Volcano Guatemala – It Could Happen to You

The first page of the newspaper feels like oily sandpaper from the volcanic ash clinging to the ink of the lead photo which depicts glowing lava from El Volcan de Fuego, which just blew a plume 600 meters into the troposphere. It adds immediacy to the Prensa Libre’s coverage of El Volcan de Fuego’s February, 7 2015th eruption.

As Fuego erupted, I napped unaware—synchronously dreaming about an inevitable earthquake set to strike Antigua, Guatemala. After three unnecessarily unproductive days, I awoke from my nap avowed to finish something—anything—an article—some freelance contract hours—song—book. I took the path of assured success and settled in to finish the 100 or so pages that remained of Carl Hiaasen’s 2013 novel, “Bad Monkey.”

This kept me offline for a full five hours. What could I possibly miss in five hours spent offline? Apparently a lot. El Volcan de Fuego can live up to its name and hurl enough ash into the air to cover Antigua in a thin layer. And for anyone trying to fly out that day? Try again, when one of the most active volcanos in Central America isn’t doing its thing.

In The Shadow of El Volcan de Fuego

Living in his shadow, unable to buy even toilet paper without a glimpse of his often smoking cone, it’s easy to forget what a maniac The Volcano of Fire can be. It’s a safe bet the Mayan’s lost histories are rife with tales of just what an ashhole Fuego is.

In Colonial times, Fuego leveled the town of Yepocapa in 1582. In 1932, it blasted ash all the way to El Salvador and Honduras. Then in 1999, it partied like it was 1999 and entered a new period of activity. Luckily, February 2015, Fuego’s eruption was without loss of life, and fewer people were evacuated than attended your first-grade choir concert.

Apocalypse on the Outside, Fruit Flies Within

While ash covered everything outside, fruit flies covered the kitchen. I’d say there are about 100 fruit flies subletting my kitchen. Ever since I started thinking about them as subletters, I’m less disgusted in their choice to exist with Amy and I. The truth is, it has been complete cleaning anarchy around here ever since we got a maid. Before, we actually gave somewhat of a shit about making messes. Before Amy and I—not the tidiest of roommates—knew that sooner or later there would be an hour of reckoning and we would need to undo all the piles of chaos and dirty dishes we had left here and there.

Now, we count the hours until Teresa the maid comes and wonder how things got so bad. We wish we weren’t this way, but looking around the house and knowing we created this, it’s hard to escape the fact of who we’ve turned into as adult people. Well, at least we have something to work on. . .

Part of the problem is that there are craft supplies EVERYWHERE from Amy’s three-day dinosaur-making-binge that she embarked upon in order to adorn Cole’s birthday party with dinosaurs. What a beautifully thoughtful mess! Cole may have just turned 33, but dinosaur-wise, he has a lot in common with your standard eight-year-old boy after he sees Jurassic Park for the first time. This is why I generally trust Cole as a human being.

I was proud on Cole’s birthday night that I got in early and got a bit of work done. There comes a point during freelancing days when your bank account is embarrassed at its own balance that work simply must get done. It is a point where if you are not working, you are not where you want to be because you know that this dream you call your life still hangs in a precarious finantial balance. So I went to bed planning to work binge the next day. . .

And at the End of the World, Will We Jam?

But where does one draw the line between an all-day jam sessions and work? When a volcano wakes up and not so subtly and reminds you of life’s precarious lease, and when that day you are invited to a brunch/jam session with some of Antigua’s current musical finest, work can wait. Again. You can work mañana, if there is a mañana.

I love this town partly because it’s impossible to not always be missing out on something awesome. Even while I was having a blast at the jam session, some other friends were on a mountain overlooking the Panchoy valley, having a blast. Fun, charity work, hikes, jam sessions, nights out, day drinking, hanging out in gardens, hanging out on rooftop terraces, weekend trips to the beach or lake or new undiscovered corners, quiet afternoons in surrounding villages, coffee conversations and new friends are always erupting everywhere. I’ve said about about New York and the same goes for Antigua, Guatemala—it’s impossible to do anything because you are already doing everything.

So while people north of the border ask me why I keep coming back to Antigua, Guatemala, the question I ask myself down here is, “Why do I ever leave Antigua?”

The Jam Session At The End of the World