We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit. – Aristotle
San Pedro La Laguna is still without power, and since the morning Spanish lesson has been cancelled I’ve decided to spend the morning reading at the pool at Zoolas with my new book. Three and a half hours later and I’ve finally completed page number four of Green Eggs and Ham, don’t act like you’re not impressed. Just after 11am and the surge of electricity returns to Lago de Atitlán and within minutes of the restoration I am within distance of the Wi-fi. Now that technology and communication has been reestablished, the first message I see, is, of course, from one of the dual partners in crime that I met on Utila, Krista shut the front door Braun. Her message was rather surprising and shocking to me, as she professed her undying love for me in what can only be described as disturbing color paintings and some sort of morbid puppet show that was acted out with empty bottles of Gallo and frijoles. Needless to say, I have accepted her self-invitation to come visit me in San Pedro for the weekend with Lexi, because secretly I know that she wishes to upgrade her condiments by giving up gravy for ketchup with her fries. This, however, doesn’t change anything between us as I continue to judge her directly to her face as well as behind her back with a black magic marker in the caballeros baño. You can thank me later Krista.
The day before they left me in Atitlan, Lindsay and I had a day of treasure hunting in some of the local shops which is a cherished past time with my boo back home, Andrea. I still regret not buying the hat that Lindsay picked out personally, because it completed me and I was on the verge of turning on my heart light for it. Ready to throw in the towel on the rainy season of San Pedro La Laguna, I am also excited to be leaving the poo streams of this quiet town in the highlands of Guatemala. Let me explain. When the streets are continuously the toilet for horses, stray dogs, and possibly people alike, the rain tends to send gushing waterfalls of poo water down the cobblestone streets, as it washes over your exposed feet in your flippy floppies. Yes, scrubbing your feet in the shower upon returning home the highest priority when it’s raining, and so, not everything about a backpacker’s life is full or roses and sunshine, but it still beats spreadsheets.