I have a mysterious problem with my pants that makes very little sense to me or anyone I question. Other people’s pants seem to degrade in various ways. Holes in the knee, frayed ends, a broken zipper—these are the usual symptoms that takes people’s pants out of commission. During my question of people I discovered…
Mountains can teach us plenty. In Morocco, a mountain taught me that I was an idiot for climbing it, since it almost resulted in my falling from it. In Chile’s La Campana Parque National, my friends and I learned after camping on a mountain that we should have packed more water and less wine. Most…
I am playing the best pool of my life. Not once, in four games tonight did I cause the cue ball become airborne and jump over the f-cking rail of the third floor loft of an Assisi bar, falling three stories below into the dinner of an displeased Italian man capable of wild hand gesturing…
I am at the entrance of a stone staircase built into the side of Antigua, Guatemala’s Cerro de la Cruz, Hill of the Cross. This is the beginning of a an 8k run dubbed some years back the “Suicide Death Run Sponsored by The Sore Calves Inc.” Every bit of the 8k is different degrees…
Say what anyone will about Guatemala, no one can dispute the fact that the country’s pants are stuffed with avocados. Avocados are to Guatemala what people are to China—they are everywhere in absurd abundance. They are so abundant that people nicknamed Guatemalans living in Antigua green bellies for the inordinate amount of avocados they eat…
Four types of meat sizzled in front of Doña Eva. “What’s that meat?” I asked, pointing to one. “Chicken,” she said with a smile. “And that?” “Beef.” “And that?” “Pork.” “And that one?” I asked indicating the fourth. “This one,” she hesitated, “This one is just meat.” When she said that I noticed that there…
I’ve held back to long. I need to write about what has brought more joy to the expats in Antigua, Guatemala than when El Muro started paying people to imbibe. Rather than fill this post with unwanted ajectives and annoying ‘-lys’ that my delight in it would cause, I’ll give you just to stoic facts,…
Today was the day my return ticket was book back to the USA. But instead of being on a plane, I`m in a cafe off Antigua`s Central Park, a red wine in front of me and another week of Antigua on the calendar. Antigua grabs ahold of you like a sea creature. I should have…
It wasn’t supposed to happen. I did everything I could to avoid it. I generously budgeted the precious commodity–time–to have plenty of it to spend with friends grabbing a last beer, or final coffee, a closing conversation, a definitive night of debauchery etc., where we could all sigh nostalgically and offer mutual allowences of how…
