December 17, 2009

Maarten, far right.

In Leon, I stumbled upon a good friend Maarten, a dj from Amsterdam, who I met at Lago de Atitlan through his cousin and stayed with in Antigua for a week.

Though I have no money, Maarten needs to get back to Antigua which would normally cost $60 from Leon. Intrigued by the idea of hitchhiking back, and that it would save him cash, he agrees to pay for my border crossing fees and food for the day.

Though still early, we are leaving “late”, trying to convince our friend Kim (whom we met in Antigua as well) to join us. She stayed, we stepped out, with slight trepidation, which for me had more to do with our estimated time of arrival than with the rides we would get during the day. With 4 countries (Nicaragua,Honduras, El Salvador, Guatemala) to cross, 420 miles from Leon to Escuintla, Guatemala, we must arrive in Esquintla before nightfall when it becomes quite dangerous.

We walk past the colorful churches, shophands washing sidewalks, the smell of sweet pan dulce and the sounds of tropical birds filling the early morning air to our hitchhike post. Maarten has never hitchhiked before, and no less in Latin America, where two gringos hitchhiking does not go unnoticed.

6:30 AM.  We catch a ride within 5 minutes in the back of a pickup truck that brings us all the way through northern Nicaragua, Honduras, to the border with El Salvador, a warm wind in our face, past volcanoes, sugar cane fields, and the sea.

At the border into El Salvador, a driver for a bus, seeing us hitchhike, waves us to come on board. We tell him we are hitchhiking and have no money for the bus, but he waves us in more hurriedly. “Vamos!” A slow moving cargo truck, two wealthy El Salvadorians in an air conditioned car give me $40 (El Salvador uses USD) and 4 hour ride to the north end of San Salvador.

Another ride in the back of a pickup. He speaks English, and his son, who does not, is an American citizen. Dropped off, we switch roads to head back toward the coast. A very large and very friendly man in a pick up truck loaded down with steel pipes and junk in the front, graciously lends and hand and gives a ride. He is jovial, but with no room in the front, I am in pain. Winter, it is approaching 5 PM. The light is golden, but for me means danger.

Another short ride, back of the pick up, with others, day laborers, doing the same. We get of to take the coastal route north. The sun sets big and orange over cane rustling in the wind.

Another short ride with a family in a p/u to the border, they take us a “back” way, a shortcut with which we were obviously not familiar. It is a family, but it still makes you flinch.

We arrive at the border at dusk.

A woman and her daughters give  us a ride from the border, distributing wedding invitations to family on her way back to Guatemala City.

She has stopped in her home village while the clock ticks. We have a ride now, we are not sure for how long, and it will become increasingly difficult to get rides at night. Most traffic virtually stops at night in Guatemala due to poorly lit roads, animals, cows, and ambushed hijackings.

Maarten and I eat and wait, eat and wait, we don’t want to be rude as she is talking with family about a wedding, but we have to arrive soon in Esquintla if Maarten is to make it to Antigua and I am to make it to Tapachula, Mexico. We leave our bags in her car, thinking it safe, while she drove off down the road “just for a second”.

Waiting–just for a second–we have a fantastic time talking and laughing with the local villagers, playing football (soccer) with the kids, a candle-lit religious procession makes its way down the street towards us, passing us, carrying a medium sized felt draped and flowered statue of the virgin overhead, polls on their shoulders.

Our friend returns and we ride in the back of her truck under a warm starry night, flying down the road making excellent time. Bumps don’t do my rump well. We still aren’t sure where she is letting us off, thinking she is taking another road, but it is taking too long. In between our anxieties,  Maarten and I have a fantastic time,  great conversations  about God, philosophy, heaven, the possibility of reincarnation, what is in vogue to think and what we actually believe, and whatever else comes to mind. Although he is from a good family in Holland (his grandfather was a prime minister), Marteen is one the least pretentious people I have met.  Lava oozes out of volcano silhouetted by the lights of Guatemala city, barely visible in the distance. We are getting close(r), still not sure where she is taking us.

Finally, we have arrived in Esquintla. It is already late. 10 PM. We make our way to the fork in the road where we will say our goodbyes. Asking for directions, a man offers to walk us and show us the way. We tell him a little about our stories and he tells us his, asking me (that means you) to pray for his daughter who had recently committed suicide.

Here now at the fork, I look at Maarten. Cold, he has put on a v-neck sweater, which, coupled with his blond hair, definitely has him looking like a mark. We hug and part ways down two dark streets. His a 30 minute ride to Antigua, mine a 6 hour ride to Mexico…