A palm tree in Guatemala
Friday, January 8, 2010
A bunch of palm trees are not as interesting as one palm tree.
A singular palm tree became my respite during a New Year’s Eve vacation to Guatemala. I was with Adriana and her sister. I have never traveled with two women—at least in the physical sense. They are younger than me. At times it seemed I was in a reality show.
I was in La Barrona, (pop. 900), where no one spoke conversational English. I recalled a few phrases from high school before I flunked out of Spanish II.
On our first day at La Baronna (sandbar), Adriana and I came upon a large sandbar with the slope of a crescent moon. Adriana was in La Barrona a few years ago when she volunteered for a sea turtle conservation effort. She said the sandbar was new. I headed for the palm tree perched above the sandbar. The palm tree was in an estuary steps from the Pacific Ocean. Herons as thin as bamboo shoots abounded along a riverway. I saw pelicans and Great Egrets. Maybe Kingfishers, I’m not sure.
The palm tree reminded me of those minimalist Corona beer commercials. No one was within miles. I figured the one coconut in the palm tree would fall down and knock me in the head. I had no iPod or cell phone. Just a book of Raymond Carver short stories, a notebook and some back issues of “Baseball America.”
I love the timeless possibility of an ocean horizon more than the momentary adventure of the crashing sea. A few times during our week in La Barrona I made my way to the palm tree I called my own. There were no other footprints in the sand besides mine from previous visits. Some visitors to my secret spot saw sea debris lodged in the sandbar. I only saw the ocean and virgin sunsets.
The world spins on dreams. I thought a lot about this under the palm tree. Adriana has a fast-talking upbeat friend name Douglas who took an eight hour Chicken Bus ride to reconnect with her. He is a fisherman who wants to spend three years working in Houston, Tx. to better his family.
Just about every night I was at the beach I spotted a man walking the beach looking for turtle eggs. He was always a different man, but similar in that he was always alone. Every man I saw carried a machete by his side. The foreword silhouettes of these wandering Guatemalan men under a full moon will be etched in my mind. Three-quarters of Guatemala—the most populous country in Central America—-lives under the poverty level. But these men have the freedom of the ocean.
We took the Chicken Bus to La Baronna from Antigua. The buses are so named because people cram into them like chickens. They are reclaimed coach and school buses from the United States. During one connection on the way to La Barrona, I used the bathroom at a gutted out gas station.
When I came out of the loo I saw Adriana sitting on a curb between the two gas station pumps. Her backpack was at her right side. Her sunglasses sparkled in the piercing sun. She looked beautiful. She was waiting for her favorite bus, the Princess, whose spinning wheels takes you to La Barrona. She is always waiting for the next adventure, which is what I love about her. I thought about that, too, under my palm tree, alone and looking at the fortuity of the ocean.
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