If I could go back in time, I would do one thing differently. I would title yesterday’s post Ninguna Grasa, because I think that’s the grammatically correct form. It certainly sounds better, don’t you think?
Today (as I wrote to Teejie) was really just a toilet of a day. I started walking to the bank and had to return because I forgot my ID. I made the 20-minute, ankle-twisting cobblestone walk back to the bank and sat down to wait my turn, using that time to check my dictionary for the dollar amount I wanted. Then I realized I’d forgotten my credit card.
There’s a bank here called Banco Inmobiliario. It amuses me because it makes me think the bank can’t move, but in fact the second word means real estate.
I had a few other destinations, like the farmacia for cold medicine, but places played Shangri-La on me, disappearing every time I walked by. Some, I never found. If you drew my day’s journey on a map, it would look like an angry baby’s scribble.
In fact, I was getting kind of cranky, so I stopped for lunch near the Parque Central. I found a nice quiet table in a corner. One table over, a guy sat reading, until he looked up to see his toddler daughter emerge from the bathroom. He called across the courtyard, Did you go poo-poo, Tati? Did you go poo-poo? Good girl! He clapped and he clapped: a happy man. Then wife and baby returned and discussed the finer details of this exciting event. At that moment, the waitress brought my meal, whose centerpiece was a thick oblong of refried black beans. Quickly I grabbed my tenedor and rearranged them.
Perhaps the euphoria of the poo-poo moment took its toll. For every peak, a trough. For every zig, a zag. The couple progressed into an argument of increasing heat, volume and profanity. Their child just sat there listening. Embarrassingly, they were American.
As comfortable as I am here in my apartment, I’m ready to hit the road and explore a little. Another goal of today was to talk to travel agencies about where I might go. I’ve been thinking of Chichicastenango, Copí¡n (Honduras) or Livingston and Rio Dulce, or maybe somewhere else. A few years ago, you could get to those places easily. Now it involves changing from one colectivo to another at least once, or taking a public chicken bus. I’m not going to do the latter at this sad time in Guatemala’s history.
When I came back from my pointless ramblings, I got to video-chat with Eleni and Emmy and Jason, which cheered me. They were at my house. Eleni was sitting where I usually do. I was signed onto Skype as her and she was signed on as me, so it was rather confusing, identitywise. Emmy showed me how big she was. Jason attacked me (virtually) with a dog puppet.
I don’t want your eyes to be bored after all these words, so here’s something to look at. Not very interesting. You want better, you take your own pictures. (Thanks, Lulu, for caption help.)
This branch seemed to be levitating, but there was a thin thread holding it there, for some reason.
And this is what happens to Wise Men when Christmas is over.
I glimpsed “ankle-twisting” as I started reading that paragraph, and feared you *had* twisted your ankles. I am awfully glad you didn’t.
I hate when Americans are so loud and rude in public. Buttheads.
Are you my sister?
I say that branch looks like a spider, I do.
“Centlys alkalosis.”
That couple were American, huh? Did they happen to be Jason and me? (What with their loud arguing and talk of poo-poo.)
For whatever reason, the image I got was of a bank not just immobilized, but paralyzed-with fear.
Lulu gets her captioning gift from you, ya know.
Tell me more about these places: Chichicastenango, Copí¡n (Honduras), Livingston, Rio Dulce.
Molly & Eleni, my faithful girls: There’s nothing resembling a spider anywhere on my blog. You will find out more about some of those places, I hope, in coming days. Others will have to wait for another visit. xoxoxo from soloyah Jones