My apologies for delay between meaty posts. Much has transpired, and only so many words can be written in a day.
But let’s test that theory…
I needed to finish a piece I wanted to whore out to a few random websites that might be beneficial to generating a little awareness to the BonerFruit fun. Guest blogging is probably a necessity I’ll need to explore to gain traction for my ridiculous insights into this game we call life, but until my newest writings get rejected by pretentious ass-wipes who hate the use of words like jerk-off or motherfucker in their mainstream popularity, the essays will exist in limbo, conforming to their required parameters of unpublished, unique ideas.
No worries though. Once they laugh at me for submitting my nonsensical thoughts, I’ll have even more primo material to share with my small band of followers. This is perhaps a fitting time to send a loving shout-out to everyone who has subscribed to date.
With that said, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty of today’s post…
The return from a 6-day adventure into the northern most region of Guatemala, to explore a barely uncovered Mayan metropolis, has left me feeling somewhat unsatisfied with familiar routine. Despite the need for a little bathing and new pad of paper, my thoughts remain very much focused on an experience I never would have expected, despite the crazy imaginations I generate on a daily basis.
I was about to get ahead of myself here, but let’s do this right. I just remembered some impossibly fun shit that might turn this piece into a multiple-part writing. Heaven forbid I inundate you with more than a thousand words at a time. I think that’s why some assfuck invented Twitter…
I got on a bus in Poptun, paying 30 Q for a 2-hour ride to Flores. Sweet. Upon arrival at the “bus-station,” I realized I hadn’t actually looked up the address of the hostel that lined me up through Workaway to paint a mural for them. I strapped on my backpack, and decided not to accept the multiple tuk-tuk offers to shuttle me to a destination I had no knowledge of.
So I walked. Instinct has served me quite well thus far, and I decided to trust it again. I knew the hostel was on the little island in the middle of the lake, but not much after that. I had no idea where the lake was when I pulled off my hoodie to don a t-shirt, but I forged ahead like a wanderer intent on a goal.
My first right brought me onto a main drag — the first time I’ve ever seen traffic lights in this county. A good sign? Perhaps…
As I regretted not learning the Spanish word for “island,” or the phrase “where the fuck am I,” I saw a sign saying Isla de Flora. Straight ahead. Woo!
I crossed the bridge and relegated my next decisions to whatever messages my trustworthy angelic travel guides might whisper into my ear. Crossing over to the other side of the island, after one failed attempt to determine the location of the hostel by interrupting some dude at a bar watching shit on his iPhone, I took a turn down an alley where two people stood at the next intersection.
They stopped to look at me.
Fuck. What do they want?
I uttered an “hola” with a follow up of “habla ingles?”
Yep, English was in their repertoire. Their next words were “Are you Michael?”
Indeed I was.
Completely lost and fucked where to go next without access to a WiFi signal, the Universe put me face to face with the people I would be spending the next 6 days with in the jungle, hosts of the hostel I was looking for.
You must be kidding me.
The Divine Travel Guide steps in once again.
Following them back through a maze of alleys, realizing there was no way I could have found the place without wandering all night, I muttered yet one more thanks to my spiritual benefactors for tolerating my ignorant travels. Upon arriving at the minuscule quadrant of land rife with coconut and banana trees, my comfort felt on par with living on my sailboat — the thought that “all is right in the world” immediately jumped into my head.
The previous Workaway guest in attendance hadn’t yet vacated the private room part of my deal to do artwork in the building, so I spent the night in the group dorm, with a 4:30 wake-up call to begin the trek to El Mirador, a journey I requested from the Universe to experience Mayan ruins as an adventurer, not a tourist.
I was not disappointed in the least.
But let’s pick this up again next post… I’ve got more painting to do before the dorm fills with international vagabonds.
Life is kickass. I love this freakin’ country, and I’ve barely just begun exploring it. Feels like I’ve been gone forever, but I think it’s only been a month. My mind is in art-mode right now, but stay tuned for Part 2. I’m more than happy to relive the experience in words.
Peace out, homies…