A Guatemalan Tale part 1

Salutations friends and strangers,

      I was in the supermarket today, and I heard a salsa song that took me back to dance classes in Antigua, Guatemala which began five years ago this last Tuesday. I was a long-haired hippie then. I worked in a restaurant in the U.S. I dreamt of being a writer and an improv comic. I thought I was funny. It was my first journey abroad by myself, and I felt like I was in paradise. The other students were from all over the world, the city was beautiful, the classes were individualized and held in a garden, my host family was kind as could be. The only problem was that they lived next to someone who sold chicken, so periodically I would hear poultry executions. I shared a house with the family, a Brazilian, a Swede, an Irishman, a Dutch girl, another American, and there was a British girl who stopped by for dinner each night. Others came and went, but it was a great experience. It was also in Guatemala where I had what is arguably my first great travel story.
      As a hippie, I always liked to hang out at the expatriate folk café, Café Kafka. It was my favorite place along with the boot-leg theatre at Café 2000 and the relaxing Café Sky shown to me by my Brazilian friend. Café Kafka was known for its ribs. It was also known for acoustic hipster songs about how Marlin Brando and T.V. ruined the U.S, I was hungry for some ribs though, and I decided to try them one night. I was unaware that Café Kafka unlugged its refrigerators from time to time to save on electricity.
      Later that night, I felt like someone stabbed me in the stomach. My host family moved houses and relocated me to the new house to stay the weekend by myself. I was in pain, it was raining hard, and I could not figure out how to get the the door open. After three trips back and forth for repeated explanations of the mechanics of the door, I finally got it open. I found the bathroom, and rushed in. There was no toilet seat, so I had to prop myself up with my arms. This was how I spent my weekend. Three days later, I was exhausted and horribly dehydrated. My host family's son led me by the hand to the hospital. I was disoriented and walking like Ray Charles. I was having a lot of trouble understanding the doctor's diagnosis, so he was kind enough to draw me a picture. I had intestinal paracites. I decided to take a page from the Israelites and avoid pork. He gave me two pills to stop me up and a liter of salt water to rehydrate me. It worked. Really well. I was constipated for the next eight days, which was painful, but I was on a mission. I was determined to see the Mayan ruins at Tikal. So I booked my bus ride, and I was off.

I have to drop off my laundry, but I will finish the second part of this when I get back.

Hasta pronto y que Dios te bendiga,
Seth