I Really Just Want to Eat A Tamale... -- Antigua, Guatemala

I'm starting this post from Samsara Cafe in Antigua, Guatemala. The floor is composed of soft orange, yellow, green and black tiles. The walls are covered with yogic symbols and Chris's epic photography of Guatemalan nature. I'm writing from a tiny table wedged into the corner and sitting on a wooden chair with a red velvet cushion. A fluffy chaise is positioned against the wall in front of me, underneath a glass bookshelf containing books in Spanish by the Dalai Llama and something about LSD. Across from me is a table with a wind chime hanging in the barred window, clinking gently. Two other Americans Skype their friends and the Guatemalan baristas giggle and gossip in Spanish from the kitchen through the carved, swinging wooden doors.

To my left is a hall to the two toilets.

As Above,
So Below.
As Below,
So above.
As Within,
So without.
As without,
So within.

Is painted in white manuscript on the black wall.

In Sanskrit, Samsara directly translates into "a wandering through."

A wandering through. I want this to be the story of my life. 

Just. Wandering through. 

My flight from Denver to Minneapolis was dreary. Mostly because I spent the two+ hours wondering why the hell I was going to Minnesota if my final destination was Guatemala.

However, Minneapolis Airport is charming. I almost didn't hate it. There were cute little gourmet food shops and all manner of ugly sweaters and announcers who kept saying things like, "all of you lucky travelers flyin' into lovely Louisville this afternoon, make sure to check in -- "

Due to pissing rain and loads of lightning, my flight into Los Angeles was delayed by about an hour. Which bothered me not a lick, as my layover in Los Angeles was approximately seventeen weeks, anyway.

I easily found my gate in Los Angeles and tried to Skype Boy. With very limited success.

"I can't hear you."

"Yeah, well I can't see you."

Here we are again... poop. Back into the world of pixel frustration and slow internet angst. Back into the world wherein my day can be made by a clear conversation and... well... not enhanced by connection that cuts out over five minutes. 

My flight to Minnesota and my flight to Los Angeles had both passed painlessly, as I'd had window seats during both journeys and they'd been relatively short. However, at this point in the day I was feeling absolutely knackered (due to staying awake with Boy the entire night before) and was dreading sitting in the middle of the row for almost five hours.

As I waited for my flight to start boarding, I noticed that nearly everyone went to the podium to talk to the smiling little lady behind. She stamped things, said things that sounded vaguely important, and generally made me feel insecure about not going up to have important sounding things said to me.

Am I supposed to check in again? I mean, I know I already did online... but what if I need to re-check in? I mean, all of these people can't be checking in for the first time...right? 

I waited until most of the passengers had already boarded before I awkwardly approached the podium.

"Umm... excuse me... Do I need to do whatever it is that you're doing up here? Like, am I already checked in? Do I need to -- "

"Can I see your passport?"

"Yeah, here it is. And my ticket."

"Are you traveling alone?" the lady scanned my passport and squinted at her computer.

"Yes."

"Okay. I'm giving you a complimentary upgrade."

"Umm... wow. Umm.. Thanks."

So I followed the last passengers into the plane bound for Guatemala. As my ticket had somehow magically changed from 40-something D to 4A, I had to be redirected by a confused flight attendant into a very unfamiliar class with enough legroom for a dutchman.

"Excuse me," I addressed a rather smarmy looking business man seated in 4B. "I think I'm sitting there."

This is crazy, I thought as I sunk into the comfortable seat in shock. So this is what it feels like to fly in the front part of a plane. 

"Would you like orange juice or champagne?" the tiny flight attendant asked me as I explored the unfamiliar terrain of dutch legroom.

"Umm... is it complementary?"

"Yes."

"Sure, okay."

"Everything is complimentary here," 4B cast me a rather patronizing glance.

"Oh, okay. I've never flown this class before... ummm... what class am I in?"

"Business."

"Oh. I've never flown business class before. Shoot. Now I know what I'm missing whenever I fly economy," I sipped the bubbling champagne.

"Where did you fly from today?"

"Denver. But I had to fly through Minneapolis first."

"Why the hell did you have to fly through Minneapolis. That's in the opposite direction!"

"Umm. Yes. That's what I'm wondering."

"I flew in from Asia."

"Whoa. What were you doing in Asia?"

"Working. I go between Asia and Central America," 4B handed me his business card. "If you ever need anything in Guatemala, look me up."

After a complimentary glass of red wine, I did my best to get some sleep. But I think the shock of such a vast amount of legroom plus the fact that I'd been awake for nearly 36 hours was starting to get to me. In a way that gave me a raging headache, nausea and no sleep.

I arrived in Guatemala City at 5:15 am.

Shit. I booked the bus for 11:00 because I was worried I'd arrive late. I totally could have caught a bus to Antigua at 6:30. Shit. Now I have to wait around for nearly six hours. And I don't have heaps of energy...

I was through passport control, baggage claim, exchanged 20 dollars and breezed through customs by 5:40. And unfortunately (and unexpectedly), Guatemala City Airport is tiny. There aren't many places at all to wait inside the airport. In fact, I walked outside the terminal and onto the street before I realized I had left the terminal. I tried to go back inside, but a guard stood in my way and pointed to the door I'd just walked through.

A door that said, "Exit."

"Lo siento," I said and turned around to face the chaotic, dirty street.

Whoa... am I going to have to wait outside on the sidewalk for five hours? This. Does not sound like the best of times. 

So I sat myself down on the filthy sidewalk next to the wall and tried rest without actually sleeping. When you've just arrived in Latin America and everything you own is at your feet, it's best not to be drifting off.

My ass... has seen better days. 

Several children came up to me and tried to sell me wooden flutes. Others tried to sell me mangos and papaya. Men tried to get me to use their phones to call whoever was supposed to pick me up.

I wonder why they want me to use their phones? a naive thought flickered through my brain.

After about an hour of sitting on the sidewalk, I noticed that my ticket with TravelGuatemala said that I'd be picked up at Baretto Cafe.

That must mean there's a cafe nearby. And it would be much nicer to wait in a cafe than on this sidewalk. 

The cafe was close, so I ordered a hot chocolate and settled in. For a four hour wait.

God, I wish I'd booked the 6:30 bus... 

As eleven drew near, I began to feel a little worried that no one in the throng of people was holding an "Aimee" sign.

They said they'd be waiting here with a sign with my name... are they going to arrive at exactly eleven? You'd think they'd be here a bit before... Are they going to come into the cafe or are they going to wait outside? Damn, this is when I wish I had a phone. Or had just communicated better that one time I had super awesome internet available to me 24/7. 

I went back outside and wandered aimlessly. So aimlessly that I skinny Guatemalan approached me and asked, "Antigua?"

"Yes, but I already have a bus booked," I held out my ticket.

"Oh, but you need to call them!" the Guatemalan said. "They are not allowed to come down here in the bus."

"But they said they'd meet me in front of the cafe," I replied, starting to worry.

"Yes, but they have to send a person down here to meet you. Would you like me to call them and tell them you're here?"

"Would you? That would be great. Thanks a lot."

And with that, he whipped out his phone and called TravelGuatemala.

"They will be here to meet you in front of the cafe," he said.

"That's what I thought. But thanks for making the call," I took my bus ticket back and began to walk towards the cafe.

"Wait -- a tip for the phone call? There are no public phones here. And it was long distance."

Of course. 

"It wasn't long distance," I huffed.

"Well, it was in a different city. A tip?"

I was too exhausted to fight with the persistent fellow, so I handed him a couple of Q and moseyed on to the cafe.

Okay. Lesson learned. Don't expect people here to help me for the sake of helping me. Which I probably shouldn't do anyway. It was just kind of nice to think that someone would see me looking lost and do something genuinely nice. For the sake of being nice. God, I need to put my vagabond boots back on. 

And the Guatemalan man had lied to me. The bus definitely was allowed to pick me up in front of the airport.

Welcome to a country that's struggling economically. People say what they need to say in order to put food on the table. Even if it's complete balderdash. 

The bus dropped me off at my host's cafe in the center of Antigua. As Christian wasn't currently at Samsara, I dropped off Ellie behind the front desk and set off on an exhausted adventure.

And discovered that Antigua is f*cking gorgeous.

I have yet to see a street that isn't cobbled.

There is a cafe on just about every block.

The people and the buildings have so much color.

I could spend all day sitting in the central park and people watching. 

 I met Christian at Samsara around one o'clock, and he treated me to a kale peanut butter smoothie. As the only things I'd consumed since breakfast on Wednesday had been a latte, a glass of wine, spicy tomato juice and hot chocolate, drinking the kale peanut butter smoothie was almost a spiritual experience.  

Christian took me back to his home (which is one of the most beautiful places I've ever stayed -- pics to come) and I almost immediately passed out. 

Thank god. A bed. You. Look so fine. 

When I woke about an hour later, I discovered that my host had gone off to take one of his adopted street dogs to the vet. His French roommate told me to enjoy my time and explore the city, but not to walk back at night. 

"You can go to Samsara and wait for Christian or you can take a tuk-tuk home. Antigua is not dangerous -- just don't be stupid." 

So I walked the 20 minutes into town and absorbed the experience of walking around the ancient city at night. The illuminated arches. The quieter streets. The vendors selling street food in front of one of the larger churches to the north of the city. 

"Do you have a light?" a fellow asked in passing. 

"No, I'm sorry." 

"Where are you from?" he continued, obviously not interested in my light (or lack thereof). 

"Colorado." 

"I ask because you look very familiar." 

"Have you been to Colorado?" 

"No. What are you doing now?" 

"I'm looking for a tamale. Do you know where I can find a tamale?" 

"Well, I just arrived last week from Guatemala. What are you doing here, beautiful?" 

"Looking for a tamale." 

"Do you want to go sit in the park and... just... you know... relax?"

"No, I really just want to eat a tamale." 

"Do you have a Facebook?" 

"Yes," I said, not wanting to give away my information but also hoping that the information might make him go away.

"What's your name?"

"Let me just write it. It's French and complicated." 

"What's your picture of? You doing some twisty yoga move?" 

(at some point in the conversation, it had come out that I teach yoga)

"No," I turned to go. "I'm gonna find myself a tamale. See you around." 

My Facebook profile picture is of me and Boy. Joseph (the Guatemalan) never friended me. 

God. I hate that I have to tell people that I have a boyfriend to get them to leave me alone. Can't me not being interested be enough? 

I didn't found a tamale, but I managed to procure some fried plantains. Which were almost as heavenly as the kale, peanut butter smoothie from earlier that day. 

It was eight thirty by the time I got back to Christian's home. 

Where I slept... 

Like a pineapple.