I catch the rains down in Africa...
That song has been running through my head all day. Last night was an epic pour and it continued through to the early morning. A lovely reprieve from the puppy’s 3am crying, and Claudio’s 4am crowing, but still I was up and awake at 5:30, per usual. I tried to stay in bed for as long as possible, but at 6:05 I finally got up. Claudio had begun his warm up and I thought I might as well get some stuff done before class. Then I remembered it was Saturday and I had nothing to do. The gym didn’t open till 8:30 so I wandered around for a minute before deciding to finally open the David Sedaris book Henry had left behind for me. It turned out to be a mixed emotion read because while Sedaris’ wit usually leaves me chuckling, I simultaneously drift into a comparably narcissistic desperate dark hole. It happened with Dostoevsky, it happened with Hemingway, (strangely, it never happened with Cormac), and now Sedaris. Around 8:15 I finally decided to put down the depression and go for a run.
The gimnasio Antigua.
This is where all the gringos go to pretend like they’re in America. Well, this and Mono Loco. It’s also where at the Guatemalans’ go to pretend like they’re in America. It’s fine as far as gyms go, a big room in the middle with a hardwood floor for yoga and karate and kickboxing. Guatemalan-like, I saw one of the karate kid’s moms walking on the hardwood with 4 inch stiletto’d boots. I cringed, but then figured that they probably didn’t care too much if there were divots and holes in the wood, especially since it probably rained in there too. The surrounding walls are lined with cardio machines, punctuated with a few flat screens playing How I met your Mother or Big Bang Theory, two programs I rarely watched in the U.S., but now feel like I’m going to get my fill of. There are about 4 adjoining rooms with weights and mats and strength machines, and I was happy to see that culture and gender roles transfer nations as the weight room had its share of pocket he-men and the mat room was full of abs working females. The whole gym felt like something from Rocky II had Philadelphia been a city in Central America in the twenty tens. I have been assured that it is nothing compared to the other place that Geovani works at, one room, a few machines and peeling walls. There are also apparently gyms that allow only Guatemalans, no expats or annoying students. I’m fine with that. Being a single female in Antigua sometimes is a little difficult, and I’d rather not have to deal with it while working out.
Speaking of, I passed the pig-man again today. He made the obnoxious grunting as I walked past, head high, eyes forward. I decided as I walked that the next time I was on this street I would take out my camera as I passed him and snap a photo as he grunted. Then I’d go home and photoshop it to the body of a hog and print it out, put it in a frame and present it to him and his friends. Perhaps I still will, I haven’t yet thought of a better way to deal with a lecherous old man.
After the gym I felt much better. Better than I have in awhile. I decided to reward myself with a Rainbow Café breakfast and orange juice. Even though my house mother is a wonderful cook, I still haven’t figured out how to tell her that I joined the Antigua gym instead of G’s gym. Being in workout clothes this morning I sort of “snuck out” the front door rather than walk through the much closer Panaderia. I’m not sure how much her mothering is real and how much is a jokey, Guatemalan thing, but I hate hurting people’s feelings and so I opted for a sneaky retreat. Not very admirable, but when I ran into Robin later she agreed that maybe that was for the best.
The rest of the day was spent on various rooftops, coffeeshops, streets and hotel courtyards. I haven’t really wandered this town by myself yet, and always feel better if I mix wandering with goals. So, armed with my backpack of laptop, ipod, camera, moleskins (2), Verb book, Lomnitz Death and Mexico book, KleenKanteen, umbrella, wallet with 100Q, and jacket with backup money, I hit the Antiguan streets. Much coffee was consumed, a good amount of JSTOR research was accomplished, a few DVDs were purchased and I talked to about 3 different hotels for the friend visit in a month. Finally I ended up in this café on the Parque Central which Rachel enjoyed calling Coffeemakers Coffeeshop because of its rather redundant name, Café Barista.
I parked myself in a corner booth to continue my research but was immediately intrigued by the table directly to my front. A man and a young girl were sitting at the table, he was talking to her and on the phone, she was coloring in a coloring book. Quite nearby was an armed guard. The child never looked at the guard, but he never took his eyes off her. She would get up and wander around the coffeeshop and the guard would follow at a distance. The father would go in and out to talk to various people, but the guard never moved out of eyesight of the 5 year old. At one point the little girl came over to my table and climbed up on the seat opposite me. She was as cute as all little 5 year old girls are, and had a large orange colored drink mustache which came up her cheeks. Her hair was light brown and was pinned with 2 clear plastic butterflies. She stood on the chair and asked if it was ok if she looked out the window. I said of course, and she leaned out a little bit, then gradually stood up on the table. She looked back at me again and said, “I’m only going to rest my feet here a little” and I said, Go right ahead, but don’t fall out! She was watching the street performer in the outside avenue, a mime on a unicycle who had been riding about the cobblestones for a few hours. There was quite a crowd. The girl watched the mime for awhile, and the whole time her bodyguard was never more than a few feet away.
She left the café shortly after, and came back again for a moment with a friend. I think she had left something on my table because she picked something up and turned to her friend and said, “oh no, that’s not my mamá, I was just standing on her table.” The guard was back, and then they left. The father wasn’t with them, but another nanny was. I wondered who the child was, who her father was and what Guatemala’s child abduction rate was. I know Mexico has a bit of a problem with kidnapping, and I know that when my uncle was killed a few years ago, it was because of a kidnapping issue, but seeing that child made it a little more present for me. Perhaps I’ll do some research.
The gimnasio Antigua.
This is where all the gringos go to pretend like they’re in America. Well, this and Mono Loco. It’s also where at the Guatemalans’ go to pretend like they’re in America. It’s fine as far as gyms go, a big room in the middle with a hardwood floor for yoga and karate and kickboxing. Guatemalan-like, I saw one of the karate kid’s moms walking on the hardwood with 4 inch stiletto’d boots. I cringed, but then figured that they probably didn’t care too much if there were divots and holes in the wood, especially since it probably rained in there too. The surrounding walls are lined with cardio machines, punctuated with a few flat screens playing How I met your Mother or Big Bang Theory, two programs I rarely watched in the U.S., but now feel like I’m going to get my fill of. There are about 4 adjoining rooms with weights and mats and strength machines, and I was happy to see that culture and gender roles transfer nations as the weight room had its share of pocket he-men and the mat room was full of abs working females. The whole gym felt like something from Rocky II had Philadelphia been a city in Central America in the twenty tens. I have been assured that it is nothing compared to the other place that Geovani works at, one room, a few machines and peeling walls. There are also apparently gyms that allow only Guatemalans, no expats or annoying students. I’m fine with that. Being a single female in Antigua sometimes is a little difficult, and I’d rather not have to deal with it while working out.
Speaking of, I passed the pig-man again today. He made the obnoxious grunting as I walked past, head high, eyes forward. I decided as I walked that the next time I was on this street I would take out my camera as I passed him and snap a photo as he grunted. Then I’d go home and photoshop it to the body of a hog and print it out, put it in a frame and present it to him and his friends. Perhaps I still will, I haven’t yet thought of a better way to deal with a lecherous old man.
After the gym I felt much better. Better than I have in awhile. I decided to reward myself with a Rainbow Café breakfast and orange juice. Even though my house mother is a wonderful cook, I still haven’t figured out how to tell her that I joined the Antigua gym instead of G’s gym. Being in workout clothes this morning I sort of “snuck out” the front door rather than walk through the much closer Panaderia. I’m not sure how much her mothering is real and how much is a jokey, Guatemalan thing, but I hate hurting people’s feelings and so I opted for a sneaky retreat. Not very admirable, but when I ran into Robin later she agreed that maybe that was for the best.
The rest of the day was spent on various rooftops, coffeeshops, streets and hotel courtyards. I haven’t really wandered this town by myself yet, and always feel better if I mix wandering with goals. So, armed with my backpack of laptop, ipod, camera, moleskins (2), Verb book, Lomnitz Death and Mexico book, KleenKanteen, umbrella, wallet with 100Q, and jacket with backup money, I hit the Antiguan streets. Much coffee was consumed, a good amount of JSTOR research was accomplished, a few DVDs were purchased and I talked to about 3 different hotels for the friend visit in a month. Finally I ended up in this café on the Parque Central which Rachel enjoyed calling Coffeemakers Coffeeshop because of its rather redundant name, Café Barista.
I parked myself in a corner booth to continue my research but was immediately intrigued by the table directly to my front. A man and a young girl were sitting at the table, he was talking to her and on the phone, she was coloring in a coloring book. Quite nearby was an armed guard. The child never looked at the guard, but he never took his eyes off her. She would get up and wander around the coffeeshop and the guard would follow at a distance. The father would go in and out to talk to various people, but the guard never moved out of eyesight of the 5 year old. At one point the little girl came over to my table and climbed up on the seat opposite me. She was as cute as all little 5 year old girls are, and had a large orange colored drink mustache which came up her cheeks. Her hair was light brown and was pinned with 2 clear plastic butterflies. She stood on the chair and asked if it was ok if she looked out the window. I said of course, and she leaned out a little bit, then gradually stood up on the table. She looked back at me again and said, “I’m only going to rest my feet here a little” and I said, Go right ahead, but don’t fall out! She was watching the street performer in the outside avenue, a mime on a unicycle who had been riding about the cobblestones for a few hours. There was quite a crowd. The girl watched the mime for awhile, and the whole time her bodyguard was never more than a few feet away.
She left the café shortly after, and came back again for a moment with a friend. I think she had left something on my table because she picked something up and turned to her friend and said, “oh no, that’s not my mamá, I was just standing on her table.” The guard was back, and then they left. The father wasn’t with them, but another nanny was. I wondered who the child was, who her father was and what Guatemala’s child abduction rate was. I know Mexico has a bit of a problem with kidnapping, and I know that when my uncle was killed a few years ago, it was because of a kidnapping issue, but seeing that child made it a little more present for me. Perhaps I’ll do some research.
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