Mission (Im)possible

Not very Ethan Hunt-like, huh?

I am Tom Cruise inside the Drake Hotel in Mission Impossible.

Thank God, I am not couch-jumping Tom Cruise, and no offense Chicago, but right now thank God I am not in Chicago.

And really, I suppose I should be comparing myself more in this situation to Che Guevera, only not.

I am in Guatemala City. And I am ready to get out.

Tania and I left Xela yesterday after bidding our crew goodbye. We took the chicken bus, rather uneventful for a chicken bus experience. Not totally uneventful, as there were several times our bags almost flew out the back door when the bus slowed in small towns and the locals jumped on to sell their wares. But Tania rescued them every time and promised she would jump out after them if they met the earth.

Once here, we spent a considerable amount of time sitting on a median/bus drop-off near by the highway waiting for our trusted cab driver to pick us up. We beat off the rest of the hungry cabbies with a stick, even when one of them tried to tell us he was our man. Once we met up, we shortly arrived at our destination, a safe house in Zone 1 of Guate. Now, I surely won’t tell you the name or location of this place, but I will tell you there is a sign just inside the door telling all guests we should open the door to no one under no circumstances. Gulp.

I’m being a bit dramatic. I’m safe. But I would never have had this experience on my own. The house is affiliated somehow with the network of human rights workers in Guatemala. I can’t really go into detail because really, I’m figuring the less I know, the better, and plus it maybe makes this post really interesting.  But it’s essentially a guest house we share with other visitors and a family (just like a hostel). The woman who runs it is amazing, and I’m glad to have another day with Tania before she starts doing world and life-changing work.

We went in search of internet and ice cream, bought some groceries, then laid around in sugar comas, wondering how we were so tired, until we fell asleep. I made pancakes this morning before we headed off on separate missions, I to the Brazilian Embassy with all my fingers and toes crossed, and T to her new job training.

After circling some faraway block for 20 minutes, Giovanni, my cab driver, dropped me at the embassy. For some reason I figured the embassy was going to be this big fancy high rise building where I would have to take a number to wait for one of twenty tellers for three hours in the expensively overdone lobby. My imagination is very far from reality. It was a much smaller building with one desk, two men, and white walls. Once  everything was in order, I went on a 3-hour nervous wild goose chase for US dollars to pay the fee. It wasn’t really that hard, just creative. Finally, at 12pm, my visa application was submitted, and I was told to come back on Thursday. 

My luck continued when I asked if it was safe for me to walk back. The looks on the men’s faces gave me the answer that no, it was not safe. As I was contemplating calling a cab or trying my hand at the bus, and nice man about my dad’s age who was also applying for a visa said he was going that way and would save me the trouble and give me a ride. I took my chances, trusting my instincts, my kung-fu abilities, and my faith in humanity. Julio was like my father for the day. We chatted about Brazil and our families, and he schooled me on the lay of the land in Guate. When we neared the address on the folded paper I had handed him, he reminded me not to carry too much money, to leave my passport in the house, and most importantly, to call him or his family if I should need anything or get into trouble here. I told him my parents would thank him if they were there, and I did the same, taking his number for safe keeping. My instincts are good.

This message will self destruct in 10 seconds…

(outro to Mission Impossible theme song)