Here's a secret- I can write about it now that it's definitly over and I am totally fine: I've been quite ill. I mean horribly sick for a full week. When I wrote before about having a bit of a bug in Lanquin, that was a white lie- Lanquin was only the beginning... so I actually missed pretty much all of the Easter parades and general fun to be had, and spent my Easter Sunday feverish and hallucinating in the refuge camp. It was pretty miserable. The hostel was also awful, but I think I only realised the full scale of its awfulness once I had finally mustered up the energy to leave. Much like high school, working in Wetherspoons, and any prolonged visit to Asda. There were no bed bugs at least, but that's probably only because I didn't actually have a proper bed.
Either way,it's over now. I have moved to a lovely hostel on the other side of town, which has real beds, real hot showers and real breakfast. I'm also practically a celebrity here- news travels fast amongst backpackers and at least three people have greeted me with "Oh, you're that girl who had Dengue over in the Jungle Party hostel!" Pretty funny. Yes, it may have been Dengue fever, BUT I am fine. I have some meds, can hold down a meal again and even climbed a volcano today. One day I will go into details about what Dengue was like, for the sake of good, honest travel-blogging, but in the short-term it is best forgotten, for the sake of my sanity and my mother's nerves.
It's not just the irritation at missing out on the Easter celebrations which makes me struggle to enjoy Antigua: I get lost every time I step outside. This is partly because I don't know the place well yet, having spent the first week rotating between my bed,bathroom and a hammock, but it's partly due to the totally ridiculous layout. Like pretty much every town on the continent, Antigua's streets are designed in a grid system, so you'd think it would be easy to navigate between Calle 5 and Calle 6. H-Oh no. It seems that every other road has an alternative Spanish name. And not even the locals know which is which! It took me almost an hour to walk from hostel 1 to hostel 2, partly because the people who I asked for directions sent me in completely the wrong direction. But then again maybe they had heard the rumours of my illness and were trying to banish me from the town.
And another thing: protruding stone window boxes. Stupid bloody idea. They're of varying heights on all buildings in order to catch you out, and combined with the impossibly narrow pavements create a death trap for all drunk, hostel-bound tourists. Last night I went for dinner and a very stressful pub quiz with a bunch of male American stereotypes. It was fun and we did win, despite a bitter argument over Ireland's independence (which apparently I'm supposed to know all about, being English...) I wasn't drinking, and was keen to go to bed after, but was somehow convinced to go and dance in a bar completely sober until 2am. Walking home with a very drunk Alex the New Yorker (who, interestingly is half Jamaican, half Russian), I was just in the middle of warning him not to walk into any windows, when BAM. I saw stars and now have a spectacular black eye. Alex and I both started to explain to people that Alex hit me after I racially insulted him, but soon remembered that not many people in the land of Abroad get that kind of humour and either think I'm a crazy racist or Alex is a heartless woman beater. The night guard at the hostel definitly does not know what to think of me.
To make matters worse, I checked my email at 2am to discover that the volcano trek which I had attempted to change from this morning at 6am to tomorrow afternoon, had not been possible to change. So three and a half hours later, I woke up- head banging from my black eye, to climb a whopping great volcano. Volcan Pacaya is 2552 metres high and a pretty steep hike. I struggled a bit- especially as I am still a little weak from being ill, but the views were worth it. We got quite close to the main vent and sat for a while toasting marshmallows which the guide had brought along. We were the only group around, but most amusingly thre was still a tiny "shop" at the top called "The World Famous Lava Store". There was nothing actually in the hut to buy- just a man sitting with his dog. I suppose being situated at the top of an active volcano it wasn't really worth the risk having any stock.
So other than recovering, I really haven't been up to much. I have enrolled in a Spanish school fornext week and plan to spend the weekend enjoying food once again. I'm willing to give Antigua another chance to win me over, as long as it doesn't give me any more black eyes.
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| There I am, in a volcano vent. |
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