Where No Cars Go

When I got on the bus to Panajachel, on Lago de Atitlan, for the 15 minute trip, I noticed a gringo laying down in a seat towards the back. He was passed out, sunburnt and looked painfully American. Already the reputation of Atitlan as a party place was revealing itself. When the bus started to move he jolted up, rubbed his eyes and looked around, fairly confused. He lacked any Spanish that someone of a Mayan tongue could possibly understand. "UH, yo voy San Pedro, are we going to San Pedro on this bus," he struggled to say before laying back down. And just when I thought it was safe to say that none of the Americans I had met had lived up to our stereotype. As more people boarded the bus he was forced to make room as two other men sat next to him. At the first stop in Panajachel he moved too slow to get up and out, and the bus kept going. He yelled that he needed to get off there, ignoring the fact that nobody had any idea what he was talking about. I told him that if he wanted to get a boat to San Pedro to wait for the stop at al Centro. I hadn't even been here before and I had to guide this guy around who looks like he has passed out in most of the bars on the lake.

Well, the boat ride to the town was great. I found a decent place to stay at for about $3.50, so that was pretty nice. I was really too tired to do much. After a beer at El Barrio, I went back and hung out in our courtyard, then went to bed.

The next morning I explored a little of San Pedro with a German and Israeli couple. Felix and girl who's name I can't pronounce, let alone spell. I have to say, I was extremely skeptical of this place. It has a reputation as a huge hippie haven where drugs and booze run wild. Well, that's probably not too far off. I only came here because it's the cheapest place to stay on the lake, plus I was in the mood for a social scene after a couple lonely days on a stupid volcano.

To my surprise, though, the locals were far more friendly than they were in Xela. Everyone acknowledges greetings with a smile and a buenos dias. Even the travelers were friendly. I thought this was going to be another San Cristobal, but the people in my hostel were all super friendly. And even though there is a huge gringo population, it has far from killed the local traditions. Most of the talking I hear on the street is Mayan languages, not Spanish. It seems that the tourist scene operates on a completely different level than the rest of town. So you have plenty of opportunities to eat at a local comedor or Indonesian food at the trendy Tin-Tin, which is most likely owned by someone not of either Indonesian or Guatemalan descent.

During the day the German and Israeli and I went down to a swimming spot they had found. There was a dock, some grass, trees, and mostly all locals. It felt very secluded. All the young boys came down for a swim after school got out and then played soccer on the dirt field right above the grassy area. They were filthy and it was hilarious to watch them all run around in their underwear covered in dirt. The water was a bit cold but pretty good for swimming. Just the kind of relaxing day I needed.

Afterward we went to a restaurant to a place called Zoo-La, an Israeli owned hippie restaurant where everyone sits on the floor on these mats and pillows under a giant palapa. It was a great atmosphere with super relaxing music. It was very cliche, and exactly what I expected of this place. It was relatively expensive, and I'd just as soon eat rice and beans at a comedore, but this place did have a great vibe to it.

On the way back to my hotel I ran into Hutson, this guy from San Fran that I'd met in Oaxaca with his big hippie clan. It was crazy to see him again, and as he had left his group, he is thinking about joining me in a few weeks to travel. He told me to come down to the Flying Dog, a reggae bar, that night cause his friend was spinning.

I actually started my night at a nearby bar nursing a beer while they played Babel on a screen. Wow, it's a great movie, and every time I see it it gets better. It's also a great movie to take you out of the mood to go to a reggae bar. I went anyway, and a couple of white rastas were spinning extremely poorly a lot of very good reggae. Hutson eventually showed up and we had a few drinks then crashed out. A pretty fun night I would say. Hutson loves to do those crazy arm-flailing solo dances.

So right now I am in a disgusting hotel room in a sketch part of Guatemala city. This place was half the price of even the cheapest one listed in the guide book. I'm just glad I have my own lock and there's plenty of bars in the window.

When I came in this afternoon and got off my bus the hounding from Taxi drivers was the most persistent I had experienced since India. It made me feel a bit more at home, especially when I forcefully told them that I "no necesito un taxi!". They eventually leaved me alone, and was half surprised that they didn't tell me the bus I was waiting for doesn't run on Wednesdays, or was full or burned down or something. And getting to where I am, for such a crazy city, and using public transit, went very smoothly. I can't lie, I was very impressed with myself.

As soon as I checked into my $5 room I left to grab some of the ridiculous street food I passed on the way. One friendly guy was cooking up some carne asada, and serving it on tortillas with guacamole and some sauces. Needless to say it was rad. Then I turned to the stall next to him and had a chopped up longaniza (a type of chorizo) in a grilled hot dog bun with guacamole, ketchup, green chile sauce, mayonaise and mustard. This was not as good as the first, but still pretty rad.

After a little more wandering and eating, all the stores closed at dark. Pretty much because this place is not safe after dark. I am guessing that only the gangs are out at night or something.

So now I am using the last of the battery in my computer as this room doesn't have outlets. And now I am left to contemplate the two heavily made-up women in mini-skirts on the corner next to my hotel and their possible connection to the sign on my door explaining the standard hotel tax for 4 hour use as opposed to a full day use.

Entry 2:

So I got pretty stir crazy last night and ignored the warnings about walking around zona 1 of Guatemala City after dark alone. Well, I did. The guidebook talked of a couple pretty cool live music venues, one that was the center of the Bohemian art scene in Guatemala. How could I resist that? Well, it was about 7 blocks away, and the last couple blocks were super dark and sketchy. Hell, Zona 1 after dark is super sketchy. Very few people on the streets, but the ones you do pass are the unsavory type that make you hold your breath, say a quick prayer, and thank god that if you are mugged, you only have about $8 in your pocket.

I could not find the place, it was just a dark street. And I did not want to wander around looking lost. So I went to where the other live music place was supposed to be. Couldn't find that either. I had given up, and started to walk back when I walked past a place with some music playing. I walked in and ordered a liter of gallo. To my surprise this was a little gringo enclave. Complete with a reggae dj with dreadlocks. Spinning extremely poorly as well. Seriously, white reggae DJ's, if you put as much effort into learning how to mix properly as you do into maintaining your dreadlocks, you might not be so bad. Anyways, this place had a nice atmosphere. It was one of those revolutionary places with Che on the wall. My table said Viva Chavez. Handwriting on the wall talked about the oppression of the people in Guatemala. I wondered if these were written by foreigners or Guatemalans. Even if they were by Guatemalans, the city folk were not nearly as affected by the war as the people in the remote villages. And I guarantee they've got bigger things to worry about than Che Guevara posters and revolutionary grafitti. Anyways, I got tired, so I peaced out after my beer.

On the way back to my place a little before midnight I was glad to find a lone taco stand still open. I sat down and one of the best things of the trip happened. After, asking for just 1 taco without cabbage, the guy asked if i was "puro Mexicano". YES! Either I look like it, or I sound like it. I'll take either one.

Heading back to my hotel, some dirty, staggering guy asked me for some money. I denied him and he quickly started to walk toward my hotel. He went up to the door and started talking to the manager through the gate. I couldn't hear all of it, but I could hear that they were talking about women. Then I made it obvious that i needed in, and I was permitted to enter, the other man left outside. A woman from the room next to mine came out and started talking to the man through the gate. As I passed the room she had left, I saw three other woman in the same room. Then I noticed the hourly rate of 10Q posted behind the front desk. So this is why I could afford this place.

Back to my room I tried to relax, and get some rest, but after a few minutes a bunch of rowdy guys were right outside my window, swearing and yelling to each other. With their slang and accent I definitely would have guessed gangsters that had lived in the states, and I was just glad that the rebar on my window was very strong.

In the morning I wandered around town, had a traditional Guatemalan breakfast, and stopped for a granazida before going to the bus station. Granazida is my new favorite food discovery. It's a shave ice with a mix of syrups and mashed fruits. I had strawberry, raspberry, and peach. They are also covered in peanuts. This is why I love traveling. While a shave ice in Hawaii is amazing, who says a Guatemalan version can't be better? Nuts, fresh fruit? what brilliant additions.

I made my way to the bus terminal (a different one, as this city has many terminals) fairly easily and gave myself snaps for once again avoiding a costly cab that most travelers would have used. I got a seat on a bus for San Salvador.

In 3 hours I was in a new country, and 2 hours after that I was in the capital. Off the bus I thought I knew where I was going. The 44 bus line goes by the Universidad Centroamerica, which is close to where Lucas lives. After talking to a few locals about trying to get there I lost all of my confidence in my Spanish. Salvadoreans are super-hard to understand. And none of them could seem to understand me. And I had been doing so well in Guatemala. After a series of about 3 separate buses, countless inquiries to locals, and at least an hour of my time, I made it to Lucas's place, but not before losing serious faith in my travel 'bilities. Well, I did save about $8 by not taking a cab I think, maybe more cause it was night time.

And here's lyrics to a song I like by The Arcade Fire. I think it's much more powerful in song form.


We know a place where no planes go
We know a place where no ships go

(Hey!) No cars go
(Hey!) No cars go
Where we know

We know a place no space ships go
We know a place where no subs go

(Hey!) No cars go
(Hey!) No cars go
Where we know

(Hey!)
(Hey!)
(Mom, Dad!)
(No go!)

(Hey!) Us kids know
(Hey!) No cars go
Where we know

Between the click of the light and the start of the dream
I don't want any pushing, and I don't want any shoving.
We're gonna do this in an orderly

Manner. Women and children! Women and children! Women and children,
Let's go! Old folks,