A Bad Wrap

(This entry penned by Trevor. It may not be suitable for the faint of heart or at least those prone to a queasy stomach)

Leaving Antigua was met with mixed emotions. We arrived, we learned, we adjusted - We had conquered! Moving to another city required us to start all over again. We were mostly packed the night before so we anticipated an easy departure. Mark woke early, as he did several times before, and had hot coffee and tea ready, and was preparing to use up the rest of our groceries on vegetarian omelets. Although prearranged plans were in motion, there were new issues underway for which we had not adequately prepared. Apparently as we were fast asleep and enraptured with sweet dreams of a vacation in paradise, Montezuma, disguised as the sand man, crept in and gave us a wallop we won't soon forget.

Mark was the first to notice, and consequently his omelets ended up a little runny, and I don't mean the eggs. While Bryan and I were trying to finish off the last of the eggs, juice and tortillas, Mark was hard at work using up the remaining toilet paper. As an act of sheer mercy, which can only help to prove the existence of God, Mark completely dried up just moments before our driver appeared to begin our three hour journey to our next destination, Lake Atitlan.

The highway was modern and well paved, but the small villages and towns looked like they were straight out of Old Mexico. Homes and businesses seemed mostly constructed out of concrete bricks and brightly painted. Many structures were incomplete and small stores of bamboo and grass roofs were dispersed throughout. There was a lot of traffic and surprisingly enough, a good percentage of the vehicles appeared to be relatively new. Gas was approximately $4, and was sold by the gallon instead of the liter.

Throughout the drive we were constantly ascending higher into the mountains. As we reached the crest, we entered a town that wound around narrow streets and steep hillsides. To me it seemed like a latino version of Eureka Springs, but without the quaint atmosphere and charm. This was more of a typical Guatemalan village, filled with perros, peddlers and pedestrians.

Descending toward Lake Atitlan

The road unexpectedly took a sharp plunge, and for the next 30 minutes we descend toward the lake. The road was only two lanes and in the process of being repaved, so the construction added to our time. The road snaked steeply down the mountainside and eventually ended at the small lakeside village of Panajachel. We then transferred from the van into a speedboat, which whisked us across the lake to our destination, Club Ven Aca. We checked into our domicile then went directly to the restaurant. By this time Mark and I were both feeling a bit uncomfortable, and we had hoped a good meal would help. We were served fish tacos which looked and smelled wonderful, but no sooner than we started eating it became a race back to the apartment and into the bathroom.

Arriving by boat to Club Ven Aca

The next 18 hours proved to be a constant marathon of unimaginable discomfort. In stark contrast to our previous apartment, our new facility had only one bathroom instead of three. There were no pharmacies nearby for medicine and no stores for necessities. Mark and I were taking turns perching on the commode then on our knees staring into it and then back to sitting, and again back on our knees, and occasionally requiring both positions simultaneously. When one of us showed a momentary lapse in production the other immediately took over so as to keep things moving. I had delirious visions of being handcuffed to Colonel Sanders while Ronald McDonald dipped us back and forth in a vat of rancid oil.

Mark and I temporarily shared the bed closest to the bathroom since the location of the next available bed would have assured disaster when the inopportune moment struck. Bryan was fortunate and did not partake in this ancient Central American tradition with us. Instead, he worked overtime with attempts to soothe our misery while keeping the bathroom stocked. He brought us occasional green tea or bites of fruit which went down gratefully but were speedily met with eviction.

The night crept along as we continued our regular devotion with the local porcelain pot between moments of helplessness on the sweat laden bed. By morning we were both completely exhausted. We lay motionless as Bryan tried to determine if we had survived the night and to what extent. With no small degree of effort, we made our way to the restaurant, managed to keep down our breakfast, and began our recovery back to the realm of the upright.

Thinking back as to what likely initiated our traumatic adventure, the only thing that Mark and I ate that Bryan didn't was from McDonald's. Bryan ate a McPollo (chicken) burger while Mark and I split a McChicken wrap, since they were so large. I remember at the time thinking how it was just slathered in mayo. It's ironic that we are more than a thousand miles away from home and eating in dirty little local hangouts with no trouble and then end up getting deathly ill from a McDonald's. I assure you that darn clown was no fun at all!