The Accident(al) Traveler

I have not been an accomplished traveler in my lifetime.  It all began when I was sixteen and flying home to Massachusetts after visiting my sister in Wisconsin.  Alone in a New York airport with no money, I discovered the last shuttle flight had already left for Boston.  Uh oh!  It was only the first of many interesting, exasperating, and sometimes hilarious travels.  My recent trip to Antigua, Guatemala, was NOT the exception.

I took the afternoon ferry from the island to La Ceiba on the mainland, where I spent the night at the Hotel Paris so that I could make the 5:15 AM Hedman Alas bus to Antigua.  I dined at the hotel restaurant, passing on the breaded snook…since no one could tell me what it was…and opting, instead, for the shrimp in béchamel sauce.  At the bus terminal, I made certain to question the ticket agent about stops and bus changes, since I know very little Spanish and didn’t want to take any chances while traveling.  There would be one change in San Pedro Sula, then stops at Copan and the border, arriving in Antigua at approximately 8:30 PM.

 

The trip was comfortable and uneventful.  We were supplied with water and other drinks, as well as snacks and lunch.  I slept some of the time and read a book the remainder of the time.  Hector, a Hedman Alas employee who accompanied us on the trip, provided instruction in halting English when he realized I spoke no Spanish.  He, thoughtfully, brought me to the appropriate immigration offices at the border and advised me on trading my Lempiras for Quetzals.

Upon disembarking the bus in (what I thought was) Antigua, a taxi driver approached and asked, “Antigua?”  “Si”, I answered, as he grabbed my suitcase and ushered me to the awaiting taxi.    Hector stopped at the taxi before we left, squeezing my hand as we said our goodbyes.  I told the taxi driver I was going to Casa Madeleine.   He said something to me in Spanish, of which I understood not one word.  “Sorry”, I said.  “No Española.”  He repeated himself but, of course, I still didn’t understand him.  Now he had me hoping I would eventually make it to Casa Madeleine!

As we drove through the city, traffic was heavy, and American establishments like Pizza Hut and Burger King were prevalent.  Highways had multiple lanes, medians and directional signs.  This was not the Antigua my friends had described to me, and my disappointment was daunting.  I have not worn a watch since moving to Utila, but I know we drove for a very long time…well over an hour…and I began to wonder how I was going to pay for this taxi ride.  And where on earth was I?  Soon I began to notice signs pointing to Antigua, and realized that the bus must not have dropped us in Antigua after all.  Finally the terrain began to change.  Tiny shops with adobe facades replaced the fast food restaurants.  Paved highways turned into cobblestone streets.  I thought, ‘THIS must be Antigua’.

We approached a large intersection where three other taxis were parked.  My driver pulled up next to them and walked over to one of the other drivers, who then came and transferred me and my luggage to his taxi.  The first driver never asked me for payment, and I wondered if they were going to split the fee.  At this point I was so totally confused that almost any scenario could have applied to my situation.  We drove only five minutes when he pulled to a stop and I realized I had reached my destination.  “Thirty Quetzals”, he told me.  Since I knew that was a small amount of money, things finally became clearer.  The bus must have dropped us in Guatemala City; then Hedman Alas provided transportation to Antigua for whomever needed it…apparently I was the only one that night.  How I wished someone had thought to tell me!  I was relieved to have finally solved the mystery, but now a new mystery confronted me:  how was I going to get back to the Hedman Alas terminal in Guatemala City to buy my return ticket?

I had been traveling for more than seventeen hours, the last leg of which was laced with anxiety.  I was grateful when I was shown to my room, which was complete with a mini bar.  The bottle of red wine was atop the fridge, along with two silver-rimmed wine glasses.  I sat on the edge of the bed and took an unladylike gulp, savoring the flavor in my mouth before swallowing.  Ah!  Wine helps everything.

My room was decorated in an old Spanish country style.  It was called The Blue Room and was very cozy and soothing.  The bathroom was accented in a colorful patterned tile and matching sink.  Since I was going to be there for three nights, I unpacked my belongings and put everything away.  I wanted it to feel like home.  I had a second glass of wine and turned on the television.  A surprising number of channels were in English.  The room was quite cool.  I reminded myself that I was high up in the mountains…it would cool off at night…and I would most likely need to cover up with a blanket.  I slept like the dead, awaking at 6:30 AM and ready for my complimentary breakfast.

Casa Madeleine was charming.  Decorative tile, wrought iron features and lush, tropical plants filled every room and hallway.  I went to the front desk to ask for a map of the town so I could walk around and see the sights.  Alysia was very helpful and friendly.  She wrote on the map, showing me where certain places were that I might like to see.  I asked her where Hector’s Restaurant was and she marked that.  I explained about the confusion with the bus trip, and she told me there was a Hedman Alas ticket office in town, marked it on the map, and suggested I check with them about transportation to Guatemala City.  Then she showed me to a lovely little dining area overlooking a garden filled with fruit trees and exotic flowers, where I had an amazing omelet accompanied by a spicy potato cake, mixed fruit cup, assorted breads and the most delicious coffee I think I’ve ever tasted.

I left for town, where my first stop was a coffee shop named The Refuge, owned, I’d heard, by an American.  I ordered an iced mocha, certain that I would definitely be buzzed after this and the two cups I’d had with my breakfast.  There was one other customer, a young man, and I started a conversation with him.  His name was Corey and this was his third visit to Guatemala to do missionary work.  His fiancé had just gotten her nursing degree, and she would accompany him on his next trip and work with the pregnant women living in the mountains who had no health care available to them.  They would be married by that time, he said.  He normally spent five months every year in Guatemala, but this year it would only be three months because he had to get home to Florida for his wedding.

 

The shops were located maybe six blocks from the hotel.  On the way I passed many interesting cathedrals and some ruins from a previous earthquake.  The three volcanoes…one of them still active and appropriately named Fire…towered in the distance.  I took so many pictures, stopping sometimes in the middle of the street to capture something.

This large, ornate cathedral was in the square across from the park in the center of town.  The little alcoves each contain a statue of a different saint.

I then decided to have a late lunch/early dinner, and headed over to Hector’s.  It had been recommended to me by island friends, Tony and Jo.  The place was small, but clean and comfortable and with friendly service.  Another couple was finishing up their meal, and the man spoke English so we exchanged pleasantries.  I was amazed by the size of the salad I ordered, piled high with assorted crisp greens, cherry tomatoes, cucumbers and crowned with a mound of freshly grated cheese.  It came with a small bowl of sweet/tart vinaigrette, and I enjoyed it with a glass of Malbec wine.  A young man entered, placed his laptop on the table in the corner, and conversed with the other couple as they were leaving.  I assumed that the young man either owned the place or worked there.  He soon introduced himself as Hector, and I informed him of my friendship with Tony and Jo.  We had a very pleasant conversation as I finished my salad, and when I left he gave me his business card and told me to keep in touch.

I looked in many of the shops, bought a few souvenirs and a gift for my friend, Jan, who was back in Utila taking care of my cat, Pumpkin.  There are many street vendors, and they are re-lent-less!  Most are selling jewelry, and no matter how many times I would tell them that I don’t wear jewelry they would continue to follow me saying, “only $1” or “special price for you”.  They would even follow me as I crossed the street trying to get away from them!

 

I was fortunate to find the Hedman Alas office on the third attempt, and I purchased my return ticket and discovered that I was correct in my assumptions from the night before.  I was told that a van would pick me up at 6:00 AM on Friday morning to bring me to the bus terminal in Guatemala City.

 

I then decided to walk to the marketplace to see what was offered there.  I expected it to be mostly local produce, but there was very little of that.  Most of it was local art: Mayan masks, paintings, hand-crafted purses, weavings and jewelry.  The rest was mainly CD’s, children’s toys, shoes and even umbrellas.  I saw two young girls sitting in the median at the entrance to the marketplace.  They were selling fruit.  As I took the picture, one of the girls covered her face.  In many instances I noticed that the Guatemalan people do not like to have their picture taken and will often turn away.

At the marketplace I was having a little difficulty with the map.  I would be returning to the hotel by a different route, and I get turned around so easily.  I examined it closely and headed off, hoping for the best.  I thought I was following the map, but it soon became apparent that I was lost.  I kept walking, hoping to come across a familiar landmark.  Finally I had to try to communicate with someone, as my back and calves were beginning to scream at me.  I stopped two women who were walking together and showed them the name of the hotel and the address, which I had written down “just in case”.  They both shook their heads ‘no’.  I walked farther, coming upon a gated entrance to some ruins, and showed the address to someone I assumed to be a guard.

He looked, and then pointed in the direction I was walking.  I didn’t think he understood English, but I asked him anyhow if I just kept walking straight and he nodded ‘yes’. After walking quite a way with no luck, I saw a middle aged man ahead.  Fortunately he spoke English and, although he wasn’t familiar with the address, he quickly found out from someone else that I was still twelve blocks away from my destination.  “I’ll never make it,” I said.  “Do you think I could find a taxi?”  “Come with me,” he said, and he walked to the corner with me.   “A tuk tuk will come along any minute.  I’ll wait with you.”  He was right, and another 30 Quetzals later I was back at Casa Madeleine.  Too tired even for a glass of wine, I retired for the night.

 

The next morning I was prepared for more sightseeing.  It would be my last day in Antigua, and there was more that I wanted to see.  I started with the Greek breakfast: a slice of lightly breaded eggplant topped with an over-easy egg and all of the previous day’s delicious accompaniments.  I would miss the lovely gardens and the beautiful view of the volcano.

I headed for town, more confident now that I had done it once, but still with my map in hand.  I had only gone a few blocks when a man stopped me with a variety of nuts for sale.  I bought a bag, mixing two different kinds…a sweet and a salty.  My next stop was the Chocolate Museum, where I bought a small selection of white and dark chocolates and a refrigerator magnet as a remembrance of my trip.  After checking out a couple of other shops and doing my best to dodge the street vendors, I headed to the square for a little rest in the park.

I shared the bench for a while with a businessman who spent the entire time on his cell phone.  A young boy, no older than ten, passed by with a shoeshine kit and the man motioned for him to polish his shoes.  I was sad that the boy, so young, had to miss out on school in order to help support his family.

My bench mate left, and I was about to follow suit, when a beggar approached me.  He was rumpled and none-too-clean, but pleasant and friendly.  I had seen others turn away from him as he approached, so I invited him to sit down.  He told me his name was Charlie.  He spoke good English, and said he also spoke Spanish and French.  He had a cast on his foot and said he had broken it when he fell while running.  We exchanged some of our stories, and occasionally he would stop to give me a high five.  In a few minutes he got up to leave, and I handed him five Quetzals.  “You don’t have to give me any money, ma’am.  Thank you for treating me like a person”.  He took my hand and pressed it to his forehead.  “I don’t have much,” I said, “but please take this, and always remember that you are a very special person,” and with that he left.

I walked several blocks to Cazador Italiano for lunch, a restaurant with an authentic Italian chef who was purportedly one of the very best.  I ordered the risotto with smoked salmon, asparagus and mushrooms.  It was presented in a large bowl topped with freshly grated Parmesan cheese.  Cooked in a peppery broth, the combination of flavors was delightful.  I enjoyed it with two glasses of Malbec…one of the best Italian meals I’ve ever had.

I was a little sad as I returned to Casa Madeleine.  Antigua was quaint and lovely, and I almost wished I’d had more time to enjoy it.  I’m hoping to return for a few more days at the end of the year…perhaps around the holidays…to experience a little more of it.  They give guided tours to the volcanoes, and I think that would be interesting.

I was picked up in the morning by a large van with Hedman Alas printed on the side.  If that had been the vehicle which brought me to Antigua from Guatemala City, I would have understood what was happening.  I’m assuming that, because I was the only one from the bus going to Antigua, a local taxi was a more reasonable option.  After picking me up, the driver stopped to pick up two other young couples.  They were on their way to the island of Roatan after spending three months in Guatemala doing missionary work, so we would be traveling to La Ceiba together.  It took us two hours to get to Guatemala City.  We hit rush-hour traffic and it was bumper-to-bumper much of the way.

We were served our choice of breakfast or lunch on the bus.  I had thought of napping after that, but instead decided to take some pictures of the countryside from the bus window.  What I saw was so interesting and satisfying that I spent most of the trip doing it.  The small villages and mountainous landscape can be quite beautiful in both Guatemala and Honduras.

The poverty in Central America can be devastating, however.  We passed houses…less than shacks, really…which I thought were uninhabitable until I saw laundry hanging on the line or someone standing in the yard.  I don’t know what the people who live there do when it rains.  Thankfully they don’t have to worry about cold or snow.  For some reason I found it incredibly sad when clothes were hung over the clotheslines with no clothespins.  I guess it was because I felt as if the family couldn’t even afford the clothespins…but, perhaps, it was because they realized they didn’t need them.

An interesting sight was the corn growing on the steep hillsides.  Those people have no equipment.  Planting is done by hand.  It must be an incredible feat to plant corn under those conditions, and I can only guess at how long it must take them.  Those farmers are to be admired.

I also passed a few cemeteries, and it was interesting to see that the deceased were buried in crypts that were above the ground.  The crypts were painted with bright colors, and there was always a religious arch of some sort where family members could leave wreaths or flowers.  I almost missed getting this photo…sometimes the bus was just traveling too fast!

When we reached La Ceiba, I checked into the Paris Hotel again for the night.  Once again I was exhausted after a seventeen-hour trip, and I asked if the bar was still open so I could have a glass of wine.  Only one man at the bar spoke English, so we talked for a while and he translated for me with the bartender and the man who was playing  guitar and singing beautiful Spanish songs.  Shortly after he left, another English-speaking gentleman joined us and we also had an enjoyable conversation.  When the bar was closing, he even walked me to my room…a very sweet gesture.

In the morning, as I readied myself for breakfast, I heard a knock at my door.  Expecting it to be the front desk telling me that my taxi was here to bring me to the ferry, instead I was shocked to see my friend, Sue, from the island.  She had been in La Ceiba on personal business and was staying at the same hotel, so we enjoyed breakfast and returned to Utila on the ferry together.

It was a memorable trip, one where I connected with a number of very interesting people who I felt I was destined to meet.  I’m a believer that there are no coincidences in life.