Return to Antigua

MAMA’S GUATEMALA VISIT...CONTINUED



Laser cars invade Antigua!


We took a shuttle van to Antigua, and it was a nice, scenic drive interrupted only by Mama’s request to stop and get a coke and go to the bathroom. Mama may not speak much Spanish, but she didn’t let that get in the way of conversations with our driver, uttering such gems as “Oh no, muchas gracias though!”



We spent several days in Antigua before taking a quick one-night trip to Monterrico, a beach town on the Pacific coast of Guatemala. Since we were planning to return to Antigua and stay in the same hotel after our Monterrico trip, we asked if our hotel could hold most of our luggage for one night so we could pack light for Monterrico. The hotel said yes—they were very friendly and accommodating. (They also let Mama keep a coke in the fridge at the front desk every night so that she could have a cold coke every morning).

We ended up having a few more bags and boxes than we had anticipated—Mama and I had done a lot of shopping and planned to ship our gifts and souvenirs home, but the post office had been closed, and Mama began to worry about the number of boxes and bags we were asking the hotel to store for us. (Despite the fact that the hotel was a one-story building and only had about 5 rooms, Mama kept referring to taking the bags “down” to the front desk, prompting Ross to respond, “well, I’m not sure if these bags will fit in the elevator.”)

The night before our Monterrico trip, when Ross and I were preparing to take the bags up to the front desk, Mama kept insisting, “tell them we tried to go to the post office and it was closed!” So Ross and I decided to do the mature thing and make comments like “maybe we can trick them into putting these bags back there!” and “we need to bring the bags to the desk under the cover of darkness.” We then envisioned an interrogation where we would blurt out “WE TRIED TO GO TO THE POST OFFICE!” When Kelly was running late getting over to our hotel that night, we also settled on the only logical explanation—she had been detained at the front desk so they could question her about the bags—and we formulated a rescue plan (“we’ll make a switch—one bag for Kelly.”)


Our hotel in Antigua...the site of the infamous "close call" about bag storage...

With luck on our side, we lived to tell about the bag storage ordeal—the hotel happily stored all of our belongings—and we set off in our minivan shuttle to Monterrico early in the morning. We entertained ourselves by making fun of the traffic signs we passed--our favorites were the caution signs with a picture of a big black truck. Ross and I determined that this meant the black trucks were bad, and that they were hiding out on side streets waiting to ambush passing vehicles—a car would approach, the black truck’s headlights would flash ominously, and the black truck would peel out, hiss to a stop and jackknife, blocking the path of its victim car. We decided that a car’s only hope against the black trucks was when, just as all seemed lost, a heroic honk—“dum-dum-dum-DUM!”—would echo through the air, and a white truck would appear, ready to save the day. Ross, Kelly and I also came up with a list of other signs we should recommend to the Guatemalan authorities, including cows, turtles, rabid babies, and trees (“they’re growing right toward us!”). When Ross uttered that last line about the trees, Mama turned to me and mumbled, “hit him,” as punishment for making her laugh too early in the morning.

A few hours later, our minivan crossed the river on a small ferry, and we were driving past loofah farms and thatched roof houses. Monterrico is more hot and tropical than the other parts of Guatemala we’d visited, with black volcanic sand beaches, powerful surf, and no banks or police.







We were excited for a beach trip, but the main reason for visiting Monterrico was that you can hold and release a baby sea turtle into the Pacific, in exchange for a small donation to a turtle hatchery, Tortugario Monterrico. At sunset they bring out tubs of baby sea turtles, and everyone places their turtles behind a starting line. The baby turtles race across the sand to the finish line and into the ocean—scientists say that during their race to the sea, the turtles are imprinted with information on their place of birth (composition of the sand, water, etc) that will enable them to return from the sea to that exact spot to lay eggs as adults).






Our lodging was not exactly first-class—it was rustic and dirty, with a thatched roof and mosquito nets covering the beds—so we spent as much time as we could on the beach and eating at the restaurants along the shore. We had a few food mishaps—when I ordered the fish, I did not expect it to be served whole, with the scales still on and its toothy mouth opened wide….and Mama made us all proud when she seasoned her spaghetti bolognese with what she thought was parmesan cheese, but turned out to be sugar. At the end of the night, Kelly and I decided to go out to one of the bars on the beach to see if we could meet any interesting tourists (there were a lot of Europeans, Australians and Americans, and also lots of young people from other parts of Guatemala). My favorite part was when Kelly and I excused ourselves from talking to a couple guys from Guatemala City, and one of them told us, “I will hope for you!” I was confused for a second, until I remembered the Spanish word for “to hope” also means “to wait.”


Yup...looks just like the ice cream on the package...

The next morning, we killed some time buying snacks and ice cream for our road trip, and eventually piled into our minivan with an Irish-Swedish couple and their two kids, and a middle-aged American guy. As our minivan pulled onto the ferry to cross the river, we joked about how close we were to the edge of the ferry and how we hoped the windows were big enough to climb out of if we fell into the water. Without missing a beat, the American guy, completely serious, examined his window and assured us, “Yep, we can definitely fit through these windows.” Um…phew?

The ride home was scenic, full of lush green fields with mountains in the background. When Mama said, “Wouldn’t THAT be a good picture!” we turned to see the object of her admiration, and discovered she was pointing at a huge red coca-cola tower. We referred to it as the holy grail, and Mama bowed down in her seat a few times to show her respect.

Monterrico was a fun adventure, but we were happy to be back in Antigua and staying in our charming little hotel again. We did have one night where the water had been shut off, but Mama just viewed this as an opportunity to practice her Spanish. “What’s the word for water?” she asked us. I replied, “Why? What are you going to do, go up to the front desk and say ‘Agua. agua. agua’?” So she then assured us she would preface it with “Buenos dingas!” We told her to make sure she threw in a “muchas gracias though.”



That waterless night aside, our hotel room proved to be a good place for us all to hang out after things closed down at night. We played with our toys and with Kelly’s hair (after I had been playing with it for a while, Kelly announced, “Ross, it’s your turn to play with my hair,” and he proceeded to grab strands and make gun and explosion noises), but mostly we just made fun of Mama. She had a penchant for narrating her every move (“I got me on some socks,” “I’m gonna go to the bathroom and put on my sweatpants”—to which Ross replied “I’m gonna put in my left leg. Now I’m gonna put in my right leg. Now I’m tying my drawstring…”). She also had a tendency to speak in nonsensical expressions (“Oh, haha!” became “Ohahaha,” and apparently when she said “I don’t want to go out there lukalikaluk,” it was Mama-speak for “I don’t want to go out there looking like I look.” However, she balanced these nonsensical expressions with sage advice, such as her trailed-off, “Now Jessi, don’t break your bag, because…” and “We could just do that, and…[slowly closing bathroom door without completing the sentence].”



She also shared with us some wisdom she had gained from life experience--when we were eating snacks in the room, she told us how she and her best friend Kathy used to eat their cheese dip and chips in the bed when they would visit each other, leaving behind crumbs and creating an overall unpleasant experience for my dad when he finally came to bed. Deeply moved by this story, Ross later brushed crumbs off the bed and asked, “Ugh, is your friend KATHY here?”


Another important thing we did in our hotel room in Antigua...

Packing was also a major topic of discussion in the hotel room, since Mama was frequently trying to figure out the best way to shove everything into the bags and pad them well. At one point she mused, “like a fool, I used my long socks as padding when I packed my luggage” (I tried to make a country western song out of that). Another time, commenting on the huge bag she had bought at the market to pack all her souvenirs and gifts in, she remarked, “This bag is so big, I bet I could fit in it.” I replied, “I bet you could—why don’t you try?” and within minutes, Ross had helped her climb into the bag—we discovered that she fit, but it wouldn’t quite zip up. So, I’d give the endeavor a B+. Luckily, we caught the whole thing on video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A2zDRZgPK3o


Step 1


Almost there...


She fits, but it won't zip. Guess she has to fly carry-on.

Despite all this sparkling conversation happening in our hotel room, we actually spent most of our time wandering around the town, shopping at the markets, and stopping in cafes and restaurants.









Granted, our conversations there were similar to those in our hotel room (along the lines of “let’s line up currency and pretend the historical figures are giving each other dirty looks”),



and Mama continued her trend of making up new phrases (while eating at Café Condesa one day, she addressed me as “Baby,” with her mouth full, so it sounded more like “Brby.” Ross’s subsequent impression—“Brrrrby”—became a frequently-used nickname for the rest of the trip). We loved that Antigua was small enough that we could walk everywhere. It was not so small, however, that we couldn’t manage to get lost in it, as we discovered one embarrassing afternoon when Ross parted ways from Mama, Kelly and me, after a “we’re going shopping, feel free to do your own thing” conversation. Kelly, Mama and I stepped off the curb, ready to return to the market we had stopped through earlier. After each of us stood there smiling and waiting for a few seconds, we looked at each other and realized we had no clue how to get back there. Luckily, we managed to redeem ourselves and stumble upon it after a few minutes of wandering around. Success!


Hanging out in the Central Park...


Hehehe, this never gets old...






Ross and Jessi meet a special friend...

We also had ample opportunity for Mama to flex her technology muscles in Antigua—even though it’s a quaint, colonial-looking town, there are internet cafes everywhere. I had signed Mama up for a gmail account before I left for Central America, so that I could chat with her online, and she decided she wanted to check that email account as well as her AOL one. A few minutes after she had sat down at her computer, she informed me, “It’s not letting me log in to my gmail account.” When I glanced over at her screen, I saw a google search page with the words “Your search - dsgrits@gmail.com - did not match any documents.” Maybe she thought step 2 would be to do a google search for her password?

If the internet café wasn’t really her thing, that was okay, because Mama was completely bowled over by the local McDonald’s. You could almost miss it walking down the street, since it was designed to blend in with the local architecture and was just another doorway in a row of restaurants, cafes and shops. But inside, it was clean and refined, and not what you’d expect of a fast food restaurant. Mama declared, “This is the finest McDonald’s I’ve ever been in!” and insisted that we take her picture inside, and a picture of me posing on the fountain in the courtyard.





Apparently this McDonald’s was also trying to build a reputation for top-notch customer service, because any time an employee spotted a person walking toward the trash with a tray, they would quicken their pace and politely take the tray so that the customer would not have to empty his or her own trash. We had a field day trying to spot the next targets and then watching the scene unfold--observing the employee’s sighting, chase and attack on the customer’s trash, sometimes executed from across the restaurant. Ross did a couple test runs in the name of science—once, he loudly shook his drink as he walked toward the trash, to let them know he was on his way (no one took it from him), and another time he caught the employees between shifts—as he was making his way toward the trash can, he noticed that an employee who had just clocked out looked at him, looked at his coworkers behind the counter, and kind of shrugged as if to say, “too late, I could never get to him in time.”

As exciting as it was to be in the lap of luxury at McDonald’s, we actually spent more of our time hanging out and eating at Rainbow Room, a bookstore/café near our hotel. There was one waiter there who had lived in Chicago for a few years and spoke some English, and he and Mama hit it off because they’re both so friendly. He was always laughing with anything he said, so Ross and I would make up quotes for him (“Your mom is leaving today? Ha ha ha!”). Unfortunately, he was NOT our waiter the night when we ordered a dessert to share—they only brought one spoon, so we just shared it, not really thinking anything of it. Just as we finished the last bite, here came our waiter with three extra spoons, which he just piled on top of the plates he was clearing from our table. Ross joked, “Well, he brought that third spoon just in time!” So we decided those must be the “clearing spoons” that they brought out every time they had to collect dishes from the table, and envisioned the wait staff’s training:

1. Stefan (because Ross decided a Guatemalan waiter would have this name) rushes out of the kitchen toward his table. But as he leaves, his boss taps him on the shoulder, holding a fistful of spoons, and says, “Aren’t you forgetting something?

2. Stefan grabs spoons to bring out with the food he’s serving. Before he reaches his table, the boss intercepts him—“No, no Stefan! Those are CLEARING spoons!” and then turns to the customers at the table and apologizes, “Sorry, he’s in training…”

3. Stefan’s boss finally fires him, and breaks the news by sticking a clearing spoon in his shirt pocket.

While the clearing spoons incident was going on, we were also being subjected to a sub-par live band playing in Rainbow Room. Their warm-up was a taste of things to come…Ross quickly decided they were named Wiener Band and that their first song would be “We’re a wiener band, in a wiener land, wienerin’ all around!” (we envisioned their album listing this song as “Wiener Band (Wienerin’ All Around)”). Ross also narrated their warm-up for us as we sat there listening to them tuning up (“Wee-wee-wee-wee-wee…NO GUYS, Wiener Band is in G!” “Alright guys, Wiener Band, on four!”) At one point during the performance, Kelly was staring dreamily at the band and said “I’m fascinated by live music.” Mama later observed, “That’s like staring at a white wall and saying, ‘I’m fascinated by color.’”



We did have several nights of good live music in Antigua—one of them was a different night at Rainbow Room, and another was when one member of Buena Vista Social Club played in another restaurant in Antigua. We had dinner and drinks there during the show (during which Mama offered, “Does anyone want Certs? I mean, not Certs, but Tums?”), and our waiter got a little confused about our bill. At one point he was writing extensively on a piece of paper, trying to figure it all out…Ross asked, “What is he writing, War and Peace?” When he finally handed us a handwritten bill for 139 quetzals, Ross picked up the paper and scribbled a Dickens quote—“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, 139Q.”



I think the highlight for Mama, though, occurred while we were walking around Antigua, taking pictures of ourselves in the central park and on all the little side streets. She came upon something that summed up one of her greatest quests in life, and we were lucky enough to be able to capture it in a photo: sitting next to a curb, unassuming yet refusing to be ignored, was a red van displaying the words, “Coke is it!”





To see more pictures:
http://share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=8AZtGbhkzbNWWr&emid=sharshar&linkid=link5