Many readers are surprised at the number of people I manage to meet on the road. I am after all painfully shy at home. I am not one to cross a room to start a conversation in my own country, preferring to be a silent observer than an active participant. Mostly I never feel like I have that much to talk about. So what interesting things do I manage to come up with here?

Of course, there are the easy where are you from, how long are you traveling for, and what do you do at home. We can do this in either English or Spanish, easy enough. Usually if there isn't a detectable accent in the first answer or the second answer is less than a month, the conversation halts.

From here it gets more interesting, for there are several common themes that all "I'm here for more than a month and recognize that there are restaurants other than McDonalds" Central American travelers can relate to, namely:

"How is your shower?" You see, all the showers here are electric. Europeans, don't tune out just yet, because these are not NICE electric showers like you are used to, what with your adjustable temperature and all. Oh, no. The showerhead has a heating element with but one setting: on and off. The heat comes on when the water starts to flow, and the only way to adjust the temperature is by varying the pressure. More pressure equals less heat, and vice versa. Astute readers will have already figured out that this means a freezing torrent or a boiling trickle. It seems to take most people about 2 weeks to get really proficient at shower operation, although I have heard others complain for upward of a month. Of course some showers are inherently warmer than others, but operator error seems to be the biggest contributor to dissatisfaction in the bathroom. You can tell you're in a really nice place when you can feel the electric tingle in the knob.

"Do you have a rooster?" Because even if you don't, odds are that you do. Or if not a rooster, perhaps a dog, or an intersection nearby. There is but one thing that surprised me about Central America: the noise. It's unbelievable. Even in places outside of the cities that you would expect to be more peaceful, there is always something that makes sleeping impossible. OK, explanation. In cartoons and storybooks, roosters know that their single job in life is to make sure that the farmer is woken up when the sun rises. Not so--it appears that their real job is to make sure that everyone is awake, all the time. Perhaps you were asleep and didn't know that the wind is blowing? Good thing you have a rooster. But what if you--or your neighbors, or someone 3 miles away--don't have a rooster? Well, that's why there are dogs. Dogs are also good for letting you know what other dogs are up to. If another dog is walking by your house, your dog will let you know. Should all else fail, certainly there is an intersection nearby. There is an actual driver's license test question here that asks: "When is it most appropriate to use your horn? A. When proceeding through an intersection where you have no intention of stopping (short bursts). B. When the car nine cars in front of you has stopped for a reason that is not immediately apparent to you (long blast until the problem has resolved). C. When you are the operator of a microbus, it's 5:30am, and there are no people waiting to be picked up (medium length blasts, because people want to be woken up to come ride with you). D. All of the above." Tough one, eh? Hint: it's D. Just use it all the time.

"How's your poo?" Ahh, my favorite. Did you know that there are approximately five hundred and forty-six organisms just waiting here to make your bathroom experience an unpleasant one? No one here has any shame about this question, and there is never a time too inappropriate to bring it up. Dinner time, first date, no matter. The lay person's vocabulary quickly expands to include such descriptive terms as "loose," "wet," and "greenish-brown with blue spots." Fortunately you can divide all of those nasty buggers into two categories--'amoebic and/or bacterial' and 'this crap isn't ever going away, is it?' Pretty much all of the first category go away when you throw enough Flagyl, or if it's really nasty Cipro, at it. The second category prefers to wait for you to die first.

Somehow I have managed to become immune to just about all of these. I watch those around me cautiously soak and scrub their vegetables, take their water bottle to brush their teeth, and cross the street to avoid food vendors. I do none of these things, and you'll be happy to know that my GI health here is better than it's ever been. Or maybe you won't be happy to know that. But you're a better person for the knowing, trust me.

A Farewell to Xela

This mystery flower pot is always full of fresh flowers on a corner in Xela

I'm not living in Xela anymore. Avid readers, Myrtle Knudsegarden among you, will recall from the last dispatch that I am about to go to Mexico to meet up with the parents. My roommate and good friend Kirsten was going to go with me, and we were all set to take off this weekend. But, as often happens when you put two independent, strong- minded people together for too long, we had a pretty big fight. It was completely my fault, no sense beating around the bush about that. Speaking in technical terms, I was being what scientists call a "poopoo head." Yes, Myrtle, I apologized. I do remember a few things from Miss Manners.

I moved back to San Pedro to get away from the situation. It's a comfortable place for me, and always very beautiful. Running from my problems? Perhaps, but not really, since the problem was me. I prefer to think of it as a self-imposed exile from my self- imposed exile. Life was beginning to get a bit out of hand anyway.

Later in the week I went back up to Xela to apologize. We talked some and ended up sitting on her steps, talking and laughing almost like old times, and then we ran into each other the next night (I had only planned on staying one night, but it didn't work out that way) at a party. We went back to our little basement bar, harassed the staff, got our hands painted on the ceiling and talked and danced with a newlywed Guatemalan couple. I'm glad that we're friends again.

Kristy and I dancing with the newlyweds.

But in any case, I couldn't convince her to still go to Mexico with me. That's a shame, not only because we always have a really good time together (I wouldn't throw a term like 'Central American Sarah' around loosely, you know), but also because Mexico is pretty expensive, in Central American terms anyway, and I won't have anyone to split expenses with--until I pick up a new travel partner, as I always seem to. I doubt I'll be spending too much time there though, I think that I'll probably work my way back through Belize, cut across the tip of Guatemala, and move on to the Honduran coast to learn to dive. I'm getting excited.

Finding Salvation in Saint Peter

Water is a very powerful relaxant for me, and there's something very special and magical about this lake. There's something elemental about sitting by a roaring fire on the lakeshore, looking up at the stars and feeling the wind on my face. Once it gets dark and you can't see that you're in the middle of a volcano it feels very much like my cottage in Ontario. Very peaceful. Very relaxing.

I'm not the only one that thinks so. St. Pete is a gathering place. Every time I come here I end up running into lots of people I know. This time it was some friends of my other roommate, an Italian girl that I recognized as being the only person to study one of the Mayan languages--Kek'chi, I think--at my old school in Xela, and another friend from I met right after I went back to Xela from the lake the last time. It was good to have people around like that.

But on the other hand, San Pedro has given me enough solitude to catch up on some reading and do a lot of long overdue writing. I have a story that has been itching to come out for the better part of four years, and after finally being able to tell a few people about it over the last weeks and taking a long walk along the beach one afternoon, I was able to capture it on paper in a way I'm happy with. Some salvation from an old demon.

My other friend Renee came to the lake on Monday to make sure that I was ok. Transportation at the lake can be interesting. There are a couple of roads here and there that go to most places, but by and large boats connect the villages around the lake. Renee wasn't able to leave Xela until pretty late in the evening. Her bus would bring her to Panajachel, aka Gringotenango, which is 12km across the lake from San Pedro. The boats stop running around sunset, so she wouldn't be able to get across when she got in at 8pm.

We figured that it was going to be much easier for me to just meet her in Pana. I talked to the lancheros in the morning to find out how late I could get a boat, and was told 6:30. I ambled down to the dock at 6pm, they asked me if I was going to Pana, I said yes, they told me that the last boat was at FIVE. I was a bit miffed. With Renee already on the way and no way to get in touch with her, I had to find a way across or around or under the lake. Naturally, the helpful lancheros were more than happy to take me across privately--for 200 quetzals (us$25ish, or--damn it Brits--13 pounds). The normal fare is Q15. I immediately figured that my pale skin was making me an attractive target. I asked around town some, and while everyone I talked to thought I was being taken the general agreement was that the price was only going to go up the darker it got, so I'd best go while it was relatively cheap. Grrrr.

The nice thing is that Pana is pretty cheap. Our room was only Q16 each, and the rest of the evening--dinner, drinks, and entertainment--saw us spend about Q70 each. Not too shabby.

The Negotiatrix at work

The next day we decided to do some gift shopping. Renee "The Negotiatrix" managed to drive some hard bargains. Haggling is expected of course. I often don't very much, because it seems silly to argue over a few quetzals that mean a whole lot more to the other person than me, even if they are taking me for a bit of a ride. I was pretty happy to get Q5 off a t-shirt the day before. Renee, however, is ruthless. I saw her single- handedly talk Q200 off the price of two blankets, from Q700 down to Q500, then without even stopping to catch her breath squeezed another Q20 off a skirt. Look for her in her own reality-based primetime action adventure show in the fall.

That's all that's news from here. Headed across the lake this afternoon to check out "Guatemala's most magical hotel" (according to Lonely Planet), then on to Mexico via Guate City and Belize in the morning. This week, I'm trying a new feature…attaching pictures that I don't really have a whole lot to say about….enjoy!

-Tim(!)

	My teacher Jose and I
	At my first going away party. The guy in the middle is the best Salsa dancer in Central America. Seriously, he has a trophy and all.
	Renee and I at the first going away party.
	Kirsten laughing at/with the happy couple.
	Arturo and ??? (eek)

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