I freaking love to travel. Seriously, over the last several years, I think I’d forgotten how much. Faced with having to put Charlie in a kennel and remembering the uneasiness being outside of your comfort zone can bring, I’d stuck to my normal vacation routine in the years leading up to my move to Puerto Rico. Washington a couple times of year. A week in Colorado. A couple of weekends at the NASCAR races. Perhaps a weekend at South Padre Island. But this week’s trip reminded me how many places I have left to see in the world.
Destination? Guatemala. Since I wasn’t invited to our dealer meeting in Vegas, a coworker scheduled me to spend a couple of days with the dealer there, to work on a variety of marketing and sales projects. I was excited about Guatemala; not only would it add a new country to my list, but one of my good friends from grad school lives there. I hadn’t seen him in nearly 11 years. We exchanged a few emails, and scheduled dinner at his house one night.
Before leaving work for the weekend just before my trip, my boss gave me a big speech on being safe in Guatemala. He said it was the most dangerous country we travel to, and even went so far as to suggest I bring something to cover my blonde hair. I consider myself fairly well-traveled, but haven’t really been anywhere on my own that would elicit fear (well, if I’d seen “Taken” before I went to Paris alone, I may have thought differently, but I digress.) My imagination started to run and I was feeling just a tiny bit apprehensive as I boarded the plane.
Well, once again, my expectations were not met. And this time, in a good way. After the comments from my boss and coworkers, I was expecting Guatemala to be similar to Nicaragua. To be fair, memories of the time I spent in Nicaragua are cloaked in a fog of inebriation. (I was there for five days for a wedding, which turned out to be a week-long string of parties.) But regardless, I was expecting a barely developed city, lacking entirely of anything resembling a skyscraper with mostly dirt roads and no shortage of machinegun-clad guards. I remember my Nicaraguan friend keeping small packets of Saltines in the center compartment of his SUV to hand out to the children who swarmed the windows at every stop sign. Guatemala was nothing like this (well, there were still plenty of armed guards, but they mostly used shotguns.)
I disembarked the plane and tried to exude a look of cool boredom I’d imagine someone who frequented countries caught in the middle of the Mexican drug war would display. Once outside, I was very pleasantly surprised. Guatemala City was not at all what I was expecting. It continues to bother me that in this job I land in countries I know virtually nothing about and Guatemala was no exception. First off, I wasn’t expecting to be in the mountains, but the elevation of Guatemala City is just under 5000 feet. Even though it was dark when I landed, I could still make out the peaks and valleys that run through the city.
The first shock was the city itself. Not only were the roads paved, but they were in a much better state of repair than most of Puerto Rico. And it’s an actual CITY, developed with all the glitz and glamor of any US city – and home to nearly three million people. No, this was no Managua.
I was also excited to get to Guatemala because I figured I’d be forced to practice my Spanish. Alas, it was not to be. I walked up to the check-in counter at the hotel and the employee took one look at me and said, “Good evening, ma’am, do you have a reservation?” Damnit. Given the easy way out, I’ll always take it.
The next day the Service Manager picked me up and gave me a tour of one of their service facilities and their parts warehouse. This allowed me to get a good look as we drove around the city. For lunch we went to a restaurant in the hillside with a great view of all the mountains, volcanoes and the city below. I was intrigued. Over the course of the day they briefly told me of all the historical and cultural places to see in Guatemala. I began to regret the short duration of my stay.
My friend picked me up that evening to take me to his house for dinner. I don’t remember saying goodbye to my Central American friends after graduation all those years ago. Knowing me, it was a very light and informal goodbye, hoping that by keeping the emotion at bay I could forget that never again would we be a daily part of each other’s lives, and that the odds of even seeing each other again were slim. Reuniting with him in the lobby of the hotel felt like we were together just yesterday, if we both did look a bit older. Once again I appreciated the friends I can just pick up with no matter how much time or distance has lapsed.
He lives in a brick house that could easily be plopped into the suburbs of any US city. As most people I’ve known in similar countries do, there was a maid/nanny. As he explained to me, it’s easier to do more with less in Guatemala. Is he a Guatemalan one-percenter? Probably not, as I’d guess is the case for anyone making an HONEST living in a country that’s no stranger to a little corruption.
I met his wife and daughter, and over the span of a couple of hours, some Guatemalan finger food, and a bottle of wine, we caught up on the events that had helped to shape us over the last 11 years. Meeting his wife and starting a family. The passing of my mother and addition of nephews and a niece to my life. The course of our careers. And naturally, reliving some memories of the years I fondly recall as the best of my life. Like most people I’ve kept in touch with from Texas A&M, we’d both lost that business school drive to one day run the world and learned to appreciate a balance in life. All the while, I’m thinking that never in all the time that I’ve known him had I imagined a scenario where I’d be sitting in his living room in Guatemala, journeying down memory lane. And once again I gave a little thanks to the universe for the opportunities I’ve had in life.
I know enough not to be fooled by the developed familiarity of the city. According to the US Department of State’s Travel website, Guatemala has one of the highest violent crime rates in Latin America. During the first seven months of 2011, an average of 42 murders a week were reported in Guatemala City alone. Since 2009, 25 Americans have been murdered and six American women have reported being raped. A weak, overworked, inefficient judicial system has given criminals confidence in the fact that there is little chance they will be caught and punished.
Before dropping me at the airport, we had lunch in an outdoor mall. The Service Manager told me that people enjoy coming to places like that because the parking is safe and the security is tight. My friend had told me that there was a streak of cell phone thefts (the above mentioned website is very clear about keeping laptops and cell phones out of view.) When I mentioned this to the dealer folks, the parts manager told me that last year someone put a gun to his head for his phone. Granted, this could, and does, happen anywhere. When I was a kid, my mother was robbed at gunpoint at the Shakey’s Pizza in Puyallup, Washington. But I think the statistics I’ve shared here warrant a bit of extra caution.
Regardless of the crime rate, I’m still a little enamored of Guatemala. The history, the cultural, the natural beauty and the gorgeous weather make it easy to see why my friend went back after graduation. Whether another company sponsored trip or a long weekend on my own volition, I’m going to do my research and take him up on his offer to show me the sites of the place he so proudly calls home. And frankly, at first glance, I can see why.
