The Best Way to Cure a Hangover

I knew, stated, and confirmed that I would come back to Xela one day. As much as it was predictable that such thing would happen in the span of July, my last month in Guatemala, I had no idea it would be only after three weeks of living in San Juan.

Las Fuentes Georginas

Dreams do come true, I tell you! After only commenting on a picture of beautiful Las Fuentes Georginas (quote-in-quote “WHERE IS THIS PLACE?!”), Marina, my friend who decided to share this NGO internship in Guatemala experience with me, had her way to convince us to spend a day in this gorgeous natural spa. It just so happened to be the weekend of my recently acquired friends’ birthday, and guess what? He lives and throws parties in Xela exactly. We packed our backpacks lightly, put away some money for champagne and Quetzalteca (local white rum that has an image of traditionally dressed Guatemalan woman as a logo), made sure our swimsuits are ready and took the infamous chicken bus to Xela (Quetzaltenango).

Quetzalteca

The problem was, the drivers here just want to pack anyone and everyone inside their vehicles, so instead of explaining to us we’re boarding a bus to Guatemala not Xela, they just rushed us in and assured everything’s going to be alright.

Except it wasn’t.

Instead of just sitting uncomfortably for 3 hours, we ended up hanging out on the side of a “highway” not of out of our own choice and changing buses 3 times before we got where we were supposed to be. Then I realized I don’t know the city as well as I though I did, and we walked forever before reaching our very first and very important stop: Xela Pan. Now, literally it just translates to Xela’s bread, but goodness! This bakery offers quality pastries (real éclairs!) for half a dollar. I’m sort of glad I had to move to San Juan – otherwise I might have ended up twice as heavy as I usually am.
Two of us split three of those delicious, creamy mood-lifters, and partied the rest of the afternoon and night away. In the rhythm of salsa, of course!

The very foggy spa

The next day started with a perfect (but scary, since it was incredibly foggy) 20min drive to the Hot Springs, followed by very hangover-friendly relaxation. The weather might not have been the most desired, but feeling the cold rain on our faces while soaking the rest of our bodies in comforting hot water felt incredibly freeing. It very well might have been the first time ever since we started interning that no one thought about work, at least for an hour or two.  With all the skin hydration and wrinkly fingers, we ate tortillas like one should in Guatemala and drove back, a little less tense about the road and actually… anything else, really.

Too bad that on our way back, all the relaxation faded away as soon as we heard “Buses to San Pedro don’t run on Sundays”. Perfect. Three bus-switches later, we just went for a tuk-tuk (aka rickshaw) lift and fell onto our respective beds. Sleeping after that weekend was even more delicious than the Xela Pan éclairs. Especially because I most surely dreamt of them.

Show me your chicken

Lake Atitlan

There is no travelling through Latin America without any “slightly shocking” bus rides. It’s not even exclusive to the Americas – those little local buses run around the whole developing world. Once you board a converted-yellow-US-school-bus you’ll know what I mean when I say these are special. To my own surprise I boarded the first ‘local’ bus in Guatemala only a few days ago. What a ride!

Oh, it’s quite important to mention they’re called chicken buses, at least here in Central America. Of course, there’s a very good reason for that. I wish I had a picture that expresses more than a 1,000 words, but I missed my best-ever opportunity. Seating in the third row on the left, I peaked over my book (you can’t really read on such bumpy roads) and saw a… chicken peaking over a hole in its card box. I swear we even made eye contact.

I dropped it fast and turned to search for my camera, but those lovely chicken buses have so little leg space, that my backpack was impossible to pull up from under my knees without doing some serious yoga on the spot. And I’m not able to do that. So it took me a good five minutes, and trying to be secretive and technologically-culturally sensitive, I directed the lens at the box and… the chicken was gone! It hid inside, getting more bored than curious over (I guess) a usual view. My once in a lifetime opportunity was gone forever i.e. until the next such ride.
“Show me your chicken” I kept thinking while peaking over every minute and a half, before I realized my English phrasing might get really awkward sometimes, whether only in my thoughts or documented on my blog. Either way, the charm didn’t work.

I was absolutely disappointed in myself and the missed opportunity, but the rather foggy window provided me with enough entertainment instead. Soon enough I saw the beautiful spread of Lake Atitlan in front of me, and just as I was about to gasp and smile to myself we turned around yet another corner and a few wildly posed excavators were feeding on a nearby hill. So much for the hopeful, breathtaking views.

It did turn a little nicer and more positive when I noticed two grown men playing with a ball on a gas station by the road. It wasn’t even a soccer ball or anything of the more-professional sort, no. It was a simple, small, rubber ball like the first one you ever got as a 4-year-old child. They seemed happy. Adorable, truly.

Then I felt the guy’s next to me head falling heavily onto my shoulder. He was fast asleep, thank heavens he wasn’t snoring, and I tried really subtly to move away in the little space I had to coordinate within, but I wasn’t as successful as I wished. I quickly remember that one time I fell asleep on an unknown Indian man’s shoulder traveling back in high school after an all-nighter at a train station. Funnily, I had a group of friends with me who instead of waking me up thought it would be hilarious to see my face once I wake up and realize what’s happening. This Guatemalan guy to my right had no friends there to either wake him up or laugh at him soon after – he was forgiven and, frankly, ignored.

Falling from one hill onto another, I let myself enjoy the beauty of this overtly-cheap and questionably-safe, unpredicted rollercoaster ride. Highly recommended (but not for your nerves).