Days 11 & 12 - Antigua: Todo Es Perfecto

Antigua is not only incredibly cool, but possibly the best smelling town ever. Luscious aromas assaulted us as we exited the Trooper for the first time, and continued to swirl around our heads and heels for the remainder of our stay. Add to that the aforementioned charm and invitingness of all of the restaurants, and one is left with a strong inclination to eat five meals a day. Antigua is pretty easy to navigate (except for one thing, more on which in a minute), and we keep getting sucked in and out of Plaza Mayor, and looping around numerous streets, each prettier than the last. Many times we will turn a corner, and there is another volcano.

We have breakfast our first morning at Dona Luisas, which is reported to be the best morning meal in town, and a bit of a local instiution. We climb to the second floor, where tables are scattered throughout a dozen small rooms, and on the balconies. Like seemingly every other place in town, the sunny open interior is done to perfection, with flora, and art, and colourful stucco and tile vying for pieces of your very visual field. Similar attention is paid to our food: Sara's Heuvos Rancheros, frijoles, bread, my pancakes, the cafe con leche (why doesn't anyone in the U.S. think to heat the milk for coffee?), and probably the best orange juice we've ever had–no water, no pulp, and (we think) about six minutes out of the orange. Last comes fruit, mango and pineapple and banana and melon. Mmm.

Making our way out takes a while, as we keep stopping and marvelling at stuff. We are genuinely thinking that this is crazy–every where you look filled with beauty, and in one cafe alone; we couldn't possibly photograph it all. There is a bulletin board near the entrance, which is a study of its own: There are tours, plays, a million things going on–a flyer for an English language AA meeting! Someone is having a "Going Back Home Sale," where you can pick up a frame backpack, a hammock, camera, maglight, and Central America backpacking guide. Others are offering salsa and merengue dancing, rooms and apartments for rent, sailing excursions, volcano trips. We decide to see El Sitio Players production of Christopher Durang's Beyond Therapy that night at six, and finally at the doorway, we are almost run down by a huge cart of freshly baked bread crossing by.

Sara runs into the gift/book shop next door. There is jewelry of jade (a lot of which is worked in this country), Mayan masks, racks of used books and magazines–including The New Yorker (a couple of weeks behind). We walk to a few other places, and find that seemingly every place in town is a courtyard; one is virtually never really indoors. By our count at this point, there are also three different cybercafes in town, and (judging from some flyers), they appear to be struggling with eachother to survive a shakeout in the industry! (My vote is for CyberMania on 5a Avenida Norte, the most stylish of the lot.)

The other thing Antigua is famous for is the language schools, and Sara is already thinking about coming here to teach. (By that night, I would be thinking about basing myself in Palo Alto, and wintering in Antigua....) We're walking around in long pants and sandals through a chill breeze and sunshine. We just keep laughing and pinching ourselves at how wonderful (not to mention cheap) this place is. Sara thinks it is the perfect mix of authenticity/local culture, tourism, and expatriatism. The downsides to Antigua include the facts that very few of the streets are actually labelled by name (which complicates getting around, at least for a while), and that for some reason drivers have itchy horn fingers–it's a shame to hear things despoiled a bit by all the honking and blatting. We return to the hotel for siesta, and for me to try to catch up on some journalizing.

Then it is back to Plaza Mayor to get in some gift shopping before the play. As I mentioned, the merchandise is actually really striking. Much of the beauty is in the way it is laid out–you want to take a whole spread home, and so I do in the only way I can. Folks on horseback circle the Plaza, while food sellers grill tortas and corn on sidewalk ovens, and traditional Guatemalan music is played live. Sara gets a cheese torta with sauce type thing, and grabs us both Cokes (another nice thing about C.A., Coke is always served in real glass bottles, with straws), while I sit down to, uh, get a hair weave. This is a (presumably traditional) fashion statement which involves braiding multi-colored threads through a few strands of hair, and tying it off with a couple of beads. I guess you have to see it, but I'm really happy with the result. It's supposed to stay in as long as a month.

Sara is justifiably impatient with my decision making disorder in regard to gifts, so she runs off to get theatre tickets while I try to finalize. In her absence I make a shopping fool of myself, picking up a couple of stone ornament neclaces, a huge ornamental knife, and a couple of other things. I think I was pretty well in the haggle zone, though, getting out with this bag of stuff for the equivalent of about US$27. Normally I don't like to buy stuff, and it is odd to feel this urge to shop, but fun.

We head for the play, which is in a great small theatre, across the street from another church ruins. Beer and wine are available, and the theatre is also a gallery (a good one!), and a cafe with a beautiful and interesting courtyard. (I swear, every single room in this town is done to perfection....) The play is uproariously funny, and the performances are delightful and (to me) extremely tight. I adored it.

Afterwards we have dinner at Frida's, an odd homage to Frida Kahlo, writ as Mexican restaurant. I couldn't stop myself buying a very cool Frida's t-shirt for a Kahlo-adoring woman I know named Heather (who I happen to not really be speaking with, but what the hell). As we look around the room, we consider, "Think of the kinds of people you would meet hanging out in this town!" The leads in the play were husband and wife in real life, and we wonder what brought them here. "I bet everybody in this berg has a great story." Happily, we get one just a few minutes later–from our waitress, and it's a good one. We were curious about this Asian who is fluent in English and Spanish, and so we asked here where she was from–this prompted her sitting down for a while and chatting.

She is Alejandra, of North Korean descent, a junior at the University of Minneapolis, and spending the summer in Guatemala learning Spanish and checking out the human rights situation (and trying to get involved). She says that Guatemala really has no human rights organizations, but that the country just signed the 1996 human rights accords, and is making progress–she has just come back from hanging out with the guerrillas, who are making their way to demobilization camps. She ran out of money, and so wandered into Frida's, which hired her on the spot. She tells us she lived in Korea until age 5, and then was raised by adoptive American parents. When I ask her if she still speaks Korean, she answers "Un poquito," which I think is riotously funny. She says she's taking some classes to get her Korean back, but her throat has sort of forgotten how to make those sounds. As it is, I just admire her Spanish–and her English! We say goodbye, and Sara and I wind down the evening with coffee in stellar cafe #312.

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Morning, and Antigua is sunny, breezy, airy, and a fair bit smokey. (We believe a volcano is involved.) The climate contrast between here and everywhere else we have been is stark. This place has as many great restaurants as Palo Alto–and the same climate. We roam the streets in search of breakfast, sticking our heads in the Hotel Centro Colonial Antigua, which is another knockout. There are plenty of others, the names of which I didn't get.

With 8 million great looking restaurants, we can't initially countenance going anyplace twice–but after sniffing around a couple of cafes and elegant breakfast places, we decide nothing compares to Dona Luises, so back we go w/tails between legs. This time we take a table upstairs overlooking the street, with a direct view of Agua (the most conspicuous volcano; but... what kind of people name a volcano "water"?).

After this it's time for our historical tour, where we go to all of the little numbers on the map in the Fodor's Guide. We hit the Ruinas del Convento Mercedario, and the San Francisco Monastery. Construction on this last was begun in 1579, and grew into an assembly of structures covering four blocks (including a college, church, hospital, and monastery). The inside of the church has some beautiful stuff, including the tomb of Friar Pedro de San Jose de Betancur, who lived there in the 17th and 18th centuries. He is said to have been responsible for many miracles, and to this day petitioners are supposed to need only knock gently on his tomb to have wishes fulfilled (I wished for no more wishes; for an end to pointless desire and discontent). Stone thank you notes have been left by folks who claim they just what they asked for. From up top on the ruins, the view of the one-to-two-story berg is immediately good; and, as always Agua hovers grumpily, as threatening rain clouds hover over Agua. (But, luckily, the clouds clear just long enough for me to get the shot I want of me in front of it.)

Tonight: a showing of, uh, Casablanca, which, uh, I've never seen. Since I've made it this far without, I had been thinking I would like to see it in a cool place, or at least on a big screen. This serious expat town seems at least as good a place as any for the classic expat film. After that, dinner at Suenos del Quetzal, the main vegetarian joint. I'm looking forward to not having the faintest idea what I'm ordering, and for once not caring. Tomorrow: Lake Atitlan for a day and a night. After that: we try to get back into Mexico, and race for the border. It's very possible I might not post again until the States (yeah, yeah, I know I keep promising to leave ya'll alone); if so, I'll talk to ya'll again when I'm repatriated. Pleasant dreams to all.