Bloody Bumpers

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!