He Is The One -- Antigua, Guatemala

I'm starting this post from Samsara Cafe.  

Again. 

If I lived in Antigua, I'd be at this cafe all the time. 

Nonstop. 

The way Boy pretty much lives at Main Street Bagels. 

And the way four adorable street dogs pretty much live on the floor at Samsara. 

I love the way Christian chooses his books and whatever plays on the TV hanging on the wall by the window with the lopsided chime. At the moment, there's a dancer clad in gold sequins who's balancing some bizarre, massive wooden feather/leaf contraption on her head. 

I like the people who frequent this cafe. 

It's bursting full of folks with dreadlocks, easy-going smiles and comfortable pants. 

Hence, I've pretty much dibsed this tiny table in the corner. With a glass and copper lamp that plugs into nothing and not enough table space for my laptop and my notebook. 

But it's quirky and I love it. 

I explored the market yesterday morning, and after about an hour of laborious searching, I discovered a tamale lady. 

I could have kissed her. 

"Tiene tamale?" I asked, breathless excitement rendering my horrendous Spanish even worse.

"Si," the dark-skinned woman with the colorful apron smiled at me. Then said something about whether or not I wanted to eat the tamale at her humble establishment in the market. 

Humble establishment = a table with various pots of bubbling, tantalizing meat things + a single table with a checkered tablecloth at which her two daughters were eating. 

These are the best kinds of places. 

In situations like these, I always wish the daughters would feel comfortable enough to remain where they are, but they immediately scurried to clean up their plates and wipe off the checkered table for the American tourist who had FINALLY found her tamale. So for a grand total of ten Q (which is a wee bit over a dollar), I feasted on a luscious tamale wrapped in banana leaf, four fat tortillas (Guatemalan tortillas are remarkably plump) and a cup of scalding, saccharine coffee. 

Meh... for a dollar, I'm not going to complain. 

Feeling immensely satisfied with both the tamale and with myself for finding the tamale, I bid the lady "hasta luego," flung my red bag over my shoulder and continued on through the dimly lit, maze-like market. 

Something I appreciated about markets in Mexico was that there was a pretty clear dividing line between the vendors selling meat products, the vendors selling dairy and the vendors selling everything else. In Antigua, Guatemala, I see a mishmash, hodgepodge that upsets even my carnivorous stomach. The smell of dead animal clings to every corner of the market, it seems. And the smell of dead animal roasting in a pan with onions and garlic is very different from the smell of dead animal hanging upside-down in the window of a shop. For hours and hours and hours. It somehow makes the peeled and sliced mangos and papayas in the shop directly adjacent to the offal significantly less desirable. 

I made my way out of the market and continued to wander, still struck by the beauty of this colonial city. 

La Merced Church, built by Juan de Dios Estrada in 1749 

I took note of the street food offered around La Merced Church. This kind of fare is what makes low-budget traveling doable and delicious.

The Santa Catalina Arch

The street leading to Catalina Arch is for pedestrians only and is lined with bookstores, textile shops, street musicians, craft shops, restaurants and cafes. 

Boy. I will buy you a bottle of wine (don't ask me how) if you grow a mustache like this. Please? 

As I mentioned in yesterday's post, people watching is a riveting pastime in Antigua.

 And it seems like I discover new ruins around every corner.

Nuestra Señora del Carmen 

The cloud cover gives Antigua beautiful, textured sunsets.

Hermano Pedro ancient hospital

I met with another couchsurfer for coffee and a conversation that afternoon. He introduced me to what he considered "the best coffee in town," and told me what it was like to live as an American Adventure Guide in Antigua.

"It's hard, you know. I keep meeting all these people who I have really great connections with, you know... and they all leave. Antigua isn't a town where people stay. Unless you're Guatemalan."

He also told me that the cafe into which he'd led me (unbeknownst to me) was operated by evangelical Americans.

"Yeah, you have to be evangelical if you wanna get a job here. Everyone who works here is super christian. Everyone."

I kind of assumed that my new couchsurfing friend was exaggerating the religiosity of Cafe Refuge. But then I asked him for the wifi password so that I could work on my blog and chat with Boy while he scampered off on "La Bruja" (his black bicycle) to get some lunch.

"He is the one," my friend told me.

"You're joking, right?"

"Nope. He is the one. No spaces."

"Whoa."

"Right?"

"Whoa."

During my conversation with Boy later, I asked him if I could get evangelical points for chatting from a cafe wherein I had to type "heistheone" in order to access the internet.