Day 1. August 25th 2008. New York to Xela, Guatemala.
Get up at the crack of sparrow's fart (4.20 a.m.) after only having gone to bed at 3.50 a.m. Leave Simon and JM's apartment in Manhattan where they have generously put me up for the week. It is sad to say goodbye to Gado, and JM a few days earlier, but I'm sure I'll see them on my year off, whether in Latin America on my travels, or in Hong Kong, or both.
Manipulate New York's poor excuse for a transport system that is the subway and arrive at the nearest subway station to LaGuardia Airport, which still happens to be a $ 12 taxi ride away. Banter a bit with the Colombian taxi driver who tells me I should go to Colombia instead of Guatemala.
Arrive in pretty good time at LaGuardia and attempt to check in, as the online check in didn't work earlier that morning. Am helped by a rather rotund Salvadorian woman who accuses me of lying to her about my stay in Guatemala. It is a long story but it turns out that Continental Airlines won't let you fly to Guatemala unless you have proof that you are leaving Guatemala within 90 days, the number of days the Guatemalan government allows you to stay in their country as a tourist without having to leave. With my one way ticket I was unable to prove this. It is $ 475 for the cheapest, apparently fully refundable, ticket which happens to be to San Salvador, El Salvador. I am dubious, but I fork out the money because not going at that time would royally fuck up my entire travel plans for when I arrive in Guatemala. I am also made to pay a $ 20 processing fee, which is not refundable. What a bunch of utterly inept bellends at Continental. I bought the ticket online, giving all the information they needed (passport details etc.) to work out that I would have to buy a return ticket, but they only let me know less than an hour before the flight. A bunch of retarded monkeys with lobotomies could have handled the situation better.
Only just make my flight to Houston, Texas after being patted down and all my items checked for traces of narcotics/explosives. I have to admit, I do look rather threatening in my sky blue v-neck sweater, boat shoes and glasses.
Eat a fairly horrific chicken/horseshit sandwich at Wendy's in Houston airport and shortly board the plane. Desperately finger through my "The Complete Idiot's Guide To Learning Spanish" all day; a good crash course in Spanish, and, indeed, intended for idiots like myself. I am worried that I will make an utter arse of myself as soon as I step off the plane in Guatemala City.
Arrive in Guatemala city, and make an utter arse of myself as soon as I step off the plane, while attempting to converse with Gustavo, my very kind and patient, and possibly gay, chaperon. I later find out that it is unlikely that Gustavo is gay, given that he is married to a woman.
Incidentally, when I went through customs, the Guatemalan custom’s official did not ask me for any proof that I was leaving the country in 90 days, nor did he ask me anything else. He took my passport, stamped a 90 day pass in it, and said to me in English: “enjoy your time in Guatemala.” They are chomping at the bit for more tourist. The last thing they would do is turn someone away.
Gustavo initially takes me to the nearest Burger King, I assume because he thinks I am American. I fumble through saying something like, "me gustaria comer las comidas typicas". Actually, that is a lie. I had no idea how to say that but somehow I managed to sign-language that one. Thinking that I am understood, Gustavo proceeds to take me to a Guatemalan shopping mall. Believing that all is lost, he takes me to the food court and I eat some very good Guatemalan turkey soup with rice and some rather strange maize based food wrapped in a leaf. The drink that came free with the meal would have been retched up if I wasn't so thirsty. It was sweeter than honey, but had more of a sweaty sock taste to it.
With my teeth firmly stuck together in some sugar/concrete/turd jaw lock, we head back to the car and Gustavo puts me on a bus to Xela (pronounced shey-la). I meet 3 American girls from UCLA who all speak pretty good Spanish. They either think I am brave or just an utter knob for coming to Guatemala knowing absolutely no Spanish. They also find it ridiculous that I opted for the roller suitcase instead of the usual travelers’ backpack. I was the one that had the last laugh when we got off and I coolly rolled my suitcase along while they were struggling with their bulky, and much less fashionable bags. Turns out that the girls also intent to attend a Spanish school in Xela. I am beginning to get the worrying picture that this is all Xela has to offer. Much banter is had, but I shortly fall asleep, which was quite something, given that the roads are bumpy at best.
Finally, with my ballsack firmly stuck to my boxers and the inside of my left leg, we arrive in Xela. No one is there to greet me so I ask one of the Americans to make a call for me on the bus station phone. All is resolved when a squat Guatemalan man gets out of a pickup truck and points at me. I jump into the front of the pickup and find myself squashed between this man and someone who could quite possibly be his son. They soon realize how pathetically little Spanish I know.
We arrive at the house and I am introduced to the family, which seems to be rather large in number. Husbands are here, wives are there, granddad is talking, I’m totally confused and have no idea what the fuck is going on, meanwhile I have been introduced to eight people. I will be lucky if I remember anyone’s names.
My room is pretty basic and decrepit, with a bed, a desk, and a set of drawers. However, I am pleased to find out that I have my own bathroom. The sink has no hot water (that I can live with), but the mother tells me that my shower only has hot water occasionally. Awesome. I wouldn’t mind that if this place were tropical, but it’s not, and it gets fairly cold at night.
I unpack, am fed a pretty ordinary dinner of eggs, rice, beans, and more of the maize-foodstuff. Have a shower (score, it’s actually lukewarm). Must buy shampoo tomorrow. Just because I am living the simple life in Guatemala doesn’t mean I don’t want my hair to look awesome.
