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Page 1 of 2 Vomit pillows, street freaks, decrepit not-fit-enough-to-be-called-a-room rooms: the better side of Guatemala City
ARRIVAL
It was 11:35 p.m. when our bus hit the lighted outskirts of Guatemala City. I gently nudged Heather awake. She rubbed her eyes, glanced at her watch and tried not to frown. We had missed the last connection to Antigua and now needed a plan for the night.
With several weeks of rural travel under our belts, missed buses had become an accepted fact of life. In most cases, patience and a pack of cards was enough to see us through. Rolling into Central America’s largest city at midnight posed a new challenge, and “Guat,” as the driver called it, had the reputation of being a pretty rough place.
”he had ingested a whole chicken and several pounds of rice for the single purpose of re-depositing it undigested on the floor” |
As the bus rumbled forward, the city continued to gather. What we saw was not reassuring. Intermittent streetlights illuminated crumbling, graffiti-laced buildings, grimy billboards and narrow, trash-lined streets. A thick, man-made haze hung in the air, hinting of recent fires. It was a grim, disordered landscape.
Heather leaned her head wearily against the glass. I could see the toll of the trip in the shadows under her eyes. In contrast, the other passengers filled the cabin with restless energy and easy conversation. Trying to muster a little enthusiasm, she took a deep breath and said, “This is going to be fun.” She could not have been more wrong.
THE STATION
The station was a congested mess. Cab drivers jockeyed with families, vendors and beggars filled every inch of space. Despite the late hour, three more buses arrived in rapid succession, each dumping a full load of passengers onto the tarmac. We stepped tentatively into the throng. The smell of unwashed bodies was dizzying. After collecting our packs, we headed for the station, elbows out.
Once inside, we bypassed the sleepy attendant and located the schedule board. What little hope we had of catching an early bus out was quickly dashed. The first shuttle didn’t leave until 7:30am. This meant we had approximately eight hours to kill.
By this point, much of the crowd had made its way inside. The sudden spike in noise was too much. I was hungry, I was tired, but most of all, I just wanted some quiet to contemplate our next move. We dragged our packs to the back of the station and found a seat on one of the benches. Heather grabbed the guidebook to see if there was decent lodging nearby. Shaking her head, she read aloud the description of the neighborhood. There was nothing around, no hostels, no hotels, no B&Bs. In fact, the final paragraph advised that, due to “undesirable elements,” it was best to steer clear of the area after dark. If I hadn’t been so exhausted, I would have shredded that book into a hundred pieces.
Thankfully, the station was clearing out. With things now quiet– and the book’s warning in mind – we decided to stay put. “The sun will be up in a few hours,” I told Heather, “and a missed night’s sleep won’t kill us.” She cast a dubious glance at the hard, wooden benches, the dirty floor and the guy sleeping noisily on the far side of the room. “Okay let’s do it.”
After playing a few games of cards and double-checking the schedule for the next day, we piled our stuff onto the benches and tried for a nap. Minutes later, Heather sat up and asked me if I smelled something “funny.” At that moment, I was more annoyed with the exaggerated snoring emanating from our drunken neighbor. With Heather’s prompting, I inhaled deeply. There was something unpleasant in the air. The smell was familiar, yet repulsive. We checked the soles of our shoes, turned over our packs and looked under the bench. Nothing. I told Heather to forget about it, but the more we tried to ignore the stench the stronger it became.
Fed up, I cautiously approached the side of the room where the guy was sleeping. What I found shocked me. For a moment, my mind refused to acknowledge what my eyes took in. Sitting just inches from the man’s dangling head was a tremendous pile of vomit. It appeared as if he had ingested a whole chicken and several pounds of rice for the single purpose of re-depositing it undigested on the floor. Under the florescent lights, the extruded mound gave off an unworldly sheen. The shape reminded me of Mt. Kilimanjaro – monstrous, unmoving, primordial.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to empty my head of the image. Seeing the expression on my face, Heather came rushing over. “Oh my God!” she gasped and then started to giggle. Thinking she had gone mad, I just stared. Her madness was infectious, however, and I, too, began to laugh. Catching her breath, she said “We’ve got to get out of here.” I agreed. We grabbed our belongings and dashed for the exit.
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