Day 88: Second Week in Antigua

Last Tuesday, on a day of no particular import, I decided to sneak into a jazz club. I had found a listing for a jazz trio playing somewhat nearby. Walking solo down the cobblestone streets of Antigua, battered but proud old houses shining in the moon light, a quick chill and a quick step. The club was fancy. I mean, shirt and tie and whiskey-glass fancy. The real deal. Covered in nothing but a ratty blue hooded sweatshirt, I stole through the front doors to take a look. There lay a small, greened patio area, off to the right the entrance to the music room. A group of three middle-aged women, beckoned by the maitre'd, shuffled off through the patio towards the music room. I followed, half-attempting to fit in with middle-aged women and half-attempting to retain a shadow of cool for myself. A little bit of confidence in my step, I pulled off the ladies and took a seat at the bar, turning the stool to face the players. A tall British sax-man, white silk jacket, but he could blow, subtle strong stuff. A bored looking bass player, twinkling his pudgy fingers around the massive instrument. A jovial, overweight pianist, shirt stretched against his body, thick glasses, making it look easy on the keys. I leaned myself against the bar and enjoyed it, sucked it in. After a few nice classic numbers, a pale white guy with a crew cut and a black bag went up and talked to the Brit sax-man, then pulled a misshapen trumpet out of his bag, and proceeded to join them for a few songs. Pale Face had some game. Some nice trading back and forth between him and sax-man. When they all took a break, I took mine, and sauntered back to my lodgings. Is "sauntered" too immodest? You get the picture. I looked up at the moon, and I thought about how that moon was the same moon I would see once I got back to the States, the same moon that hung above when I was born, same moon as I may hold my own kids under, same moon we'll all die under. Comforting, that thought, that night.

I'll spare you the drab details of my last week or so and just hit the highlights. All of the Camino Seguro volunteers did karoake on the bus. It'd be hard to imagine such a scene without experiencing it first-hand: A bus full of gringos zinging slowly through Guatemala City traffic, some gringas at the front, belting out "Build Me Up Buttercup" into a huge fake plastic microphone. No, it was something to be seen. Heard?

Also had a job interview on Monday, which went very well, and technology cooperated. Which is not its custom, in my experience. Spent today pretending to be a statistician, a real good time. Microsoft Excel never saw me comin'. In general, Work continues to be fun, three weeks in.

I am starting to feel the Return coming, growing bigger and nearer while I sleep. It is a comfort, but it brings up lots of questions about what my life will be when I am Back, and whether it, or for that matter, I, will be different than before. But I still Look Forward.

Note for the future: They have these choco-bananas here, which are basically frozen bananas dipped in chocolate, and then re-frozen. So simple and so incredibly pleasing to eat. Just some food for thought. Mmmm...