Amigos, Novios and Sholcos

I left Antigua yeterday after three and a half weeks: the longest time I've spent anywhere since Guadalajara. At first I didn't think there was enough here to keep me interested beyond a week, but the more time I spend in a place, the more I realise there is to see. Antigua is small, but its residential areas sprawl out further and greener than the average tourist realises. There are still countless cafe's I would like to have the time to sit in with my book, and beyond that several nearby pueblas I'd like to have visited on the chicken bus. But is pressing, and I knew that as soon as I was on a bus somewhere new I'd feel excited again. I set off for San Pedro, on Lake Atitlan, partly because I wanted to see just a little bit more of Guatemala before going on to Honduras and the lake is only three hours away, and partly because I had my friend's shoes who was staying there.

 Two weeks of Spanish lessons were enough- of course I could do with more and am nowhere near what I'd call Good, but four hours a day of one-on-one is quite intense, as is the lack of sleep and constantly tuning in to Spanish, translating what people say to me and what I read. My teacher, Julia continued to be fantastic- talking to me about everything from the nutritional properties found in the three most commonly eaten beans in Guatemala, to her daughter's love life... Julia junior was in love with a boy in her class, but it turned out that this boy had got another girl in the class pregnant. Of course the pair have to marry- everybody being so Catholic and ashamed, but they are 17 and have no money. The boy's father is an important local judge who won't give them any, but the girl's father is a big name in the Central American drugs trafficking business. He is pressurising the boy to work for him, which would make them rich of course, but would limit his life span. And the judge can never know... really makes my 17 year old worries seem trivial!

That's another funny thing about Antigua: on the surface it is an idyllic haven from the dangerous outside world. Nothing could possibly be a-skew in such a tourist-friendly, delicate looking town. But spend enough time there and you will realise that all the shoe-shiners in the park with their charming, old-fashioned kit boxes, actually double up as drug dealers; their polish sitting amongst huge bundles of powder and green. I always wondered how the men selling wooden flutes could ever make enogh money from wandering round, playing incessantly annoying tunes in tourists' faces, but then one day I was offered drugs from one of them, too. Looking closer at the locals I passed by on my walk to the Spanish school garden, or from peering through the bus window, I began to notice the huge mount of glue-sniffers around. It's not tht Anigua has a particular problem, it's just Guatemala- the drugs are cheap and available, and the government really doesn't care. Of course the local police and security guards standing in the square know what's going on with the shoe-shiners, but they are happy to turn a blind eye for a small cut of the profits.

I made a really great group of friends in Antigua- in fact pretty much everybody I met was good fun. There was Canadian boy, who I only knew for a day before he had to return home to his job as a tree planter, we went for a beer on his last night, had great conversation and were given free shots of tequila from the barman. Then there was French Girl: annoyingly beautiful, and cool, she is working for the French Alliance in Guatemala City. She'd hitchiked across many a dodgy area, been arrested in Morrocco and Saudi Arabia, but as with many things, announced that she 'didn't give a shit because [she is] french'. Mr. Physics, a Brit who had taught Physics in Shanghai for five years and had the "skill" of telling a story with 10 or more segways. I met German boy on his birthday- our second day at the scool. He presented me with a beer at midday, which I politely declined, before being told that it was an order, not a polite offering. He became the devil on my shoulder from thereon, and I like to blame him for most of my hangovers. Eco Boy, as he shall be named, arrived in my house for the second week. Another Brit who had spent time teaching abroad, he was learning Spanish to prepare for living and working in the jungle in Costa Rica, as part of an eco/home development thing. He was the best housemate I could have asked for, along with the two longer/term student residents: Asha, a Polish girl battling with and conquering far too many languages whilst also working on her PHD; and Ricardo, a 60 something year old guy from the states, whose vigour for learning was admirable.

Frenchie, Physics man, the German and I saw far too much of each other over the last two weeks- encouraging each other's drinking habits from the night of tequila shots and dancing on tables, to our more sophisticated final evening wine and cheese in the boys' kitchen. I know we were close because we could all be quite rude to each other, and I enjoyed everybody's company hugely. This won't be the last we see of each other. If anything, this trip has made me realise how small the world is, and that if I want to meet up with somebody again, it doesn't matter if they live in London, Paris or on the other side of the world/ I know that it's easy enough to make it happen. I also know that I have a free sofa space waiting for me in a number of countries and cities/ although this does also mean that once I am living in London I may be bombarded with homeless travellers ready to take up the offer.

One of my favourite words learnt over the last two weeks: Sholca/ Sholco, A person with no teeth. Very useful to know in Guatemala.

One of my favourite moments (and another reason to leave Antigua): When trying to buy quite expensive contact lense solution, the pharmacist said he would give me a big discount, on the condition that I took his number. Of course I said yes, that I would call him the next day... I have been looking over my shoulder ever since.

Me and Frenchie's new novios, whom we met on a day trip to San Antonio. One of which is not a sholco.

A woman weaving in San Antonio's artesan market. The typical shawls like the one she is wearing take about 6 months to make by hand.