The goal was to reach Lake Atitlan by 2:30 yesterday afternoon. Things got complicated. I met up with three Irish guys at the Tapachula station who had been travelling by bus all the way from New York. A stuffed collectivo van took us to the border on a rather wild ride. A conductor collected cash and customers, flinging the side door open, waving people on before the van came to a complete stop, closing the door again with one hand on a strap and the door handle in the other as we were already speeding away.
My new Spanish word for the day is "frontera". Very useful. On the Mexican side of the border, an official brought us into an office, closed the door and asked for 287 pesos a piece from the three other guys, all of whom had stamped passports but no visa card. I waited outside until eventually they walked out without paying and we all crossed the border without interference. No one made a move to stop us. Strange.
Three bucks for a Guatemelan border stamp and we were on our way.
A friend in Zipolite had given me basic instructions to change some cash and find a bus and the Irish guys had some info as well. It should have been simple. We jumped on the wrong bus. He was going our way. He collected our money. Then everyone else got off. It was the end of the line and we had to wait while they changed the oil, filled up with diesel at a lot and finally went to the back of the line of buses leaving from the station. Two unnecessary hours later, off we roared.
The conductor was amazing, loading backpacks and cargo on the roof, removing bus seats. I didn't realize what he was up to at first. He passed my seat from the back of the bus but I hadn't noticed him pass from the front in the first place. Yep. With the bus rolling down the road, he was climbing on to the roof from the front, checking and rearranging the luggage and re-entering from the back. Quite a job.
In downtown Xela, I split up with the Irish guys and then it seemed my luck came to an abrupt grinding halt. There were only three bank machines in the center of town and my card didn't work in any of them. Dang. I got bad directions to nowhere from a few people. Night was coming quickly and the situation didn't look good. I had enough quetzals from the border exchange to grab another chicken bus in the morning to the border and straight back to Mexico where my card works and maybe buy beverages on the way. I was tired, hungry and grubby. I was unhappy. I wanted a meal and a warm safe place to stay with a bathroom. I had the cold streets of an unfamiliar city and alleys to pee in after dark. It sucked. I felt like an orphan.
An American by the name of Kirk came to the rescue. He took me into a bank to explain the situation in Spanish and a man gave me an address to a distant bank location that might accept my card. Knowing that I only had 61Q and 5 American dollars plus a few worthless pesos, Kirk called a taxi driver friend of his he swore would not rip me off. If the worst case case scenario happened, I'd get to that bank, a safe cheap hostel and have enough left for the chicken bus as long as I didn't squander any money on luxuries like bread or water. Well, we made it to the bank. It was a matter of intense suspense until that money popped out of the machine. I felt so much better.
Bartolo ripped me off big time. Nothing I couldn't afford but I resented it. If the machine hadn't delivered, I wouldn't have had near enough to cover his fare let alone a room. 250Q. To put that in perspective, I made it there and back to that same machine today for 2.5 Q, about 30 cents.
I ran into Kirk at the park yesterday and thanked him for stepping in at my hour of need and told him what happened. He started giving me all these lame excuses. "Well, this guy is really poor. He's lucky if he makes 400Q in a week" Then he was especially lucky the night before, wasn't he? I assured him I wasn't angry.
The other excuse was very revealing. "The way he sees it, you were paying him for his time as well as the gas." That explained so much, the way he kept dragging everything out. His methods seemed odd at the time but now I understood the purpose. It wasn't until we got back to the car that he suggested going back to change the big bills for smaller ones. Inexplicably (at the time) he guided me past the first bank to a more distant one in the big mall`with a longer line.
Next he wanted to help me buy a cellphone. "They're very cheap! Only 20 dollars!"
"Wow. That's a good deal. But who am I going to call in Guatemela?"
He persuaded me I needed dinner before a hotel so, what the hell, we drove to a distant McDonald's when I knew there was a closer one and I treated him to dinner for being so helpful. He ate very slowly.
There were a few more stalls. "Do you want to see where Kirk lives? It's right up this street." Not realizing I was paying for all this time, careful chewing and all, I humored him. Finally he dropped me at Casa Argentina but not before offering to call up some prostitutes. Presumably these women wouldn't mind that I hadn't showered or shaved in over 36 hours. It was one of those little warnings that I might be in for a sting, that and all the trouble he he had gone through to tell me how hard his life was and how his life was dedicated to helping people in trouble. It wasn't so bad but in the end he lifted 25% of the amount I was able to get from the machine right out of my wallet plus dinner. He was no saint.
I smelled another rat talking to Kirk. "Well, he's my friend. He's helped me out in the past and I don't mind helping him out when I can." Like hooking him up with victims? Hmmm. I really shouldn't hold a grudge. I don't really. Bartolo stung me for an exorbitant bill but, if what he and Kirk told me is true, and it probably is, his life sucks and mine doesn't so I'll just take my satisfaction from that. As mean as that might sound, my simple understanding is that anyone who hurts me or even tries to is my enemy.
So, whatever. This Kirk character was probably not so cool as I originally thought. In the big picture, who cares? He was bragging me to me about his achievements yesterday. "It's really hard to get a job in this city unless you know someone." That is absolutely not true. They want English teachers everywhere in this town. A free tourist zine has five ads looking for teachers. At this hostel, I've met a young guy from England teaching English on the side while he learns Spanish. He has no university degree or teaching certification and he just fell into it. I'd say it's harder not to find work here.
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