More Trips and Old Books

So I've started collecting some of the local superstitions from Tat Lu and the crew. They're pretty serious about them. I find them fascinating and sometimes very funny (no disrespect). Here are a few:

If you step over a broom that's been knocked on the floor, you will have all daughters.

If you walk behind a dog (there are so many dogs here I don't know how this is avoidable), or, like kids here often do, ride on a dog's back, you will also have all daughters.

If you find a hole in the ground, don´t stick your hand in it because your luck might get left behind when you pull your hand out.

If you're baby is born while the moon is full and high, your child will be smart and a hard worker.

If the moon comes out and catches you walking with a candle or torch in hand, you'll go gray.

If you sit where an elderly person just sat, while the seat is still warm, you'll start growing old.

If you joke with or bother an old man in the street, his “oldness” will pass to you.

If you point at the sun while it has a rainbow ring, your finger will become crooked (arthritis). If you point at it with your lips, your mouth will go crooked (la boca chueca).

If a pregnant lady walks under the sun while it has a rainbow ring, her child will have “deficiencies.”

If a pregnant lady disrespects the water jug—sits on it, or blows into it—she'll get a fat neck after the baby is born (sounds like goiters maybe).


We went to the lake yesterday, Wednesday. It was perfect weather. I listened to April by Sun Kil Moon while we rode down the mountain standing in the back of a pickup. What a ride. Mark Kozelek is a freaking musical genius. The views on that ride are unbelievable. It's impossible not to smile when you whip around the first bend, and all that brilliant blue suddenly appears cupped in volcanic fingers. So much beauty concentrated in a single moment, a wink before the road veers away, is like a secret reassurance of something long hoped for.

The pickup takes you to San Juan where you get a tuc-tuc, a very small three-wheeled covered scooter-like thing, to San Marcos. They're actually pretty fun to ride in. I think it would be a great job for a teenage kid, just riding around all day up and down the mountain in such a beautiful area. We stopped for a minute during that ride so that the driver could talk to this guy who looked like he'd just come back from working some fields or orchards somewhere. He had on a cowboy hat and was holding this crazing c-shaped blade. They talked for a bit in some dialect we didn't recognize. The guy on the street chewed on a lemon while he talked, occasionally spitting green bursts of peel into the air. I sat and watched him chew and spit, thinking—all that zing in his mouth; each bite must've been like a tiny celebration, a way to briefly cheat the workday's monotony.

Once we got down to San Marcos Andy stopped at a street-front shop to get some chips and I got distracted looking around, as per usual. There were some kids playing soccer across the street and the ball got away from them and rolled over to us. A Guatemalan about our age intercepted it and kicked it back, but it wasn't the best kick, and the ball swerved and almost went right into the window of a little shop on the other side of the street where a little kid was waiting to attend customers. Little kids are always running shops and errands for their parents here. The ball came flying fast and landed just under the window, and the kid didn't even flinch. The other kids laughed, got their ball and ran off. We headed down the sidewalk towards the lake.

On the way there I noticed that this little cafe place had a bookshelf in the lounge area. There was a guy playing guitar out front, and another one singing. They weren't bad. We were trying to make good time so we could get back for lunch, so I figured I'd stop in and investigate on the way out if we had time. I did stop and get some tacos at the restaurant next door though. Swimming requires lots of fuel.

We found a great spot on the lake where we could get right into deep water off of the rocks. I brought my snorkeling gear this time, which worked out great. I think one of my favorite things is just floating on my back and looking up at the sky and the trees. And the rocks get so warm in the sun. Great for laying on to dry off and warm up. There are always all kinds of crazy lizards running around on them too.

On the way back I stopped in at that cafe to see what they had. I asked if the books were for sale, and the guy was like, well they're usually just for guests to read while they hangout, but if you find one you like we could settle on a price (all this in Spanish of course). I think it was one of those places where travelers just leave/exchange their old books. The selection in places like that is usually like what you would find on the bookshelves at Andrea's Grandma's cabin. This one was actually pretty good though. It had books in all kinds of languages. Among them I found an old copy of Simone de Beauvoir's Les Mandarins in Italian. I was a little disappointed that it wasn't in French, but then again, the fact that it was translated into Italian made it feel even more exotic for some reason. Plus it was a beautiful book. A light-blue cover with off-white wear-and-tear around the edges and what looks like a child's shoe print on the upper left corner. And the pages smell wonderfully aged. So I decided I needed it. I asked him how much. He didn't know so he did the old, how much do you want to pay for it? I laughed and said, how much do I want to pay? He kind of laughed, and we looked at the book and each other for a minute, neither wanting to make the first offer. So I asked him where he was from. He looked African, and sang in a way that reminded me of a certain Brazilian style of music, so I thought maybe he was from Brazil. Turns out he's from Honduras, and his name is Victor. So we talked a bit. He's was a real cool guy. I'm pretty sure it's his cafe. Then he looked at this British gypsy girl that I guess is friends with them and hangs out there all the time, and asked her what she thought. She comes over and looks at it. I don't think she had ever heard of the book or knows how to read Italian. She looks at it and says, how much would you pay? So I give in and make the first offer: like 35 quetzales. She pretty much says that's crazy talk and that something more like 150 would be a good price. I give a whistle and then take a pensive stance and say, that's a lot. Then she says that for less than 100 it wouldn't be worth taking it out of the library, but I can tell the guy really wants to make a little money today. So I say that I don't even have a hundred, which was the truth. I explain that I just came from the lake and that I don't have much on me. Then I add the old, but we live in Santa Clara and come down here often, so maybe another time. By then the girl has walked away, and the guy is like, how much do you have? Fifty? Now we're talkin. I pull out my notebook, where I sometimes keep money when I don't have pockets, and finger forty, thinking I might try and get him down to forty, but then decide that fifty is probably about right, and say, fifty then? He kind of looks over his shoulder to see if the girl is looking, and then nods. So we make the deal. I don't know Italian yet, but I figure it's a good way to start. Plus the novelty of it was too much to pass up. An old, worn copy of Les Mandarins in Italian from a small cafe in Guatemala? Come on.

In hindsight, maybe that guy was just working there as one of the musicians that day and decided to sell me a book from the hotel/cafe library and pocket the money. Haha.