Out of everything bad, some thing good happens. So here's the main
event: My best friend, Eunice, had joined me in Guatemala City a couple
of days prior to our medical mission in Santa Maria de Jesus. While
walking in the historical district, and after using the ATM a few blocks
back, Eunice's
earrings were lifted right off from her from behind. I had been
slightly ahead of her, heard her muffled cry, and turned to see a young
man behind her with his hands over her ears, pulling her head backwards
as
he was pilfering her earrings. I felt like I was
m-m-o-o-v-v-i-i-n-n-g-g so very slowly in delayed reaction. Eunice,
bless her heart, was able to grab back an earring, obviously the perp
wasn't expecting any kind of fight. And in a twinkle of his eye (he
looked back with a somewhat bemused smirk), he loped off towards the
street entrance of a little indoor mall that I know well. A younger
teenaged boy came up, and wanted us to go with him, he knew where this
young man had gone. And in a city where every storefront seems to be
inhabited by men with rifles and handguns, or police, I couldn't find a
one. Nada. A little, well dressed Guatemalan man came up, heard my
statement about the lack of cops this time out, and said they don't do
anything anyway. Remember this part too, there's a story about him
later. So now you have the background to all things good. And no, we
didn't follow the kid either, we figured it was a set up for more.
1.
Bagged Out, Part 1. The previous day had seen Eunice and I on tour with
my guide Poiio. We went to the market town of Chichicastenengo, as well
as to some ruins just outside of the town, where we were covert
witnesses to a short Mayan ceremony prior to the Day of the Dead. Once
back in the city, we went out for dinner with Poiio and the driver. I
never carry a purse, I usually have my wallet in my back pocket, but
this time I decided to carry it in my little purple Ameribag, which I
detached from its somewhat hidden position on my backpack. Didn't
realize it was missing until after we had been dropped back at the
Posada we were staying at. Didn't have Poiio's phone number, but he is a
Facebook friend. So you know, Facebook isn't all that bad. I messaged
Poiio. On the Friday, the day the earrings were lifted, and before we
were to leave to join the other mission folks, Angel Poiio biked over
from the
university and
delivered my bag to the Posada while we were out.
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| Ruins near Chichi. |
But I digress. We returned
from El Salvador one Friday evening, and were getting off at a different
spot closer to the
Posada than the original station we had embarked on our El Salvadorean
odyssey from. My friend, Florida Tom had my baggage tags, the guy back
in San Salvador had handed them to him. The drop off was not a station
per se, although it is advertised as one, but the street front of the
large Biltmore Hotel in the happening Zona 10 section of town. Which is
to say it, it is usually a very busy section of town. Took the bus half
an hour to progress the few blocks down the street to get to the hotel.
It was also college party night, there were formals and informals going
on. We disembarked into the throngs of people, and the bus attendant
squished himself into the luggage hold of the bus and proceeded to pass
bags out as luggage tags were handed to him. I watched my bag come out
into Florida Tom's hands. Eventually we made our way to a clear section
of sidewalk, and I bartered with the taxi drivers to take us back to the
Posada. ($10.00? No way, I've been here
5 times and it shouldn't cost more than $7.00!!! Got it for $8.00, and
Francesca the Posada owner informed me they usually charge $15.00!). And
of course, I didn't realize until after we had returned to the Posada
that my purple duffle hadn't arrived with us. Poor Francesca, another
one of my Guatemalan family and my friend, called to the hotel. The
person at the other end of the line spoke English, so I asked him to
please send someone outside just to look up the road and see if my bag
was still sitting there. Nope, call this number (the main bus station)
in the morning at 0530, and see if they had it. The office by this point
was closed. Francesca, Rafael (one of my Posada Boys) and I went back
to the Biltmore, miraculously found our taxi drivers, and were politely
allowed to check the interiors of the trunks as it was had been quite
dark outside, but nothing. I was going for a volcano hike the following
morning, so being up early was not a problem
for the phone call to the
bus company. I gave the number to my other Posada Boy, or rather Angel,
Nilo. At first he couldn't get through. By this point, I had written
off my bag, which had all of my personal clothing in it. I still had the
important stuff - the mission clothes had been left at the Posada for
laundering between missions, and my hair product had been in the other
bag that made it with me. Out the blow dryer, though, but I borrowed one
at the Posada so I could look my best huffing and puffing up the
volcano. And lo and behold, a knock at the bedroom door, can't remember
which one of my angels delivered me the good news, but the bus company
had my bag, had discovered it still sitting lonely next to the bus, tags
intact. So they just heaved it back on and held onto it until the
forgetful owner showed up. I swear I had rolled it with us, but
evidently not. And once again, Poiio kindly stopped with me to pick it
up on the way to the volcano.
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| I was feeling like a dumb cluck after all my losses. |
4. What's In Your
Wallet Now? Not the American Express card, when I left it at Nathan's in
Miami when I picked up a sauerkraut hotdog on the way to my Cancun
flight. I heard the clipping of little tiny heels, and a little tiny
voice behind me as I was racing to the already boarding flight, "Excuse
me! Excuse me!" I turned around to a little tiny lady, who told me I had
left my credit card back at the counter. Dashed back for the rescue,
and I was on my way to Cancun.
5. Now Really, What Is In Your
Wallet? Not the Visa card. As communicated to me by Florida Tom via
e-mail, once I had made it
to my hotel in Playa Del Carmen. After the volcano hike, Poiio and I
had gone back to the same Mexican restaurant for dinner that we had
eaten at the week before. And look who should be there but Florida Tom
and Texas Ron, our (Eunice and me) travel buddies in El Salvador. I paid
with my credit card, and left it there. In Central America, they bring
you the bill to sign without your credit card, I guess to compare
signatures, unlike here in North America, where your card is returned at
the same time as you sign your bill. The night I left for Cancun,
Florida Tom and Texas Ron returned to Los Cebollines, the Angel Waiter
recognized them, gave them my card and my bill. Yesterday, my card
arrived by mail, sent by Angel Tom.
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| There is nothing so bad that a cerveza with friends cannot fix.. |
Once I told Eunice that story
after her earrings had been taken, I was pretty sure that the little,
well dressed Guatemalan man was the same person, we had a little chuckle
over it, because the man and I had both eye balled each other, and not
said a thing as I guess we both had dusty hamster wheels turning in our
heads.
The morning of the day I left Guate, I went to Mass,
and Florida Tom and Texas Ron went out to the Central Square market. We
met back at the Posada for a farewell cerveza. Florida Tom had come back
early, leaving Texas Ron to his own devices. He met up with a little,
well dressed Guatemalan man, who took him a couple of places, and whom
Texas Ron bought coffee for. And once Ron told him my name during the
course of their
conversation, he told Texas Ron to tell me that Teacher Mario said
"Hello."
And that is why I have Angels on my shoulders, and horseshoes where the sun doesn't shine.
