There is the sound of water all around. There are several swimming pools,
and it seems as if all the walkways and casitas are surrounded by water, making
one think about Sachi’s documentary, the healing power of water—in which I
might be making an appearance (and there is a very interesting story there
about Sachi and Cocoloche, one I don’t want to forget). I love the sound of
moving water: that’s probably why I decided to stay here an extra day.
The connection between healing and water are obvious, so I won’t reflect
on them. I also love the visual healing power of mountains. Combine that with
mountain streams and you have peace.
I won’t go too far in this vein. But I will say that this trip has had
healing power. I have loved the way people have interacted with me. You go into
strange places, and people are simply interested in saying hello and finding
out about each other. Our stories intersect— I think when we talk to each
other, we are taking pleasure in discovering how we are like each other, a way
of confirming that we are not on lonely planets. When you think about it, you
might suspect that the capitalist narrative tries to isolate us; the socialist
narrative tries to bring us together. I know the political stories are more
complicated than that (like imagine as humanistic capitalist [Warren Buffett]
and a privateering socialist [Nicolas Maduro]) and you see how ideologies are
contradicted and complicated by actualities; still, there is something to the
overarching narratives of working for the self versus working for the
community.
You can see that I have had too much time today to think. I perhaps do
better when I think while driving. I will try to get at the healing: I don’t
like being alone. That’s why I have Lola—and perhaps why Lola has me. I am not
the meditative sort. I can get into some sort of tortuous position and go OM
for a while, but that’s not me. I’m more at home mountain biking—best when I’m
doing it with Phil. But still, this trip has been about being alone. It’s also
been about the unknown—not knowing where you are going but meeting the unknown
as an adventure rather than something to fear. You might say that by going to
where I’ve never been, I’m learning how to write.
I end the day by trying to find a bottle of wine. Finding a bottle of
wine can be an adventure. I went up the road about five kilometers and turned
left to wander around a little side town called San Ramona. The streets are
cobblestone and about five donkeys wide. It’s Sunday night, but lots of people
are out on the street. I drive for a few blocks, looking for anything mentioning
mercado or cerveza. I stop and ask people on the street, hay una tienda a donde
puedo comprar un botella de vino? One points me to one store, and the person
there points me to another store, and the person there to another store. Not
likely to find wine, but I don’t really care. I just like going into this dark
little town and asking questions.
I get to a little hole in the wall, dark, four men drinking cerveza at a
table. I ask the bartender about wine, but no, not here. Ninguno beber vino. But
he has a bottle of the best rum in Guatemala. We start talking about how much
it is in quetzales, because he doesn’t know about dollars. A man speaking
half-English comes up to help the negotiation, convinces the bartender that
dollars are good if we can calculate a fair exchange rate. I know it’s seven,
so we go from there. We arrive at $35.00 for a very good bottle of rum, and
we’re all happy. I go home and have a glass or rum over ice (forgive me,
purists); it is very good. I can’t say how much I enjoy this kind of event. It
seems small,
I would like to stay here for another day, but I had better move on.
Goto Day 16: The Good Samaritan
Goto Day 16: The Good Samaritan
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