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The Land of Eternal Springtime: Part IV and Final
15 years ago
General
October 17th:
After another cozy night in Antigua we had run out of scheduled events on our tour and would basically be on our own for entertainment and trips for the duration. As such, we decided to make the most out of two days in Antigua before our group split up and went home. Since it was early in the day we took advantage of light traffic and cool weather to hike up a nearby hillside to a scenic outlook above the city. In earlier walking trips we had tried to find good vantage points overlooking the town, but were either too distracted or too tired to make the effort. The greater part of the walking tour would be in pleasant, wooded hillsides separated from the city's bustle, a perfect enclave for birds. We got off to a slightly late start, but that apparently didn't bother the birds. Using binoculars and bird books we saw and identified some 13 distinct species as well as about the same number that we couldn't confirm due to one reason or another. My personal favorite was the Squirrel Cuckoo, a large brown and white bird with a long, elegant tail, but there were plenty of curious songbirds.
Atop the hill was a statue of the Cross and a gorgeous view of the city from above. There was also a broken water main, apparently, spitting water all over the hillside and causing cascading, muddy rivulets that muddied the sidewalks on the way up. While it was comforting to see the State Police overseeing the area to make sure tourists and visitors were safe due to some serious gang problems in the past, when we mentioned the water main break to them they reacted with total indifference. Not part of their jurisdiction, apparently.
Back in town we took one of our friends to the 'real' market in town, the weekend open-air bazaar, and sure enough it was teeming with activity. We hadn't gotten a real handle on our friend's desire to visit the market, however, and apparently found out that she has mild agoraphobia and found the bustle just too much to cope with, so we found the more placid artisan's fair and walked through that in order to get back to the more open spaces in town.
For lunch we ducked into a random restaurant that seemed reasonably clean. As it turned out, it was a Chinese restaurant! For anyone visiting Antigua, while the food is good all around if you're trying to dine on a dime you may want to avoid eating Chinese. In the end, while the food was up to par the prices were actually a bit higher than what you would pay in the U.S. for the same experience. Apparently Chinese take-out is a bit posh in Guatemala.
Figuring that we had seen enough crowds for the moment we headed back to the hotel, but not before stopping in at the Almanecen Troccoli, a cozy bar and liquor store with a good selection and some very polite, patient, and pretty saleswomen. I had heard that one could get good deals on some very good rum, Ron Zacapa. I picked up a bottle of Ron Zacapa 23 and a bottle of Ron Zacapa XO, aged at least 25 years, before deciding that any more would be too dicey and expensive to bring through Guatemalan and U.S. Customs. A nice physical characteristic of the bottles is that they come with hand-woven palm leaf band around the middle of each bottle. Having tried the stuff just to be sure, and at risk of sounding like some sort of Rummnelier, there's a good reason why Ron is so beloved among those who know it. It's a damn sight better than Bacardi and Captain Morgan!
That afternoon a handful of us hired a minibus and rode down to the nearby city of Esquintla. Esquintla is not as touristy as Antigua, bearing the typical cinderblock and plaster architecture of most Guatemalan towns. We visited a nice little Spanish colonial museum there, but otherwise it was a fairly typical experience, or at least not too different from what we had experienced thus far. One get spoiled by their surroundings, you know.
The afternoon gone, we returned to town and tried to hunt down a nice place to eat. We wanted something close, but also something new. One place we had scoped out was apparently only open for breakfast and lunch, so we set out to find something. In the end, we were drawn into one of the many deceptively humble doorways by a curiously dressed cigar seller on the street who, by no coincidence I'm sure, had good things to say about this fine restaurant right behind him. I wish I remembered the name of the place, cause the food was good, the ambiance was lively, and the mixed drinks were excellent. It was a wonderful way to say goodbye to some of our friends, who we wouldn't really see again once the night was through. Things got a little tearful back at Casa Capuchinas, but everyone managed to pull through and those of us who were still staying another day went to bed late, with nothing to hold us down.
October 18th:
As luck would have it, we were punished for a late bedtime by early birds. The ubiquitous grackles with their wild cacophony of intricate songs normally started at about 6 A.M. or 6:30 A.M., but today they must have been excited about something because they started off at 5:30, and twice as loud as normal. Though we didn't really make much of it at the time, we later felt two seismic tremors, likely the result of nearby Fuego literally blowing off some steam. Apparently birds get just as rattled by earthquakes as we do, only they have the benefit of foresight.
We had yet another Chapin breakfast. While discussing how we couldn't get enough of the stuff, we realized that this was our last- the following morning we would be leaving too early to have it again. Thus, we went back for seconds in spite of our inner dietitians. When the topic of the day's activities came up, most of us were content just to relax and get some last minute shopping done. A couple of us suggested that we go out with a bang by climbing up at least part of Agua, the massive volcano towering over the region. This issue was settled pretty quickly with the fear of waking up for a long day of travel completely cramped and sore, or worse, getting stuck up on the volcano in a spate of potentially bad weather. Thus, we decided to mainly loaf around. Honestly, I think it was the right decision in spite of the pressure to be foolhardy and exuberant in our youth.
George and I took one last stop at the first craft store we visited when we got to Antigua. Strangely, upon a second and more seasoned inspection we found that the store was just as cool as when we first walked in, if not more so. I think a big part of this is that there is a greater selection available aside from just more leather goods and hand-woven textiles. We chucked at and bought some pretty ribald T-shirts, among which is my personal favorite that reads:
"Yes, I am a tourist. No, I do not need a table runner, a tuk-tuk ride, or a fucking bag of cashews!"
They had a pretty neat selection of beads for sale as well, something a lot of the merchants seem to have missed. They will gladly sell beaded bracelets and trinkets for peanuts, but they could save a little effort and actually make more money by selling beads to tourists who would like to craft their own jewelry. My sister is a bit of a bead maniac, so I picked up a decent selection for her, as well as some coffee for my dad and a couple cocoa tablets for my mom. The tablets are good for making a rich, slightly bitter local variant on hot chocolate.
Those of us remaining got together again and had lunch at Epicure, where I tried Ratatouille for the first time and loved it. I've gained more respect lately for taking the occasional vegetarian meal. Part of this comes from a (possibly skewed) examination of the economics of food, as explained in another journal of mine (Steak: The Scourge of Man?). I cheated a bit, though, as it was smothered in glorious cheese.
That afternoon I went around to snap some more photos, including little sections I had missed or seen while passing by in the tour van. Later we had a seat in front of Casa Capuchinas with bottles of wine we had brought, chatting and compiling the experiences of our trip before going to Frida's, a Mexican restaurant placed right next to the historic Arco, much to the jealousy of other restaurants I'm sure. While we had heard some tales about it being so-so, I couldn't complain. The food was perfectly fine to me, though as you may have guessed at this point I might be a bit too kind when eating out.
That night we resisted the urge to chat the evening away, since we were all leaving in the morning. I spent some time packing my suitcase, which was way too big for my voyage to Guatemala but mysteriously filled up on the return trip. Before turning in I paid my bill and checked out, making sure to thank and tip the entire staff individually- this is something you'll want to do at smaller establishments rather than giving your tip as a lump sum to the concierge. While Pedro, the concierge and cook, had done a stellar job I was afraid that giving him the tip to distribute among the staff would cheat our maid Josephina out of her share, which was considerable due to her fine job. It's not uncommon for industrious women to be cheated out of fair wages, sadly.
In spite of the end of the trip, I slept well with the knowledge that it had been so wonderful and galvanizing. For years I've felt a longing to travel abroad, combined with a bit of depression stemming from perhaps a bit too much familiarity with my day-in, day-out life. It was like lifting 10 years of congestion from my mind, and I'm not going to let myself get caught sitting still for so long again.
October 19th
We all rose early, then shuffled towards the door with our bulging totes and carry-ons in tow. The five of us remaining wondered aloud if the van would be on time, since we heard that it arrived a half hour late for the other group. In the end, our fears turned out to be unfounded- the van arrived on the button.
The trip to the airport was pretty uneventful, though we were sort of surprised when we ran into traffic even in the dark of the early morning. We all got through check-in in a timely fashion and, just as we were prepared to part ways we (d'uh) found out that we were all flying back on the same plane! Thus, the long farewell began, the last of us awkwardly trying to make conversation in the terminal even though we had been emotionally prepared to say farewell long before.
Our American Airlines flight arrived on time, and we departed without mishap, all hoping that our bags didn't somehow get tangled up on the ground or shoved off the plane to make room for air freight.
One curious thing happened on the flight that I found completely needless and disgusting. It is the policy of American Airlines that passengers in Coach cannot use the forward lavatory on the plane, and that it is apparently reserved for Business Class only. I'm not some frothing socialist- I have no problem with wealthy passengers getting certain privileges. I understand. What I don't understand, however, is why an elderly passenger that is clearly in the advanced stages of Parkinson's Disease, trembling uncontrollably and plodding forward, cannot be admitted into the most convenient restroom. The poor man, who was seated at the middle of the plane, made his journey to the front only to be turned around by the dead hand of policy, and had to begin the long climb to the rear of the plane just to relieve himself. Thankfully, he made it, but it seemed simply astonishing to me that American Airlines didn't have a concession for the handicapped or infirm. I am not an elderly person, nor do I have Parkinson's, but all that man had to do was say the word and I'm sure a few of us passengers would have gotten up and given the flight crew what for.
In Miami, we found ourselves thrust into the Gordian knot of customs and connecting flights. Our clique intended to say farewell at the other end of the line, but got separated by lines of blue, red, and yellow dots on the floor. Signs pointed to dead-ends, and beleaguered TSA and customs officials, when asked what it all meant, regurgitated and mumbled the answers as though they'd already rehearsed them thousands of times in the course of the day. The thick Cuban accents of the many airport employees threw me off so much that I came to the conclusion that people spoke better English in Guatemala than they did in Miami. Without having a chance to make a final final final goodbye, I concluded that it was probably best this way, and that if anything was amiss we all had phones to contact each other.
I tucked into an 8-hour layover, which I spent ambling around the linear terminal at Miami. A word to the wise- if you're flying into Miami on a connection, give yourself some time between flights. 20 or 30 minutes might not be enough to catch your flight, even if you ride the sky train to your terminal. It's especially unwise to push the clock if you're traveling internationally, as the customs and re-checking your bags takes about a half hour in and of itself.
The flight back to Gainesville, Florida was on time in every respect, and I sat next to an ophthalmologist from Lebanon who I had a nice conversation with. At about 10 PM I arrived and, with a bit of anticipation, waited for my bag to come off the luggage conveyor. Contrary to my fears, my bag arrived unmolested and graciously smelling of dirty laundry instead of evaporating rum. My parents picked me up shortly thereafter, bringing an end to my trip, and this journal.
Hope you enjoyed it!
After another cozy night in Antigua we had run out of scheduled events on our tour and would basically be on our own for entertainment and trips for the duration. As such, we decided to make the most out of two days in Antigua before our group split up and went home. Since it was early in the day we took advantage of light traffic and cool weather to hike up a nearby hillside to a scenic outlook above the city. In earlier walking trips we had tried to find good vantage points overlooking the town, but were either too distracted or too tired to make the effort. The greater part of the walking tour would be in pleasant, wooded hillsides separated from the city's bustle, a perfect enclave for birds. We got off to a slightly late start, but that apparently didn't bother the birds. Using binoculars and bird books we saw and identified some 13 distinct species as well as about the same number that we couldn't confirm due to one reason or another. My personal favorite was the Squirrel Cuckoo, a large brown and white bird with a long, elegant tail, but there were plenty of curious songbirds.
Atop the hill was a statue of the Cross and a gorgeous view of the city from above. There was also a broken water main, apparently, spitting water all over the hillside and causing cascading, muddy rivulets that muddied the sidewalks on the way up. While it was comforting to see the State Police overseeing the area to make sure tourists and visitors were safe due to some serious gang problems in the past, when we mentioned the water main break to them they reacted with total indifference. Not part of their jurisdiction, apparently.
Back in town we took one of our friends to the 'real' market in town, the weekend open-air bazaar, and sure enough it was teeming with activity. We hadn't gotten a real handle on our friend's desire to visit the market, however, and apparently found out that she has mild agoraphobia and found the bustle just too much to cope with, so we found the more placid artisan's fair and walked through that in order to get back to the more open spaces in town.
For lunch we ducked into a random restaurant that seemed reasonably clean. As it turned out, it was a Chinese restaurant! For anyone visiting Antigua, while the food is good all around if you're trying to dine on a dime you may want to avoid eating Chinese. In the end, while the food was up to par the prices were actually a bit higher than what you would pay in the U.S. for the same experience. Apparently Chinese take-out is a bit posh in Guatemala.
Figuring that we had seen enough crowds for the moment we headed back to the hotel, but not before stopping in at the Almanecen Troccoli, a cozy bar and liquor store with a good selection and some very polite, patient, and pretty saleswomen. I had heard that one could get good deals on some very good rum, Ron Zacapa. I picked up a bottle of Ron Zacapa 23 and a bottle of Ron Zacapa XO, aged at least 25 years, before deciding that any more would be too dicey and expensive to bring through Guatemalan and U.S. Customs. A nice physical characteristic of the bottles is that they come with hand-woven palm leaf band around the middle of each bottle. Having tried the stuff just to be sure, and at risk of sounding like some sort of Rummnelier, there's a good reason why Ron is so beloved among those who know it. It's a damn sight better than Bacardi and Captain Morgan!
That afternoon a handful of us hired a minibus and rode down to the nearby city of Esquintla. Esquintla is not as touristy as Antigua, bearing the typical cinderblock and plaster architecture of most Guatemalan towns. We visited a nice little Spanish colonial museum there, but otherwise it was a fairly typical experience, or at least not too different from what we had experienced thus far. One get spoiled by their surroundings, you know.
The afternoon gone, we returned to town and tried to hunt down a nice place to eat. We wanted something close, but also something new. One place we had scoped out was apparently only open for breakfast and lunch, so we set out to find something. In the end, we were drawn into one of the many deceptively humble doorways by a curiously dressed cigar seller on the street who, by no coincidence I'm sure, had good things to say about this fine restaurant right behind him. I wish I remembered the name of the place, cause the food was good, the ambiance was lively, and the mixed drinks were excellent. It was a wonderful way to say goodbye to some of our friends, who we wouldn't really see again once the night was through. Things got a little tearful back at Casa Capuchinas, but everyone managed to pull through and those of us who were still staying another day went to bed late, with nothing to hold us down.
October 18th:
As luck would have it, we were punished for a late bedtime by early birds. The ubiquitous grackles with their wild cacophony of intricate songs normally started at about 6 A.M. or 6:30 A.M., but today they must have been excited about something because they started off at 5:30, and twice as loud as normal. Though we didn't really make much of it at the time, we later felt two seismic tremors, likely the result of nearby Fuego literally blowing off some steam. Apparently birds get just as rattled by earthquakes as we do, only they have the benefit of foresight.
We had yet another Chapin breakfast. While discussing how we couldn't get enough of the stuff, we realized that this was our last- the following morning we would be leaving too early to have it again. Thus, we went back for seconds in spite of our inner dietitians. When the topic of the day's activities came up, most of us were content just to relax and get some last minute shopping done. A couple of us suggested that we go out with a bang by climbing up at least part of Agua, the massive volcano towering over the region. This issue was settled pretty quickly with the fear of waking up for a long day of travel completely cramped and sore, or worse, getting stuck up on the volcano in a spate of potentially bad weather. Thus, we decided to mainly loaf around. Honestly, I think it was the right decision in spite of the pressure to be foolhardy and exuberant in our youth.
George and I took one last stop at the first craft store we visited when we got to Antigua. Strangely, upon a second and more seasoned inspection we found that the store was just as cool as when we first walked in, if not more so. I think a big part of this is that there is a greater selection available aside from just more leather goods and hand-woven textiles. We chucked at and bought some pretty ribald T-shirts, among which is my personal favorite that reads:
"Yes, I am a tourist. No, I do not need a table runner, a tuk-tuk ride, or a fucking bag of cashews!"
They had a pretty neat selection of beads for sale as well, something a lot of the merchants seem to have missed. They will gladly sell beaded bracelets and trinkets for peanuts, but they could save a little effort and actually make more money by selling beads to tourists who would like to craft their own jewelry. My sister is a bit of a bead maniac, so I picked up a decent selection for her, as well as some coffee for my dad and a couple cocoa tablets for my mom. The tablets are good for making a rich, slightly bitter local variant on hot chocolate.
Those of us remaining got together again and had lunch at Epicure, where I tried Ratatouille for the first time and loved it. I've gained more respect lately for taking the occasional vegetarian meal. Part of this comes from a (possibly skewed) examination of the economics of food, as explained in another journal of mine (Steak: The Scourge of Man?). I cheated a bit, though, as it was smothered in glorious cheese.
That afternoon I went around to snap some more photos, including little sections I had missed or seen while passing by in the tour van. Later we had a seat in front of Casa Capuchinas with bottles of wine we had brought, chatting and compiling the experiences of our trip before going to Frida's, a Mexican restaurant placed right next to the historic Arco, much to the jealousy of other restaurants I'm sure. While we had heard some tales about it being so-so, I couldn't complain. The food was perfectly fine to me, though as you may have guessed at this point I might be a bit too kind when eating out.
That night we resisted the urge to chat the evening away, since we were all leaving in the morning. I spent some time packing my suitcase, which was way too big for my voyage to Guatemala but mysteriously filled up on the return trip. Before turning in I paid my bill and checked out, making sure to thank and tip the entire staff individually- this is something you'll want to do at smaller establishments rather than giving your tip as a lump sum to the concierge. While Pedro, the concierge and cook, had done a stellar job I was afraid that giving him the tip to distribute among the staff would cheat our maid Josephina out of her share, which was considerable due to her fine job. It's not uncommon for industrious women to be cheated out of fair wages, sadly.
In spite of the end of the trip, I slept well with the knowledge that it had been so wonderful and galvanizing. For years I've felt a longing to travel abroad, combined with a bit of depression stemming from perhaps a bit too much familiarity with my day-in, day-out life. It was like lifting 10 years of congestion from my mind, and I'm not going to let myself get caught sitting still for so long again.
October 19th
We all rose early, then shuffled towards the door with our bulging totes and carry-ons in tow. The five of us remaining wondered aloud if the van would be on time, since we heard that it arrived a half hour late for the other group. In the end, our fears turned out to be unfounded- the van arrived on the button.
The trip to the airport was pretty uneventful, though we were sort of surprised when we ran into traffic even in the dark of the early morning. We all got through check-in in a timely fashion and, just as we were prepared to part ways we (d'uh) found out that we were all flying back on the same plane! Thus, the long farewell began, the last of us awkwardly trying to make conversation in the terminal even though we had been emotionally prepared to say farewell long before.
Our American Airlines flight arrived on time, and we departed without mishap, all hoping that our bags didn't somehow get tangled up on the ground or shoved off the plane to make room for air freight.
One curious thing happened on the flight that I found completely needless and disgusting. It is the policy of American Airlines that passengers in Coach cannot use the forward lavatory on the plane, and that it is apparently reserved for Business Class only. I'm not some frothing socialist- I have no problem with wealthy passengers getting certain privileges. I understand. What I don't understand, however, is why an elderly passenger that is clearly in the advanced stages of Parkinson's Disease, trembling uncontrollably and plodding forward, cannot be admitted into the most convenient restroom. The poor man, who was seated at the middle of the plane, made his journey to the front only to be turned around by the dead hand of policy, and had to begin the long climb to the rear of the plane just to relieve himself. Thankfully, he made it, but it seemed simply astonishing to me that American Airlines didn't have a concession for the handicapped or infirm. I am not an elderly person, nor do I have Parkinson's, but all that man had to do was say the word and I'm sure a few of us passengers would have gotten up and given the flight crew what for.
In Miami, we found ourselves thrust into the Gordian knot of customs and connecting flights. Our clique intended to say farewell at the other end of the line, but got separated by lines of blue, red, and yellow dots on the floor. Signs pointed to dead-ends, and beleaguered TSA and customs officials, when asked what it all meant, regurgitated and mumbled the answers as though they'd already rehearsed them thousands of times in the course of the day. The thick Cuban accents of the many airport employees threw me off so much that I came to the conclusion that people spoke better English in Guatemala than they did in Miami. Without having a chance to make a final final final goodbye, I concluded that it was probably best this way, and that if anything was amiss we all had phones to contact each other.
I tucked into an 8-hour layover, which I spent ambling around the linear terminal at Miami. A word to the wise- if you're flying into Miami on a connection, give yourself some time between flights. 20 or 30 minutes might not be enough to catch your flight, even if you ride the sky train to your terminal. It's especially unwise to push the clock if you're traveling internationally, as the customs and re-checking your bags takes about a half hour in and of itself.
The flight back to Gainesville, Florida was on time in every respect, and I sat next to an ophthalmologist from Lebanon who I had a nice conversation with. At about 10 PM I arrived and, with a bit of anticipation, waited for my bag to come off the luggage conveyor. Contrary to my fears, my bag arrived unmolested and graciously smelling of dirty laundry instead of evaporating rum. My parents picked me up shortly thereafter, bringing an end to my trip, and this journal.
Hope you enjoyed it!
