, and the tight squeeze that was necessary for the one spot that was open proved to be a bit more than the truck could handle. After backing into a large pylon and almost hitting 2 cars, the truck was finally parked.
We met up with 10-15 other people once in Cien and proceeded to have a wonderful time. We smoked the hookah, drank our litros, heard the newest arrival’s harrowing survival stories, then told of our own, met Ross’ one month girlfriend (meaning that he is leaving in a month and, having just met this incredible Spaniard, proceeded to ask her if she wanted to “hang out for a month” to which she replied “sure”), danced and had an all around great time.
This Cien is a perfect place to be. A number of bars line the closed to traffic block, there is plenty of seating and bebidas. The people watching is beyond compare here, as hundreds of people mill in and out of the various bars and walk and/or stumble down the road. Life is thrilling and fun here and it lasts until 1AM, Guatemala’s bar time.
After 1AM, however, things can get a little sketchy.
It was about 1:15AM when Steph pulled Carmen and me to the gate saying that Val had just left to get the truck and would be out front shortly. When we passed through the gate, Val was double parked, along with almost everyone else, on the overcrowded little street that teemed with cars and drunks. Steph, Carmen and I climbed into the truck as Val went to retrieve the other 10 people that would be taking a short ride with us, Guatemalan style (in the pick-up bed), back to the city house (what we call Shannon, Liz and Ross’ place, as it is in the city).
All was going smoothly, only a few little altercations here and there, nothing too grand. Then, all of a sudden, a fight that had only included two punches to the face for some stupid talking drunk just a moment before as we climbed into the truck, intensified.
The fight had been located in front of a taxi that was parked in front of the pick-up. But, as one faction pulled their fighting buddy away from the other faction’s fighting buddy, that 2nd fighter broke free and straight up attacked the poor little drunk right in front of the pick up. Before we knew what was happening, heads were being smashed into the hood, drunken punches were landing on drunken jaws and some moron was trying to find a head for his empty litro bottle that did not belong to a friend.
We all rolled up our windows and locked our doors as we half laughed, half gasped at the worsening situation just a few feet away.
There is an element of uncertainty that comes along with each fight in Guatemala. That element is the fact that, at any moment, someone might pull out a gun and begin randomly poppin’ caps. So, for a few seconds, we watched and hoped that no bullets would start flying. There were no cops anywhere, and if there were, they wouldn’t of done anything anyway.
After a few moments, we realized that these idiots were just a bunch of drunks, not one of them possessing a gun. So, Steph leaned forward and began honking the horn in an attempt to get the bleeding masses off of the hood. After a while, the horn worked and the fight continued further down the street.
Needless to say, the rest of the night went smoothly. We made it home alive. I cannot say the same for any of the drunks as one never knows down here.
Upon arrival in Antigua, we checked out the front of Val’s truck. Dripping down the entire front of her new vehicle was copious amounts of blood.
Well, that Mazda is now officially a member of the Guatemalan driving population. Every car has its own problems here in Guatemala, be it being hit by a horse or having the mirror ripped off by a falling drunk, it will be something, it will be often and it will NOT be a normal little thing!
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Friday, September 18, 2009
The Search
The mountains are majestic, the trees regal. The water is smooth as glass. The snow on the mountaintops glistens, the water shimmers, the mountains, trees, grass and sky all gleam in the fading light. I never thought that a scene such as this could ever be so cheesy.
You see, the fading light is the half-dead glow of florescent. The gleaming, glistening, shimmering is the metallic paint. I am lying in a bathtub, my heel on a washcloth that I am using to plug the drain to make this bath possible. I am staring at this little "painting" trying to think as the humming, buzzing, popping of the light permeates my brain, thus blunting the thinking process.
I am in a seedy hotel. Upon entering my room, I took stock of my surroundings. Two small beds, two holes in the wall (probably hiding cameras), a 13-inch TV, a wobbly table, two broken chairs, an old corded phone, a 1970s plastic chandelier, faded pastel Kincaid rip-offs, dark pink carpet with what appears to be a large blood stain by the first bed, and a cracked mirror. I am home.
Here, in my little slice of the American vacation dream, I shall reside for the night, halfway between point A and point B. I will sleep in fear of my socks being stolen and who knows what else on my paper-thin sheets and cardboard-stiff comforter.
These rooms tend to have much more of a life force about them than do the higher-priced, more sanitary ones. What have these walls seen? What evil trappings must abound in their pages? An ex-mobster on the run? A senator trying to get away from his sham of a life? A poor sap who knows that there must be more to this life than small-town USA has offered? Who knows what secrets this room holds.
As I placed my suitcase on the bed, I was sure of one thing. The stories of this room, including mine, all share one common thread: the search.
"The search" is all encompassing in a place like this. The search for escape, the search for meaning, for answers, for adventure. Each weary traveler who has rested their troubled head upon that flat, lumpy pillow has been on "the search." People do not stay in places like this for pleasure; they stay because life dictates it, because it is necessary to go as far as possible in their search for whatever haunts them.
What haunts me is adventure. I seek it and, in that seeking, I find myself unwilling to spend money that could be put to better use as a tool for adventure.
So, I lie here in my lime-green bathtub attempting to snatch some of the knowledge of those who have lain here before me from the heavy air. I turn on the hot water (at least I have that) for one last re-heat before I exit.
A few moments pass and the popping in the light grows louder. Soon, there is a flash of white and a small shower of sparks. It seems that I am done with my bath whether I like it or not. I fumble around for a towel and step back into the room.
The TV is flickering, just as I left it. I realize that Brad Pitt is beginning his trip to Tibet. I grab my pistachios and water, lie down on the bed and become lost in a fellow traveler's tale; secure in the knowledge that tomorrow, thanks to my seedy little room, I will be able to embark on a journey that is just as interesting as this that I am now observing.
Strange, this room. It seems to need me as much as I need it. We are partners, the room and I. I will add to its lore my little wayside story, and it will enthrall me with its quasi-dangerous appeal, almost as if sleeping itself is part of my adventure.
You see, the fading light is the half-dead glow of florescent. The gleaming, glistening, shimmering is the metallic paint. I am lying in a bathtub, my heel on a washcloth that I am using to plug the drain to make this bath possible. I am staring at this little "painting" trying to think as the humming, buzzing, popping of the light permeates my brain, thus blunting the thinking process.
I am in a seedy hotel. Upon entering my room, I took stock of my surroundings. Two small beds, two holes in the wall (probably hiding cameras), a 13-inch TV, a wobbly table, two broken chairs, an old corded phone, a 1970s plastic chandelier, faded pastel Kincaid rip-offs, dark pink carpet with what appears to be a large blood stain by the first bed, and a cracked mirror. I am home.
Here, in my little slice of the American vacation dream, I shall reside for the night, halfway between point A and point B. I will sleep in fear of my socks being stolen and who knows what else on my paper-thin sheets and cardboard-stiff comforter.
These rooms tend to have much more of a life force about them than do the higher-priced, more sanitary ones. What have these walls seen? What evil trappings must abound in their pages? An ex-mobster on the run? A senator trying to get away from his sham of a life? A poor sap who knows that there must be more to this life than small-town USA has offered? Who knows what secrets this room holds.
As I placed my suitcase on the bed, I was sure of one thing. The stories of this room, including mine, all share one common thread: the search.
"The search" is all encompassing in a place like this. The search for escape, the search for meaning, for answers, for adventure. Each weary traveler who has rested their troubled head upon that flat, lumpy pillow has been on "the search." People do not stay in places like this for pleasure; they stay because life dictates it, because it is necessary to go as far as possible in their search for whatever haunts them.
What haunts me is adventure. I seek it and, in that seeking, I find myself unwilling to spend money that could be put to better use as a tool for adventure.
So, I lie here in my lime-green bathtub attempting to snatch some of the knowledge of those who have lain here before me from the heavy air. I turn on the hot water (at least I have that) for one last re-heat before I exit.
A few moments pass and the popping in the light grows louder. Soon, there is a flash of white and a small shower of sparks. It seems that I am done with my bath whether I like it or not. I fumble around for a towel and step back into the room.
The TV is flickering, just as I left it. I realize that Brad Pitt is beginning his trip to Tibet. I grab my pistachios and water, lie down on the bed and become lost in a fellow traveler's tale; secure in the knowledge that tomorrow, thanks to my seedy little room, I will be able to embark on a journey that is just as interesting as this that I am now observing.
Strange, this room. It seems to need me as much as I need it. We are partners, the room and I. I will add to its lore my little wayside story, and it will enthrall me with its quasi-dangerous appeal, almost as if sleeping itself is part of my adventure.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Cigar Smoke and Yesteryear
Columbian cigar firmly tucked within my teeth, I look out upon the hills and valleys of this little spot in life. My “wine” holds pride of place within my grip and each sip brings a twinkle to my eye slightly brighter than the last. With each twinkle, my vision expands and soon I am soaring through my mind.
The smoke makes coat tails about my head, it chases away the mosquitoes and the useless images of yesteryear. The sights and scents of my little slice of heaven permeate my senses to the nth degree. The sun slowly disappears behind a bank of reds and pinks. The clouds, barely able to reach my height, skim across the treetops, appearing to be caught by the up reaching green fingers of each mighty elm and palm.
I dwell on my present and I dwell on the now. I think on the future and where I shall be. The packing rituals have begun, the ticket has been purchased and soon gravity shall have no claim over me.
Perfect moments, such as this and such as the night I spent before, have come fast and furious in this time of mine. Moments on leaf strewn pathways, surrounded by the fiery rainbows of Fall. Moments that have seen me in the midst of a Great Lake, surrounded by water and watercraft. Perfection has been found on sandy beaches, in towers of man made brilliance reaching to the sky, on mountain tops, in hole-in-the-wall bars and all manner of other locale.
This perfect moment, as with most others, catches me unaware. I have wrestled with decisions, but have always refused to deny their consequences. The consequence of my most recent life altering go at existence is perfection. What will be the consequence of leaving that decision behind? Abandoning it for yet another attempt at renewal? At rebirth? Upheaval? Only time will tell. Only time knows what I will bring down upon my head with this ticket that has been purchased and the flight from my norm that it, again, guarantees.
Belief is a state of mind that refuses to be put down. No matter the circumstance, no matter the surrounding evidence, belief brings with it an inherent ability to see that silver lining and turn it to gold. And so, my cigar long finished, my wine, long drained, I set forth yet again on a journey into the unknown. Less than a month and I shall fly. This glass that is my life is full and shall soon be full to overflowing.
The smoke makes coat tails about my head, it chases away the mosquitoes and the useless images of yesteryear. The sights and scents of my little slice of heaven permeate my senses to the nth degree. The sun slowly disappears behind a bank of reds and pinks. The clouds, barely able to reach my height, skim across the treetops, appearing to be caught by the up reaching green fingers of each mighty elm and palm.
I dwell on my present and I dwell on the now. I think on the future and where I shall be. The packing rituals have begun, the ticket has been purchased and soon gravity shall have no claim over me.
Perfect moments, such as this and such as the night I spent before, have come fast and furious in this time of mine. Moments on leaf strewn pathways, surrounded by the fiery rainbows of Fall. Moments that have seen me in the midst of a Great Lake, surrounded by water and watercraft. Perfection has been found on sandy beaches, in towers of man made brilliance reaching to the sky, on mountain tops, in hole-in-the-wall bars and all manner of other locale.
This perfect moment, as with most others, catches me unaware. I have wrestled with decisions, but have always refused to deny their consequences. The consequence of my most recent life altering go at existence is perfection. What will be the consequence of leaving that decision behind? Abandoning it for yet another attempt at renewal? At rebirth? Upheaval? Only time will tell. Only time knows what I will bring down upon my head with this ticket that has been purchased and the flight from my norm that it, again, guarantees.
Belief is a state of mind that refuses to be put down. No matter the circumstance, no matter the surrounding evidence, belief brings with it an inherent ability to see that silver lining and turn it to gold. And so, my cigar long finished, my wine, long drained, I set forth yet again on a journey into the unknown. Less than a month and I shall fly. This glass that is my life is full and shall soon be full to overflowing.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
To Hell With Things!!
Shall we speak of clutter?
Long before I made the decision to be independent of mind and even longer before I made the decision to move to Guatemala, I had a problem. Clutter.
Clutter of the house, clutter of the soul and clutter of the mind. A few years ago I made a move from a small beach town in Northern Michigan to a larger beach town. This move required the biggest U-Haul possible, two full sedans, one full SUV, a full pick-up and a full trailer. This was all for 3 people. After that move came another, this one by myself, to an apartment. I, once again, required the services of U-Haul’s biggest truck.
During my time in my perfect downtown pad I became annoyed with all of the clutter. I could barely move! What the hell was so very important about all of this shit?? And so, day by day, more and more of the clutter disappeared. I would open a box and see memories or garbage (oftentimes being the same thing) that no longer seemed at all necessary and thus, would haul the box to the dumpster. Each time I left, I made a point of taking something with me, never to be seen again. Slowly, my apartment appeared less like a storage unit and more like the home that it actually was.
I threw away pictures, dishes, clothing, horrid décor, Christmas junk and all manner of other unsavory and thus unwanted bric-a-brac. Then, Guatemala happened.
When I decided that I would be moving to Guatemala, I knew that I would not be taking anymore than 3 suitcases with me. And so, once again, I opened up my home to strangers and garbage men. I sold, gave away or threw away almost everything that I had. By the time that I moved into my last bit of temporary housing before my big move, I comfortably fit everything that I owned into my Chrysler Concorde. And then all of that was gone, including the car.
The more of “me” that I saw leave, the more free I began to feel. Fewer things defined me, fewer things held me down. Suddenly, I was a man with no home, very little possessions and the most at ease mind that I had ever experienced. That is when I became a fan of “minimalism.” I shall live by that little label for the remainder of my life.
Now, with exactly one month remaining until I leave Guatemala, I find myself minimalizing again. I will not board that plane with more than 2 pieces of checked luggage. This means that further clutter must be vanquished. I sit here in this office with a garbage bag full of things that, one year and two months ago, I thought I could not live without. My purging is not yet finished, many more things will be given away or thrown out before I leave.
This whole experience has taught me many things. Pictures of Chicago are replaceable, for one, I do not need the heavy frames or weighty memories attached. Also, one’s house is much like one’s soul. Too much clutter will make you feel as though you are suffocating beneath the weight of you. Free your mind, and the rest will follow, as they say.
With each garbage bag and free item, I feel that old weight lifting off of me yet again. My world is becoming lighter, more manageable, more maneuverable, more free.
This life is much like that small downtown apartment that I had. At first, it appeared as though I were some sort of pack rat, intent on living within my own filth. I let it all in, all of the thoughts and all of the garbage that came along with them. Then, I decided to change and with that change came peace, tranquility and a form of light that I had never known. I continue to shape and mold, I continue to throw things out.
Life is a series of transitions. Take my advice, leave the bags behind, start anew with each transition. Life will provide all that you need and more.
Long before I made the decision to be independent of mind and even longer before I made the decision to move to Guatemala, I had a problem. Clutter.
Clutter of the house, clutter of the soul and clutter of the mind. A few years ago I made a move from a small beach town in Northern Michigan to a larger beach town. This move required the biggest U-Haul possible, two full sedans, one full SUV, a full pick-up and a full trailer. This was all for 3 people. After that move came another, this one by myself, to an apartment. I, once again, required the services of U-Haul’s biggest truck.
During my time in my perfect downtown pad I became annoyed with all of the clutter. I could barely move! What the hell was so very important about all of this shit?? And so, day by day, more and more of the clutter disappeared. I would open a box and see memories or garbage (oftentimes being the same thing) that no longer seemed at all necessary and thus, would haul the box to the dumpster. Each time I left, I made a point of taking something with me, never to be seen again. Slowly, my apartment appeared less like a storage unit and more like the home that it actually was.
I threw away pictures, dishes, clothing, horrid décor, Christmas junk and all manner of other unsavory and thus unwanted bric-a-brac. Then, Guatemala happened.
When I decided that I would be moving to Guatemala, I knew that I would not be taking anymore than 3 suitcases with me. And so, once again, I opened up my home to strangers and garbage men. I sold, gave away or threw away almost everything that I had. By the time that I moved into my last bit of temporary housing before my big move, I comfortably fit everything that I owned into my Chrysler Concorde. And then all of that was gone, including the car.
The more of “me” that I saw leave, the more free I began to feel. Fewer things defined me, fewer things held me down. Suddenly, I was a man with no home, very little possessions and the most at ease mind that I had ever experienced. That is when I became a fan of “minimalism.” I shall live by that little label for the remainder of my life.
Now, with exactly one month remaining until I leave Guatemala, I find myself minimalizing again. I will not board that plane with more than 2 pieces of checked luggage. This means that further clutter must be vanquished. I sit here in this office with a garbage bag full of things that, one year and two months ago, I thought I could not live without. My purging is not yet finished, many more things will be given away or thrown out before I leave.
This whole experience has taught me many things. Pictures of Chicago are replaceable, for one, I do not need the heavy frames or weighty memories attached. Also, one’s house is much like one’s soul. Too much clutter will make you feel as though you are suffocating beneath the weight of you. Free your mind, and the rest will follow, as they say.
With each garbage bag and free item, I feel that old weight lifting off of me yet again. My world is becoming lighter, more manageable, more maneuverable, more free.
This life is much like that small downtown apartment that I had. At first, it appeared as though I were some sort of pack rat, intent on living within my own filth. I let it all in, all of the thoughts and all of the garbage that came along with them. Then, I decided to change and with that change came peace, tranquility and a form of light that I had never known. I continue to shape and mold, I continue to throw things out.
Life is a series of transitions. Take my advice, leave the bags behind, start anew with each transition. Life will provide all that you need and more.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Journies
The road trip was amazing and the visit was grand.
Steph and I recently returned from an adventure that took us into the wild north of Guatemala. We saw caves, jungles, poverty and the most horrendous road that I have ever driven on. 38 miles literally took us over three hours.
We slept in strange hotels and in the midst of the jungle. Howler Monkeys provided the soundtrack to an amazing sunset over a perfect lake. Mosquito netting protected our beds and Gallo helped us drift off to sleep in the sweltering heat. It was one of the best road trips that I have ever had!
A very good friend of mine, Geoff, just flew home to Michigan today. He visited for almost a week. He stated a need to get away from it all and have a good time. I do not think that I let him down.
We partied in the city, partied in Antigua, climbed an active volcano and felt the thrill of lava flowing right at us, we hung out and reminisced about days gone by and spoke of days to come. We shopped and ate. In short, we lived. I sincerely hope that it was one of his best trips ever.
I have been doing a lot of living myself, lately. I have become desperate to live as much as possible in these, my final days in Guatemala. I accept whatever is offered, I tote my camera along to capture the memories. The idea of leaving this place and these people has caused me to panic in recent days. Time is not a friend at the moment.
However, I know that the future is golden. I know that life will continue on for me in my next journey and those beyond.
As I prepare myself for my upcoming change I can certainly rest easy in the fact that I have taken this experience and lived as much as I could of it. My desperation to live is causing my writing to suffer. I am constantly on the go, wanting to be out experiencing whatever. My patience for the keyboard and screen has waned to near zero. Yet, I feel that the need to write continues to be strong within me.
I have a second laptop, one that has crashed. On this laptop is the first three chapters of a biography. It starts at my ultimate betrayal, my low point. I watch my dog ride away in someone else’s car as the near Christmas snow falls softly around me. I am full of pain, full of doubt and full of something like hate. This story progresses to a dream beginning to come true. This beginning is where the stupid machine died. I will re-write these chapters and begin anew. This book of mine, one I thought none would ever wish to see, is a thing that I am quite eager to continue. The story it tells is enthralling and I can not believe that it is mine. I never would have thought that I would become what I am and be where I am.
Just like my lost, and soon to be redone, biography, I will set out anew for lands and situations unknown. I will re-write myself yet again. I will take up what life has chosen to hand me and I will live, as always.
Soon, I will be back in the States. Soon, I will have my own place, my own car, my own spanking new existence.
A smile crosses my lips now as I think of all the times that I have had my own “spanking new existence.” To be so free as to be able to start over and continue on as though this were the plan is to truly have lived and be living. I love this life with all that I am. I would trade it for nothing and will treasure it forever.
Steph and I recently returned from an adventure that took us into the wild north of Guatemala. We saw caves, jungles, poverty and the most horrendous road that I have ever driven on. 38 miles literally took us over three hours.
We slept in strange hotels and in the midst of the jungle. Howler Monkeys provided the soundtrack to an amazing sunset over a perfect lake. Mosquito netting protected our beds and Gallo helped us drift off to sleep in the sweltering heat. It was one of the best road trips that I have ever had!
A very good friend of mine, Geoff, just flew home to Michigan today. He visited for almost a week. He stated a need to get away from it all and have a good time. I do not think that I let him down.
We partied in the city, partied in Antigua, climbed an active volcano and felt the thrill of lava flowing right at us, we hung out and reminisced about days gone by and spoke of days to come. We shopped and ate. In short, we lived. I sincerely hope that it was one of his best trips ever.
I have been doing a lot of living myself, lately. I have become desperate to live as much as possible in these, my final days in Guatemala. I accept whatever is offered, I tote my camera along to capture the memories. The idea of leaving this place and these people has caused me to panic in recent days. Time is not a friend at the moment.
However, I know that the future is golden. I know that life will continue on for me in my next journey and those beyond.
As I prepare myself for my upcoming change I can certainly rest easy in the fact that I have taken this experience and lived as much as I could of it. My desperation to live is causing my writing to suffer. I am constantly on the go, wanting to be out experiencing whatever. My patience for the keyboard and screen has waned to near zero. Yet, I feel that the need to write continues to be strong within me.
I have a second laptop, one that has crashed. On this laptop is the first three chapters of a biography. It starts at my ultimate betrayal, my low point. I watch my dog ride away in someone else’s car as the near Christmas snow falls softly around me. I am full of pain, full of doubt and full of something like hate. This story progresses to a dream beginning to come true. This beginning is where the stupid machine died. I will re-write these chapters and begin anew. This book of mine, one I thought none would ever wish to see, is a thing that I am quite eager to continue. The story it tells is enthralling and I can not believe that it is mine. I never would have thought that I would become what I am and be where I am.
Just like my lost, and soon to be redone, biography, I will set out anew for lands and situations unknown. I will re-write myself yet again. I will take up what life has chosen to hand me and I will live, as always.
Soon, I will be back in the States. Soon, I will have my own place, my own car, my own spanking new existence.
A smile crosses my lips now as I think of all the times that I have had my own “spanking new existence.” To be so free as to be able to start over and continue on as though this were the plan is to truly have lived and be living. I love this life with all that I am. I would trade it for nothing and will treasure it forever.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Stop To Feel The Lava
(Sorry all! I have just returned from the road!! It was awesome, amazing and jarring. Many blogs to come!)
Have you ever found yourself within a perfect moment? Did the world seem to stop, for just a fraction of a second, so that this perfect moment could continue on? Well, moments like these happen quite often to your’s truly here in Guatemala.
The latest moment took place this past Saturday. I was ready for my night of movie watching when a text came through.
“This hippie festival is awesome! Come up!” it read. I passed the phone to Steph and in no time we were out of relaxing clothes and walking toward Café No Se where we were to catch a shuttle that would then whisk us to one of the millions of San Cristobals spread throughout Central America.
One can learn a lot about life whilst traversing in a free shuttle. Things like: deodorant is a good thing, people really do think that they are brilliant when they are high, music is the gateway to the soul and an endless plethora of other tid bits. I have met many a new friend while sitting in a free shuttle on the way to some thing or another here in Guatemala.
We arrived at our destination, a house on one of the surrounding mountains that was now covered in people, immersed in laughter and song, flowing with beer and wreaking of fantastic food.
On the rooftop of this gentleman’s very own bar was situated a stage. From that stage emanated lyrics and music the likes of which one can find throughout Guatemala. Lyrics spoke of travelers finding themselves, of tall tales getting taller and of Bob Marley covers.
As surprised and awed as I was by the scene and by the plethora of friends present, my breath was ultimately taken away by the view. We sat on the edge of a wall that guarded a cliff. Nestled within the valley was Antigua, home. As the night crept in, the view began to twinkle and then to shine. Guatemala is covered in various shades and colors of light. I have flown a few times now and I have arrived in the dark. In the USA, cities appear white. Here in Guatemala, cities and towns are colored for Christmas. The orange glows turn a reddish color, the soft whites turn green. Slight blues mix in and one is transported into a different state of mind. We sipped our Gallo, ate our frijoles and tortillas and falafel and we allowed the music and the view to take us away.
The clouds began to roll in below us, causing the valley to glow. As I raised my glass to my lips, Fuego exploded in the distance, sending a tower of lava into the night sky that then rained down upon its distant slopes.
That is when time stopped. That is when my breath was taken away. That is when I fell in love with this world for the billionth time.
We are, all of us, citizens of this planet. Yet, far too often, we refuse to see its perfection. Every day, little moments take place all around us. If only we would stop and pay attention, life would mean so much more! Who cares what is happening or where you have to be. You could only have one go ’round in this life, why waste it?
I continue to insure that my show will be a good one! Join me, won't you?
Have you ever found yourself within a perfect moment? Did the world seem to stop, for just a fraction of a second, so that this perfect moment could continue on? Well, moments like these happen quite often to your’s truly here in Guatemala.
The latest moment took place this past Saturday. I was ready for my night of movie watching when a text came through.
“This hippie festival is awesome! Come up!” it read. I passed the phone to Steph and in no time we were out of relaxing clothes and walking toward Café No Se where we were to catch a shuttle that would then whisk us to one of the millions of San Cristobals spread throughout Central America.
One can learn a lot about life whilst traversing in a free shuttle. Things like: deodorant is a good thing, people really do think that they are brilliant when they are high, music is the gateway to the soul and an endless plethora of other tid bits. I have met many a new friend while sitting in a free shuttle on the way to some thing or another here in Guatemala.
We arrived at our destination, a house on one of the surrounding mountains that was now covered in people, immersed in laughter and song, flowing with beer and wreaking of fantastic food.
On the rooftop of this gentleman’s very own bar was situated a stage. From that stage emanated lyrics and music the likes of which one can find throughout Guatemala. Lyrics spoke of travelers finding themselves, of tall tales getting taller and of Bob Marley covers.
As surprised and awed as I was by the scene and by the plethora of friends present, my breath was ultimately taken away by the view. We sat on the edge of a wall that guarded a cliff. Nestled within the valley was Antigua, home. As the night crept in, the view began to twinkle and then to shine. Guatemala is covered in various shades and colors of light. I have flown a few times now and I have arrived in the dark. In the USA, cities appear white. Here in Guatemala, cities and towns are colored for Christmas. The orange glows turn a reddish color, the soft whites turn green. Slight blues mix in and one is transported into a different state of mind. We sipped our Gallo, ate our frijoles and tortillas and falafel and we allowed the music and the view to take us away.
The clouds began to roll in below us, causing the valley to glow. As I raised my glass to my lips, Fuego exploded in the distance, sending a tower of lava into the night sky that then rained down upon its distant slopes.
That is when time stopped. That is when my breath was taken away. That is when I fell in love with this world for the billionth time.
We are, all of us, citizens of this planet. Yet, far too often, we refuse to see its perfection. Every day, little moments take place all around us. If only we would stop and pay attention, life would mean so much more! Who cares what is happening or where you have to be. You could only have one go ’round in this life, why waste it?
I continue to insure that my show will be a good one! Join me, won't you?
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