Day 3: Antigua to Paquila

I slept like a rock. In fact, I know if I even rolled over the entire night, which came with its own kind of aches and pains. The morning walk to Café Condesa provided a welcomed stretch for the muscles and the spirit. The morning sights and smells of the city took me back to a week spent along the Malecon in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. I had the Omeleta Santiago with café con leche and fruta. Yummy! My fav!

We packed and loaded the chicken bus. Joshua told us the night before that it takes him about 1.5 hours to park the bus and return to the hotel. He has to drive out of town and park and then catch a shuttling chicken bus back into town. Plus, he’s just had a baby. A 4-month-old girl if I remember correctly. If she has any of his dashing good looks, I’m sure she’s a cutey!

I tried a local fruit called _____ that was so good but very difficult to explain how it tastes. Joshua tried to explain to me what it was called, but I couldn’t seem to get the consonants in the right order. It was softer and juicier than a plum and very sweet. I bought it from a woman walking down the street by our hotel. We were waiting for Max and a few others to get back from the traditional Saturday morning trip to the bank for change. I hope it doesn’t make me sick.

We stopped for lunch in Mazatenango. Instead of going into the hamburger place that took Ron and me an hour last October, a few of us walked over to Taco Bell. I really wanted to eat at Pollo Campero, but the line was quite long. Evidently, not many people like Taco Bell south of the border. Ha! I would be surprised if they did. For general information, there is no mild sauce at Taco Bell in Guatemala. No medium either. Just hot. No thanks, I’ll pass.

I didn’t see where we turned off to go to Paquila, so I’m not really sure whether we are north or south of the highway. I tried to use my Blackberry to mark our position on the GPS, but it didn’t have a photo on this part of Guatemala, so it was lost not far away from Antigua. When I get home, I’ll connect the phone to the computer and see if they can triangulate our position.

When we pulled into Paquila, I was very pleased to see that our “home” was right beside the main road. No luggage to carry a half mile in dress clothes. And the main road was more “main” than any road within an hour of Pabeya. It was very different in many ways, but the people shared common needs: clean drinking water, clean air, no parasites, and a fair shot a good life, however they define that. The church is called Iglesia Evangelista Methodista Jehova es mi Pastor. Pastor meaning shepherd. The pastor’s name is Gaspar. He is a very short and thin with dark hair. That’s a description that fits most of the people in Paquila. What distinguishes him is that he has a huge smile permanently glued to his face at all times. His father was very proud. I saw him introduce himself to Max more than a couple of times. Later in the week he was very pleased when I remembered who he was. One of the kids told me he was 80 years old. They called him muy viejo or very old.

Church service was held. A lot of singing by them and us, although I don’t anticipate an on-chore for us unless it’s Len playing an instrumental on his guitar. And that reminds me, I can now say that I’ve played a Beatles song on a traveling guitar, on a chicken bus, driving down a winding Guatemala road with 12 inch potholes. I can cross that one off my bucket list. Ha! As if…

We set up our indoor camp and prepared for dinner. Carmelina was back. This time with her helper Marisol. I don’t know where I heard it, but from what I understand, Lidia now has CDs of her singing. Homemade I think, but still! Kerri will be so pleased to hear that.

I fell into bed, exhausted from the day past and the day we were about to have.