I’m not a resident nor have been here for whatever time is required to earn the right to refer to Guatemala City with the post-title slang, but that would be the exclamation today by someone who is/has.
We were supposed to leave this country we love (a bit) today and now it looks like Friday. Hours in line-ups at various equivalents to ICBC departments playing musical chairs (you all sit in a big bank of chairs and all get up and move one left, and forward-right when advancing a row, when the lucky person front-left gets his/her turn, so with say fifty people you do this fifty times, and they don’t think it’s hilarious)
I did this at two locations and all went smoothly until the very last moment, when the document needed was right in front of me, and the guy looked up and said: NO.
Oh man – heard that in the last few days. The date on something somewhere in the huge stack of documents was dated tomorrow.
So. We’ll see tomorrow. It’s living 3rd world cliches. But given time is not a factor in the big picture, it’s all pretty cool. You get to be part of this strange big thing, and it’s not actually hurting you, it’s just bumping up against you. No bruises even so far. It can get very nasty, specially here in Guate, but so far so good, and how often can you say, thousands of miles away from home, you’ve descended into the depths of a complete fuck-up?
As is glaringly obvious, there are two distinct classes of people who do this round-the-world thing: people who know how to do it, and people who don’t. The riders who’ve had forays into Mexico and Central America before they bite off the big one are in the first camp. People who come down from pretty Vancouver lilly-white, and get smacked around, don’t. But it’s the best thing to do, ever.