Warning: This post takes an unexpected detour and turns into a poop story rather quickly
After I graduated college in 2012, I took a 4 week backpacking tour across Guatemala with a friend of mine, who, to save a shred of his dignity, I will now refer to as “The Hippie.”
We flew into Guatemala City and knew we didn’t want to stay there, so we hopped in a cab and went straight to Antigua. Found a hostel (they’re cheap and everywhere), dropped our bags and went out to celebrate our first night in the country together.
And celebrate we did. Margaritas, cuba libres, whiskey, you name it we drank it. All the drinks. We drank ALL the drinks.
The winding streets of Antigua are all cobblestone and dotted with pastel colored buildings, beautiful, but they all look the same. Needless to say, we got a little drunk and totally lost our hostel. Somehow we didn’t have a business card from the hostel and couldn’t remember the name. Obviously you can’t really go up to someone in the street and say
“Hola senor, do you know where I’m staying?”
Lol. How do I adult?
So we’re wandering the streets, stumbling all over the place and generally having a great time. Luckily Antigua is an extremely friendly place and we weren’t in any danger, just lost as all hell and probably not bringing a ton of pride to our home country.
Mind you, Antigua is not a large place. It’s a small town and you can walk everywhere without a problem, but when you don’t know where you’re going, it’s dark and you’re (more than) slightly inebriated… things prove difficult.
We must have circled the same route fifteen times and I’m not exaggerating when I say we were walking around for two hours or so trying to find the place.
Everything was going fine, well, I mean, we were exhausted from traveling (and drinking) all day and really just wanted to climb into bed but we were generally in good spirits until The Hippie said,
“Uh oh, I don’t feel so good.”
We had gone out to dinner before we started trying to drink all the alcohol in Guatemala and had some tasty enchiladas. They were delicious, but if your stomach isn’t used to Central American food, it can take a few days to get acclimated.
“What do you mean, what’s wrong?” I asked.
“Ughhhh, my stomach,” he said, doubling over. “I gotta… I gotta…”
“Oh man, you need a bathroom stat?”
We had just come from literally the only place in town still open and who knew where the hell that was. The streets were dark, empty and quiet. Locating an inodoro was looking slim.
“I don’t think… I can’t hold it…” He grumbled and clutched his gurgling belly.
“Ohhh shit,” I said with my eyes wide. This was happening.
“Don’t say shit! Ahhh!”
Me and my stomach of steel looked on in fantastic amusement. I felt horrible, but I couldn’t help but indulge in free entertainment of such caliber.
You’ve seen Bridesmaids, right? If not, watch it immediately, it’s hilarious.
But you know that scene after they go to the Brazilian restaurant, everybody’s sick, and the bride to be slinks across the street in her beautiful gown and succumbs to the ultimate butt hole explosion?
So this poor guy, the first night on our new adventure, is hiding behind a car in the streets of Antigua shitting his brains out.
Of course, I walked my highly amused ass around the corner and waited while he tried to keep it together but I couldn’t get very far before the volcano erupted.
I heard all the sounds. There was a lot of grunting involved.
I’ll leave it to your imagination, I’m sure you’re creative.
I would have been absolutely mortified but he handled it like a champ. After he stuffed his intestines back inside his body, he came around the corner- ready to continue our quest.
I could not help but laugh. I simply could not.
Trying not to actually die of hysteria, I patted him on the back and asked him if he was alright.
“Yep, good.” I couldn’t tell if his face was green or if it was just the lighting.
We walked in silence for a while… what do you talk about after you hear a man give birth to a big ole batch of butt gravy?
SORRY! IT’S GROSS! I KNOW!
Rectal hot chocolate.
(I’m writing this in a busy cafe… probably not my brightest choice.)
Supersonic sewer sauce.
Alright I’m done. I regret nothing.
We walked for a little while longer and eventually came to the conclusion that we were probably going to die on the streets of Antigua before we found our hostel. We walked into the next open place we found, forked over a night’s rent and collapsed into bed.
The next morning, The Hippie came back to the room with two cups of coffee and the fabulous news that he found our original hostel. He hath redeemed himself.
We spent the next few days in Antigua with our (collective) health and spirits restored. It’s a beautiful town, and a great place to just relax and eat great food or have a coffee in the park.
You can wander the markets and shop, explore the many gorgeous churches or hike the nearby Pacaya Volcano. We had some fun at a hostel bar called Black Cat, and stayed with a very nice and accommodating host family who made us some delicious, authentic meals.
As this was our first stop of many, we didn’t spend as much time there as we wanted to but did return at the end of our trip. If you’re planning to stop there, three days is the sweet spot. You’ll be able to see and do everything and still have time to relax.