Adíos Cobán

I’m on a bus leaving the city. It’s smelly and bumpy. It’s familiar stores fly past for the last time, at least for a long time. On to Antigua and elsewhere. The ride is long and uncomfortable. I’m sitting with two shopping bags and a book bag. I’m unable to move more than a couple inches. The window is wide open and the driver wants it that way. The city gives way to green mountains and valleys full of colorful shanties. Mayans walk along the roadside with fruits or bundles of sticks. The ride to Antigua is long and hot. Jill’s sitting in the middle between the driver and me. The country flies past and the traffic makes the towns creep past. Guatemala City is an enormous mass of humanity. It’s streets are clogged with lovingly detailed chicken buses, pickups straining and roaring under the weight of 20 Mayans, and a few BMWs. Everyone is going about their business. We eventually make it through the city and fly the last stretch to Antigua. Everyone is anxious to reach our destination. The bumpy cobblestone streets mark our entrance into Antigua. On and on we drive through one or two story plaster buildings. I see the Parque Central and we stop next to the no parking sign. We disembark and everyone gets their bearings to find some bed they’ve booked. The volcano puffs smoke over us all.