Antigua - Guatemala

I disembarked from the bus in a dark rainy haze. It was almost 10pm and I had no idea where I was. I rubbed my bloodshot eyes as I flipped through the soggy pages of my lonely planet guide trying to orient myself on the seemingly endless parade of cobblestone streets and Spanish colonial houses. I had just arrived in Antigua, where I would be spending the next couple weeks studying Spanish and acclimating to Latin America. I found a place to stay in a small posada on a side street and got some much needed sleep after my long journey from the states.

In the morning I took a stroll to get my bearings and figure out why all the guidebooks had listed this place as a "must see" when in Guatemala. It didn't take long to figure it out. Enclaved by three huge volcanoes on all sides, Antigua is in a world unto itself. It boasts a populous of over 42,000- and that's not including the smaller pueblos that are scattered in the surround mountains- but has a small town feel where the only horns you hear are people honking to say hello to their friends. An hour's drive from Guatemala City, it is an inviting reprieve from the fume-choked air and unenviting side streets of the capital. Antigua itself was once the capital of the entire Central American Colonial Empire and the capital of Guatemala, but after several devastating earthquakes it was abandoned for today's present sight in the valley below. Suddenly a sleepy little mountain town, it transformed into a bohemian center for local art and clothing.

Having all these attributes, Antigua quickly became an international destination when tourism to Guatemala picked up in the 40s and 50s. Through the 30 + years of increasing tourism, Antigua has lost almost all of its originality save the streets and architecture, but it's still a wonderful place to visit.

Everything seems to stem out from the central park, the town's center. From there you can find street after street with travel agencies, internet cafes, budget hotels, and a surprising array of international cuisine. With all the enmities that a traveler could want it's not hard to see why many who travel through here end up staying longer than they planned. This also may explain why it has a seemingly endless supply of language schools.

After a typical Latin breakfast I set out to find a language school, intent on brushing up on my rusty high school Spanish. With almost 200 to choose from I had no idea where to start. I didn't have a specific idea of what I wanted but I wanted to avoid a large school, typically owned by American and Canadian companies, which seemed to lack the personal touch you get with local run businesses. I also wanted to do a home stay with a local family where I would be the only student, thinking this would be a good way to make me speak Spanish. Both turned out to be a bad idea.

I chose a small establishment "Antigua Language School" and a host family though them. Now everyone told me that it doesn't matter what school you go to but what teacher you get. That was not true for me. My teacher was fine, but the owner, Marcos, reminded me of a used car salesman at the end of the month desperately trying to make his quota. He'd tell you anything to keep you in the room. "I know the perfect teacher for you" he told me when I signed up. He changed my teacher twice. "Come by in the afternoons, we have plenty of activities." I came by often but he was never there. "I have the perfect family for you, great room, great food." He changed my family the morning I was to move in. The family itself was ok, a small private room and three meals a day with the family. The mother, Maria Elana, was nice enough and talked to me when she had time to sit down but the two teenage kids who lived there ignored my presence and I spent most meals in silence. I couldn't blame them though. How would you feel if you had a new person in your house ever couple weeks who didn't speak your language? It would get old.

After a week there, I decided to switch. I went with one of the larger schools, Ixchel, and switched families, this time one with other students as well. It was much better. The host mother, Angelica, was a gem. She made great meals and ate and talked with us. The other students, a French women, a Jamaican, and a fellow American where all really nice and eager to speak Spanish. We all got on well and our meals typically lasted an hour and a half to two hours as we chatted away in Spanish about everything and nothing. I spent another week and half there, staying on at the house for an extra couple days after school was done because it was so pleasant.

Having spent a little over three weeks in Antigua, I feel as if I have come to know the abandoned mountain village turned tourist Mecca pretty well. I've done a lot in that time. I hiked a volcano and learned to dance salsa. I joined a gym. I spent a weekend in a nearby beach town eating cerviche and drinking cervezas. I visited pueblos for ritual Mayan/Christian ceremonies for the cigarette and rum god. I went to a kite flying festival in a graveyard for Dia de los Muertos. I made good friends with locals and internationals, and some enemies, with a guy who grabbed my crotch and said "Te querro," I want you (gay men seem to have an affinity toward me in Latin America). I have history here. It was like when I lived in Sydney for six months, I have come to know the bartenders and streets by name, I know where the best places to get a good cheap meal, I know the best place to go on a Tuesday night out on the town. I feel as though I've lived here. But here is not Guatemala, not really. It reminds me a bit of Fantasy Island in Pinocchio, where little children (foreigners) run around in a play land with no rules and no grown ups. It's time to leave this play land and move on... to another.