From the Highlands to the Coast, Part 2

To continue...

So, according to the Lonely Planet, which is 10 years old now, we should have arrived in Escuintla around 7:30pm. From there, we were allegedly 1 hour from the coast. Olivia was nervous that there wouldn't be a bus out of Escuintla so late in the day, but I was comfortable and had been listening to lovely music and at that time had the utmost faith in Guatemalan transportation. At 7:30 we arrived in a more populated area. We had a brief conference to determine who out of the 4 of us had the best Spanish and would help navigate us to our next bus. I allowed that it wasn't me seeing as how I sound like a Spanish dictionary that has been run through the blender. Nevertheless, I asked the man across from me if we were in Escuintla and he said no, but soon.

The rule here is don't travel after dark. Even if you're male. Even if you have dark skin. By the time we rolled into Escuintla it was very much dark. We were dropped off at a 5-way intersection and had no bearings whatsoever. I tried my broken Spanish on the man from teh bus once more, and I was stuttering and finally he put his hand on my shoulder and said in English, "where are you trying to get to, dear?" When I told him he cringed and said we had missed the last bus out of here by 3 hours. Escuintla is the 3rd largest city in Guatemala, and also we learned one of the most dangerous outside of La Cuidad, but it doesn't even rate its own map in The Lonely Planet because the only purpose it serves for tourism is catching the next bus. Not knowing what street we were on, we asked some folks loitering in front of a nearby tienda, and knowing what street we were on helped us not one bit since we didn't have a map. We were finally directed to the center of the town and from there we stood under a streetlight to see what Lonely Planet had to say. It did not inspire confidence that LP said this place is nowhere you want to be stranded, but if so, head to the only safe hotel, Costa Sur. We took a taxi to the hotel, checked into two rooms and were going to meet in the lobby in a half hour. I shared a room with Susannah and the "air conditioning" turned out to be a fan and the TV that was supposed to be locked in a metal cage, like a circus animal, had been stolen. It was hot, too. Very, very hot. And there was bird crap in between my sheets, and the shower curtain was 6 inches too short. And there was no showerhead, only a spigot, with a gush of ice cold water, and because the curtain was too short I ended up flooding our nasty, moldy bathroom.

I tried to call my mom, because I knew she would be worried, but my phone wouldn't make international calls for some reason. So I called MRM and said, "we are stranded in what my roommate has not so affectionately called "the hoodest place on earth" and we don't know when we'll get out of here, but for right now, I am alive. Only, don't tell my mom that. Tell her we missed our bus and checked into a nice hotel and will be back on our way at daybreak."

When we met downstairs the owner told us not to leave the hotel, not to even cross the street, because it is too dangerous here at night, even for locals. Still, there was a bar across the street and a bar might mean food, so we set out. It was a hot cramped space with plastic chairs and tables and a jukebox that played music so loud you could feel the fillings rattling in your teeth. In the back was a bathroom that reeked and a stovetop and a grill top and a cooler of beer. The woman asked me what we wanted and she said they had shrimp and some other word that none of us knew. I thought I told her we only wanted a drink, but after we had been sitting there for a few minutes, drenched in sweat and drinking ginger ale, she came to the table with 4 plates of grilled shrimp and frijoles and grilled onions. The shrimp were intact, you had to first behead them and strip the membranes in order to eat them. Olivia was feeling sick and the sight of the shrimp plus the water they were "washed" in sent her over the edge, and she bailed on us. The rest of us accused everyone else of ordering food but none of us had. Still, for all the dump-ness and creepiness of that place, it was the best seafood I have had in Guatemala yet, including the coast.

After dinner we walked across the street, avoiding the man on the curb who had passed out and looked like he'd peed at least a liter of urine on himself and the sidewalk. We headed to our separate rooms and I tried to sleep, but it was hard, having found bird crap in my bed, and it was such an oven in our room that I cracked the window, and below us on the dirt street kids were playing soccer with empty plastic bottles. Things you never have reason to think about until they are keeping you awake: how profoundly loud is a plastic bottle on a dirt road. I became a little enraged. It was after midnight and they were kids. Kids who were not at home in bed where they belonged. Somehow, I fell asleep, and awoke to a sweltering brightness. Susannah and I decamped and went to see if the others had made it through the night. They were still in bed and said they didn't want to leave so early. Susannah and I wanted to get the hell out of there and decided to leave without them, but in the end we didn't have to.

We trundled down one of the main streets in search of the Scott 77 gas station and the bus station behind it. We were escorted to our bus rather quickly and then sat there, waiting for it to fill. I don't think I have ever sweated so much in my life. All the windows on the bus were closed, I was sitting in the sun and almost melting from the heat. I don't think anything makes me as uncharitable as heat. I become almost homicidal in it. Soon enough however, we were off. After about an hour, on a paved highway and near a closed waterpark, we were dropped off on the side of the highway and told to wait for the bus to Ixtapa. That bus was soon to arrive, but it wasn't a bus, it was a van, and it was already full. There was about 8 inches in the last row that I was motioned towards, and there were already 4 people in the row. To get to I had to work in stages, manuevering my body this way and that until I finally was able to get one hipbone lodged into the seat. Let me tell you, we were all up in each other's business in the back of that van. The others got the jump seats which were slightly less crowded. We got into Ixtapa and proceded to drive people personally to their houses. Ixtapa is tiny and there are no roads, only dirt lanes and most of them were flooded. The cement and tin houses are right up on the lanes and it felt incredibly intrusive scuttling through them as we did, and being witness to the private Saturday morning rituals of peoples' lives. After leaving the residential section of Ixtapa we were dropped off at a tienda and told to wait another half hour for our last bus. At this point everyone was exhausted and hot and irritable and we wandered down the dirt lane, looking for a place to sit down. Only, we passed about 6 places to sit down, but no one was happy with them, and in the end we turned back around and settled at the original tienda we were dropped off at. I bought an agua pura and a bag of potato chips and Stefan and I split the last of the Bake Shop cookies and sure enough, a half hour later, a new van pulled up and we loaded into and then waited and then headed out. We were allegedly 1km from the coast at this point, but the drive from Ixtapa to Monterrico took anouther hour. But it was pretty, and the van wasn't crowded.

It was a very bright day. Again, I wish I knew plant names. But from what I have gleaned from the guidebooks I think what I was marveling at was jacaranda or possibly bouginvilla. Who knows. There were lots of palm trees, and volcanoes in the distance, and though it was hot, the air felt clean. We finally arrived in Monterrico and were dumped at a 3 way stop on a black top road, again, with no bearings. We said, "la playa?" and people pointed, and we followed. We walked for about 20 minutes, passing this tiny dirt lane, and soon after passing it a man approached us on bicycle and informed us that we had left Monterrico and were now headed inland. We should have taken the unmarked tiny dirt lane. So we turned around and about half way down the dirt lane was an enormous pelican that began to charge us and snap at us. I had my daypack clipped on my waist and out of fear Stefan grabbed it and hid behind me and put me directly in the path of the raging pelican. We made a run for it and soon our little dirt lane dead ended into a sand path and on that sand path was our hostel, Johnny's Place.

Johnny's Place is right on the beach, with little bungalows and fresh water pools and hammocks and an outdoor restaurant and bar and a covered patio with couches and loungechairs and more hammocks. Also, being the Pacific Coast of Guatemala, the beach was black volcanic sand and this was endlessly cool to me.

We checked in, scored a private bungalow with a private bath, and walked to the restaurant for lunch. Johnny's Place is home to the worst fish tacos I have ever had, a major disappointment. But they had one of the best piña coladas ever, with fresh juices and that made up for it. From lunch, I headed straight to the hammocks on the beach and remained there for hours. About an hour before sunset I began walking down the beach collecting bits of rock and driftwood, and headed back in in time to watch the sunset from the patio. I am my parents daughter. The Pacific is incredibly loud in Monterrico. During my walk, I looked up because I thought jet planes were flying overhead and I thought that was really weird, and then I realized it was the sound of the surf. It is not a very good swimming beach because the undertow is so powerful, but it sounds so incredibly gorgeous. Also, coconuts wash ashore! I thought that was the greatest thing ever.

After sunset I showered (in salt water, muy sticky, ew) and we went to dinner at the Lonely Planet's top pick. The restaurant was cozy and airy at the same time, and turned out to be the home of the pelican from earlier that day. Also living there was a grey cat that looked exactly like my sister's cat, and 3 dogs. I ordered the risotto del mar and it was a little on the gross side. The seafood tasted like it had freezerburn and the risotto was undercooked. Strike two, Monterrico. But we went back to Johnny's Place for piña coladas on the patio which almost made up for the insanely expensive and yucky dinner. If you like to party, the best thing about Johnny's Place is that it is right next door to a discoteca. If you prefer to fall asleep before 4am, the worst thing about Johnny's Place is that it is right next door to a discoteca. Also, we were in mosquito country, and malaria country at that. So we had to shut the doors and windows of our bungalow at dusk. This made for an incredibly hot, loud night. And we had a 5am wake up call because we had booked a sunrise boat tour of the lagoons.

Late for dinner again, will finally wrap this sucker up this weekend. Ciao!