TU ME ESTAS ROMPANDO MI CORAZON
by Char Easter
© Cheryle Easter
Dec. 26 – Antigua
The next morning we discovered our room’s fatal flaw. The deserted road outside our window had transformed itself overnight into a rowdy outdoor market and highway. The hotel had the feel of a monastery, with cool stone hallways, tall ceilings, and no frills. The manager was also cool and quiet, the blue-collar version of the Girl from Ipanema. I liked the expansive grassy backyard that served as a parking lot, a laundry line and lots of room left over. Perhaps croquet on the greens? I envisioned trying to explain the game of croquet to the woman. That would be painful. It’d be nice to stay here with the cleaning woman from Ipanema, but even to our low standards, the proximity to passing freight trucks was impetus to move on.
The first order of the day was to find our way to the Donna Louisa, a restaurant J&G recommended. The second would be finding a new hotel. In the interim, we dropped our packs off at J&G’s hotel, which gave me the opportunity to grab more scented tissue and for J&G, an opportunity to tease me about stealing from their hotel.
Donna Louisa’s had a bakery storefront and a labyrinth of eating areas. J&G arrived and joined us for a long, leisurely breakfast on the veranda overlooking a lower level dining area courtyard. I ordered two entrees, hungry and happy to be eating something besides Balance bars and toasted seaweed. Of course, J&G seized the eased me about the two entrees.
Our first encounter with the local street venders resulted in only three purchases. They appeared to be sweet women and girls trying to make a living. But between the lines, “See how beautiful this scarf is, and very cheap. Please just buy one” were professional storytelling techniques. James warned us not to believe them, that they were just bullshitting the gringos. Cheryle wrote down how to say the response James uses, “My heart is breaking.” On our way back from breakfast, we watched James play with them and saw them laugh. He is savvy but has more respect for them than anyone I know.
Today we have a new room at the Hotel Bogambullia. This does not sound Spanish, but I don’t ask. A few people are sitting on a nearby sofa watching TV and smoking cigarettes. As we amble in with our packs, one of them rises and moves to a dusty desk. He gives us a key from the tall wall of hooks behind him. Our room is on the second floor. The general tone of the hotel is tacky, but there is an open-air courtyard that is deserted except for a scattering of mismatched lounge chairs and tables. Clean laundry is drying on the lower level.
THE THUNDER STORM
Our room is simple. On the wall is a round, black-framed mirror over a slender table and chair. The candles we bought at a tiny store are glowing. For that elegant touch, we lit the pine bough we took from J&G’s lobby floor.
Dear X: It’s our first day in Antigua and I’m feeling languid. Cheryle is out with her camera. The sounds of birds chirping in the courtyard, a soft rain, and thunder mix in a mystic ambiance. It feels good to be stationary. The only physical event I can handle is blowing my nose. I think I feel relaxed, but how would I know. I never relax. I know I’m happy to be here, in this softly lit room, out of that wild jungle downpour and here in Antigua, Guatemala with my sister and James and Glynn. I couldn’t ask for better companions, except for you.
A soft light is coming through the window in our room and blending with the candlelight. My playful mind senses an opening. I explore the possibilities of the moment. My writing begins to sound like ad copy for bath products. About this time of inner peace, some people took a room next door. The wall between our rooms does not extend to the ceiling so I can easily hear their conversations, although I can only translate a few words here and there. My intellect is till ignoring Spanish unless I need something. The rain and thunder increases intensity, muffling the volume of their voices.
I know what I’d do to make money here – write erotica juxtaposed against Cheryle’s grimly jocular photos. The rain has subsided. The trilling of birds mixes with the static from the neighbor’s TV. There’s something pleasurable and loose woven here, as if a magic feather is being drawn over my body. A new force reigns. From the comfort of the raw earth.
