Memory of San Pedro...
I can remember him well, the important things about him; his name not being one of them.
He was skinny, his arms and legs tattooed looked like sticks or an insects limbs. His face was quite handsome when he wore a hat.
We had shared a bowl of weed the previous day, he was a nice guy but the amount of cocaine he used scared me. Every few hours the night before he’d laid out his powder well into dawn.
San Pedro Guatemala is a place that attracts people with sadness, without destinations and those that just want to party. Pablo and I showed up questing for the “Berkeley of Central America.”
San Pedro had hippies, dreadlocks and weed was offered in every exchange you had with an expat. People laughing told us how they’d come for a week and six months later still hadn’t gotten around to leaving.
It’s not a terribly remote place but without money it could be. So what would happen if you got stuck? Would you stay there learning Spanish and Mayan, get a job until you saved enough Quetzales to get away? Did you want to leave?
Crouching on the woven floor he carefully started lining up a joint. There was a child crawling towards him, blonde hair and white skin glowing with curiosity. He reminded me of the Gerber baby except his parents often left him in the care of stoned backpackers as his mother painted murals on the walls of the hostel.
I watched with interest, the contrast of this child crawling across the dirty floor towards the coke head about to roll a joint. I was curious to see what would happen.
The baby sat down and picked up a cigarette butt. The coke head slowly pulled it from his little fingers and flicked it into the bushes. The baby reached for a lighter, it was taken fro him and disappeared into a pocket.
The coke head smiled at the baby and quickly stood up, moving around the carpeted area he picked up everything small enough to find its way into a curious mouth and disposed of it. Empty beer bottles were lined up for recycling.
The next curious thing became the half made joint. That also disappeared and the coke head played with baby until his mother had returned. Then, he went back to rolling.
I smiled up at the sky gently swinging back and forth in my hammock. I hadn’t showered in days and I didn’t have money to eat today but there was good in the world, a book in my hands and that’s all I wanted.
He was skinny, his arms and legs tattooed looked like sticks or an insects limbs. His face was quite handsome when he wore a hat.
We had shared a bowl of weed the previous day, he was a nice guy but the amount of cocaine he used scared me. Every few hours the night before he’d laid out his powder well into dawn.
San Pedro Guatemala is a place that attracts people with sadness, without destinations and those that just want to party. Pablo and I showed up questing for the “Berkeley of Central America.”
San Pedro had hippies, dreadlocks and weed was offered in every exchange you had with an expat. People laughing told us how they’d come for a week and six months later still hadn’t gotten around to leaving.
It’s not a terribly remote place but without money it could be. So what would happen if you got stuck? Would you stay there learning Spanish and Mayan, get a job until you saved enough Quetzales to get away? Did you want to leave?
Crouching on the woven floor he carefully started lining up a joint. There was a child crawling towards him, blonde hair and white skin glowing with curiosity. He reminded me of the Gerber baby except his parents often left him in the care of stoned backpackers as his mother painted murals on the walls of the hostel.
I watched with interest, the contrast of this child crawling across the dirty floor towards the coke head about to roll a joint. I was curious to see what would happen.
The baby sat down and picked up a cigarette butt. The coke head slowly pulled it from his little fingers and flicked it into the bushes. The baby reached for a lighter, it was taken fro him and disappeared into a pocket.
The coke head smiled at the baby and quickly stood up, moving around the carpeted area he picked up everything small enough to find its way into a curious mouth and disposed of it. Empty beer bottles were lined up for recycling.
The next curious thing became the half made joint. That also disappeared and the coke head played with baby until his mother had returned. Then, he went back to rolling.
I smiled up at the sky gently swinging back and forth in my hammock. I hadn’t showered in days and I didn’t have money to eat today but there was good in the world, a book in my hands and that’s all I wanted.