Prensa Libre

Continuing to follow the logic of “I’ll pay $1500 in airfare if I can sleep for free,” I just returned from a week in Guatemala. Josh’s mom (author of this book) invited us to join her during one of her research/teaching trips, and made the magic offer, so off we Josh, his mom Laurie, his sister Hannah, and I went to Guatemala.

The arrival plan – fly from late Wednesday night to Houston, meet my aunt and uncle during a long layover, and then catch a connection with the Levingers to Guatemala City. In reality, and without a phone, I lost my watch on the way to happy hour and almost missed my flight. Haggard from a brief sleep in a middle seat, I slept through my arranged meet up time with my aunt and uncle, and spent 45 minutes trying to find them in the Houston airport without a phone. After a brief breakfast, they deposited me back at the airport, and I met up shortly with my companions. We made it to Guatemala City in one piece, and on to Antigua in short order.


We set up base in Antigua, the colonial capital of Guatemala. The coalition of the concerned chose architectural preservation over cultural preservation, but considering the town was designed to serve private space over public, and the emphasis on tourism, little is likely to change about that. It even has an Irish pub. But it does have a few great restaurants, plenty of great walking, and the most incredible outdoor/indoor market maze I’ve ever seen.

We spent the remainder of our time around Lake Atitlan. The lake is ringed by volcanoes, some active, and is beautiful to the point of being ridiculous. A handful of small towns ring the lake, and we easily filled our days boating to a small town, shopping, avoiding contaminated water, and retiring to our bungalows for naps and hopes for hot water. Hannah and I spent an afternoon learning back-strap weaving from a woman about my age, and entertaining them with our attempts to make tortillas. Hunched over in an unlit, cement brick room, listening to the rain and distant house music, I gained a new appreciate for literacy and family planning.

Christmas passed during our stay, and though I have mixed feelings about my own holiday traditions (which themselves are pretty eclectic) I resolved to either do my familial diligence next year, or go to a country that isn’t predominantly Catholic or dry. Josh and I spent the afternoon climbing the Pacaya volcano, watching the sun set behind other volcanoes, and hiking down in the dark. Well, I hiked back. Mr. Vermont skipped down the mountain like a goat on tele skis.

Before leaving Guatemala, we spent a day in the capital city, the named creatively Guatemala City. Guatemala City smacks of Hunter S. Thompson’s San Juan from the Rum Diaries. Our stay was brief, but we managed to get out of our electric-fenced residential zone and into the downtown. It’s no San Paolo, but definitely enough to serve as an escapism fantasy for Bizzaro Ruth in her hut in Santa Cruz. I assume that even opposite Ruth is into that sort of thing.



We snorkeled, collectively ate a least a dozen lobsters, and enhanced our appreciation for the dance of international relations. I learned how to splint toes after breaking one of mine in a hotel lobby. And thanks to a compounded series of Mexicana’s mistakes, we spent our last night in the Mexico City Airport Hilton, and though I spent four hours getting home from San Jose Airport, I still beat my luggage by five days and counting.

Though I’ve downgraded my quarter-life crisis to “guarded”, I still don’t know if two wholly kickass vacations a year can sustain me for the remaining 48 weeks of responsibility and gainful employment. So I was surprised how happy I was to get back to Oakland. Home of all places. Even work. Maybe it was the three-layover return flight and being stranded at San Jose. Stranger things have happened, but I don’t remember when.