Hostile

The hostel has swinging branches, little corner patches of wood and bright striped cloth, palm fronds and rope chairs, a canopy of cover. There´s an old guy with two parrots on his shoulders who doesn´t even work here and all the inhabitants look like they´re sharing blue mushroom teacups. The walls are moving man, the music has colors dude, the commenters have skinny limbs, the good sunglasses and the interesting haircuts and there are almost as many half eaten bowls of rice and beans as there are half-baked philosophical conversations.

Yesterday, six hours on the horses through the mud and jungle road and I pulled the brown one into a canter and nearly got bucked right off, then our crazy Swedish guide suffering perhaps from a touch of Tourette´s called her own horse an asshole, took us into a tomb with bats and proceeded to tell us about the three children found sacrificed with their skulls bashed in and hoped aloud that the cave would not collapse and bury us all.

Tomorrow we leave at 3 AM to see the sunrise over the ruins and then run our packs to Semuc Champey, where green pools sit in limestone and only those that can make the difficult trek can even hope to catch a glimpse, let alone jump in.

I´m missing July 4th, but I hope you have a good one while I remind myself it´s not a bad consolation prize to be in Guatemala...plus I got the good bunk bed this time and I´m not giving it up...not for anything in the world...