Kathy Rohloff:
First Day in Guatemala

The day started in Vermont at 3am and here we were 12 hours later beginning our descent into Guatemala City. We were fulfilling a promise we’d made to our son Peter a year earlier. "Once you are in Guatemala for any length of time, we will come visit."

Little did we know the next year we’d have to fulfill our promise. We had dutifully accumulated a small retinue of medications (just in case), been properly vaccinated, labored through some remedial Spanish classes, removed gels and liquids from carry on baggage, and successfully endured three flights. Could we survive Guatemala?

Russ and I are not world travelers; we’re really not very adventurous at all. We don’t rush out to see the latest movie released. We’d rather wait until it’s on video and we’re hunkered down at home with popcorn, comfortable clothes, our bathroom, and a pause button on the remote control.

I tend to be even less adventurous than Russ. When I go to a restaurant, I order the meal that I always order at that restaurant. Hey, that’s why I’m there. Once we were taken out for sushi and on my first and last attempt, I swallowed one piece three times. That was my sushi adventure.

Because Peter realizes this he met us at the airport with a private shuttle van. He didn’t think we could navigate our way through all the locals urging us to take their taxis. Within minutes we were on our way to Antigua where Peter assured us that he had found us one of the best hotels. "You even have your own bathroom."

Any concepts that I had concerning a good hotel were blown away when we entered Antigua. The van jostled over cobblestone streets past colorfully painted homes and storefronts; there was not a Holiday Inn sign to be found. While we drove to our hotel we passed streets crowded with a mixture of Indians dressed in traditional dress, European backpackers, school children garbed in matching plaids, uniformed guards with sawed off shotguns, and Spanish mothers with toddlers clutching their hands. Upon exiting the van, we three tall white Americans joined the throng.

Our hotel was owned by an extended family. We entered a private alleyway that led to a lush courtyard surrounded by rooms. Tropical plants encircled a fountain and curtained the upper story where our room, number 16, was located.

The room was clean and welcoming with a bathroom attached and a firm mattress and pillows. It was a very welcome sight to some weary travelers.

We left our suitcases and ventured out into Antigua to dine. We ended up at a small restaurant that you entered through a bookstore. It is common to combine various enterprises and a bookstore/restaurant is the norm in Guatemala.

The menu was printed in Spanish and English and I ate a very good meal of nachos. From the various tables, I heard at least four languages. We relaxed and enjoyed the new sights and sounds around us. I was especially glad to be done traveling for the day.

Upon leaving, I went to use the bathroom, el bano. A wizened Spanish woman smilingly pointed the way, and I dutifully did not flush any paper products down the commode (again, a common way of life in Guatemala) I could not, however, find a place to wash my hands.

When I exited the bathroom I saw a sink directly to my right for that purpose. Much to my consternation there was an Asian man vigorously brushing his teeth. When he saw me he sauntered into the bookshop where he continued to brush, and I hurriedly washed my hands. As I left, he returned to finish his ritual.

Upon exiting I said, "Peter, I saw the weirdest thing. This Asian man was brushing his teeth in the middle of the restaurant."

"Oh, that’s perfectly normal. You’ll see a lot of weird things while you’re here."

We then sat in the main square and observed the people around us. We were accosted several times by vendors wanting to sell us jewelry and woven fabrics. The shoe shiners were out in force, but tennis shoes can’t be shined. Over and over we repeated like a mantra, "No, gracias."

"Break any eye contact, Mom. Be rude and say ‘no, gracias’ or it will never stop," Peter cautioned.

Sadly, I learned to be rude.

We returned to our room around 8pm, a bit overwhelmed and ready to retire early. I’ll pass over the frantic search for the soap, the tepid water, and the struggle to find pajamas. Mercifully, it was short and we laid down to sleep.

Well, we thought we were going to sleep. What happened was that Antigua woke up, or at least the family that owned the hotel did.

Vibrant Spanish music played while the adults (8), children (4), and the dogs (2) wrestled, laughed, shouted, and barked down below. The barking was reserved for the dogs; the rest of the commotion everyone else participated in. This lasted until 10:45, and then they brought out the bike horns.

Eventually it quieted down and we fell asleep, quite exhausted and worn from our adventures. Blessed sleep, until 4:45 when someone set off fireworks.

Now I had a choice to make. I could break out into wild weeping or begin to shout the house down. Instead I started to laugh and said to Russ, "Something tells me, like Dorothy, we’re not in Kansas anymore."

I rolled over and resumed sleeping until 6:45 when the fireworks started again. I guess the first send off was a snooze alarm; the second meant the day had started. Now to face day two.