Every day do something that will inch you closer to a better tomorrow. – Doug Firebaugh
Tuesday, May 29, 2012 (DAY 86)
6:45am and I’m excited to once again be on the move. After my final room check, which always consists of feeling as though there is something that will be left or forgotten, I feel satisfied in my search and recovery of all unaccounted items and head out the door just before 8am. The short work through the narrow downhill streets is bitter sweet, as they have become familiar to me in the past month along with the people of the highlands, yet the life of a backpacker is one of constant motion and the search for new experiences and uncharted destinations. Difficult to explain over a single conversation, this lifestyle is a relentless tick that cannot be ignored, but is often developed from the first encounter with the world, an encounter that is pure and raw, absent of the sugar coating luxuries that sadly many travelers fail to recognize in the immersion of a different way of life. Yet, I embrace the education of life, by truly living life free as I enjoy my last walk through the San Pedro La Laguna.
6:45am and I’m excited to once again be on the move. After my final room check, which always consists of feeling as though there is something that will be left or forgotten, I feel satisfied in my search and recovery of all unaccounted items and head out the door just before 8am. The short work through the narrow downhill streets is bitter sweet, as they have become familiar to me in the past month along with the people of the highlands, yet the life of a backpacker is one of constant motion and the search for new experiences and uncharted destinations. Difficult to explain over a single conversation, this lifestyle is a relentless tick that cannot be ignored, but is often developed from the first encounter with the world, an encounter that is pure and raw, absent of the sugar coating luxuries that sadly many travelers fail to recognize in the immersion of a different way of life. Yet, I embrace the education of life, by truly living life free as I enjoy my last walk through the San Pedro La Laguna.
Sitting outside the small office of Atitlán Travel, I am enjoying a quick brekkie before the four and a half hour ride to Antigua. As the driver pulls up to the curb, I receive a pleasant surprise since today’s driver is the husband of my Spanish instructor. Santos, invites me to sit shotgun, which excites me not to be in the backseats crammed together like cattle with the rest of the passengers, unfortunately, in my hasty preparations to leave San Pedro I am completely exhausted from the previous night of being up late. The conversation between us is relatively short, but picks up after our midway stop at a small roadside café where we share a coffee and muffins. With Lago de Atitlán now a distant memory, I arrive in both hot and sunny Antigua just before 1pm.
After settling in to Hotel La Casa de Don Ismael, it is almost 4pm and I am sitting, waiting for Krista and Lexi to finish their Spanish lessons at Maximo Nivel. Despite just seeing these girls less than 48 hours before, I am almost certain that they were the ones that devised an evil plan of removing the money from my bag and have somehow managed for me to be back in their presence. Absolutely diabolical, indeed. After a quick stop at their Mormon compound, which ironically is also the housing for daycare volunteers, Lexi and I are being blindly led to climb to the giant cross on the hill that overlooks Antigua. The view is incredible as the clouds shift just enough to expose the peak of Volcán de Agua, while the colorful city rests in the foreground. Dinner resembles more of a fat kid festival than proportionately sized healthy options, as we feast on a large pizza with fries and cheesy breadsticks. Failing to avoid the onset of a food coma, and possibly diabetes after such an epic meal, we decide on a movie night to round out the evening. Since we are in the mood for an uplifting feel-good film, by the end of the night the three of us are cuddled up in bed crying as though we’ve been huffing onions for the past hour, and even myself, the rough and rugged emotionless person that I can be has a face full of tears as I yell at the screen for Jack to come back to life. Titanic, truly can be the most horrific movie ever.
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