I’m still in this signs mood, Guzman. I know that’s what pleases you. So let’s continue this funky experiment. You see, I have no other option then to follow The Unexpected – there’s nothing else to do. And I’m running out of pesos. I’m just half way and I’m getting broke. That’s why I hold on to my wet lempira dream. For me this worthless piece of paper (it’s less then 10 cents) stands for…everything I can possibly think of. Including this hot 20-year old Chiefs daughter. As seen trough western materialistic eyes, I’m by far the biggest loser ever seen on the western hemisphere. All my possessions fit in two alloy cases and a black bag. My horse is a double-barreled, rusty seventies cruiser, worth a Gallo six-pack. My wallet is as flat as a Rizla rolling paper. I mean just the paper, not the whole pack. Writing stories and sell them – I tried, but hardly anyone wants to pay for them. And it’s difficult to find topics because in Holland we’ve seen, done, heard everything. From behind an inspiring Amerland officedesk. So here I am. Up shit creek without a paddle.
In Amsterdam I was queer for everything that had speed in it. Fast food, fast money, fast drinking (slow drugs though), fast clothes, fast girls and not to mention fast motorcycles. Oh yes, I do miss my 748SPS high-speed crotch machine. Making wheelies on the Weteringschans down town Amsterdam or blow up your back tire, while doing a humble 230 k’s an hour is fun and interesting. Yes I miss the yellow rocket. But only now and then. For ten months now, life is different: it’s mainly slow. No lane but the slow lane. You stick around, smoke a joint, listen to people, have your adventures, see the breathtaking countryside, drive The Invincible, have your amazing love affair, paddle in the ocean, have a tast of these different cultures and than…than you ran into this charming two tooth lady selling her one lempira bill and life changes radically. It’s all about faith, Guzman. It’s all about the possibilities of a single lempira bill. Hot damn, can’t wait to spend it all.
Something else. I know Guzman, that you don’t give a flying fuck when an old fart pulls your sleeve in a busy city at a busy moment and starts to mumble about…well, something. And who cares? You’ll probably say: ‘leave me in peace old fart. I’m busy. Yeah, yeah, nice day to you to.’ And you walk on. I try to listen. Because for ten months now I don’t find myself in a crowed place and to be honest – I’m not that busy. So I’ll take my time and listen to the poor old bugger, and sometimes (not all want my lempira bill) they truly have something to say. Like: ‘when you’re bored, you do something else.’ (Don Rooney, 74, living in a three-people-village in Canada). Or: ‘be aware. Leave you shit behind and remember the good stuff’ (Diego, 76, Korean War veteran). Just a few simple words, said at the right time, by the right people. But they do have an impact, if you truly listen.
I felt crap the other day, Guzman. Just heard that a lot of work was in vain, still missed somebody I’ve met in Mexico and only twenty lousy quetzals (two euros) to play with. So count your blessings, hermano. You see a folded paper on the street and you pick it up. Why? Beats me. The first three words when you read the paper are amor, amor and amor (A girls who wrote a letter to her boyfriend). Maybe for you this doesn’t mean anything. For me – it saved the day. It meant; nothing to worry about, keep on cruising. So this is how I see things now, there’s nothing to worry about, as long as you truly know what your goals are and what you’re aiming at.
I need a drink.
My brother says that I’ve to hold my horses, climb my bike and go for Tierra del Fuego. What he doesn’t understand is that this whole rally thing is of no importance and the only thing I probably learn at the bottom of this trip is that it is damn cold down there and that they don’t sell Heineken. So why bother speeding up, when there’s so much to learn, so much to see and so much to understand.
Tomorrow (Sunday) I’ll leave Guatemala. Two directions: the Carretera Pacifico, also called El paraiso de los cadávares (lot of smelly corpes are dumped here), which leads me straight to El Salvador, or Honduras where Tal is waiting for me. Balls, I’ll go to Honduras! So Guzman, what I’m trying to say is – I’m half way, but getting there… Ciao carnal.
PS Guzman, did I actually write something about no sex before marriage? Did I? Hackers must have written this sadness. I mean, no sex before marriage is a sin.
Back to Dutch:
Ho ho, op de valreep toch nog een signaaltje Guzman. Eentje die je aanstaat. Heb gisteren weer eens een opwindende voetbalpot gezien. Vijf Nederlandse dames die in Guatemala Stad gehakt maakten van een team Guatemalteekse voetbalmiepjes. Het overwicht was behoorlijk – wat te denken van vijf – nul. De meiden staan derde in de ranglijst, en het kampioenschap lonkt. Enig idee wat dit betekent, hermano? Enig idee welk signaal deze verwarde geest heeft ontvangen? Nog een paar maandjes en dan wordt het weer eens feest in de hoofdstad. Ik bedoel Echt Feest.