Carretera Sinuosa

Much of New Year’s Eve Day was spent getting beautified beyond reason at the salon, where I asked them to wash away the grey, trim away the detritus, blow-dry the frizz from my mane, brighten up my finger nails, and tear the hair off my chin. During the process, I looked like a withered old man.

But I now am an absolute glory to behold. Proof is in this photo, which was taken much later in the day after our arrival at Lago de Atitlí¡n. And you should see Maria, with her hair all done up. As we approached, the waves on the lake rose up and bowed before us.

But I’ve gotten ahead of myself. At around noon we started for the lake in a very jammed van, so that I rode for nearly four hours with 25 percent of my hind end suspended over the air beyond the edge of the seat. It was four-plus hours of nonstop winding: a carretera sinuousa, as the signs warned. We arrived at our hotel (Jardines de Lago in Panajachél) close to 5:00. I watched the sun set and the D-moon rise. The D-moon (a waxing half moon) holds many sorrowful associations for me, as do recent new years spent in California’s Central Valley. But as I watched the lake turn colors as we arced toward a new year, I thought, Well, this ain’t Sacramento, but it’ll do.

As the night moved on, some DJs came and set up the most painfully loud sound system so I forsook my lakeside spot and began exploring the hotel. In the dining room were maybe thirty people (all Guatemalan) — couples and families — laughing and swigging flaming shots, rum and beer and having a wonderful time. Some brave (and drunken) souls were doing karaoke, which was hysterical. I think I have to edit this video for you.

Now I’m tired of doing all this writing and photo and video stuff, especially since my mouse (computer variety) died and I hate using a track pad. Let’s see what I can say that will at least give you a taste of how we greeted the new year. This will be stream-of-consciousness so forgive the sucky writing and typos.

First: I got to video-chat with both of my daughters, which was probably the most important thing I did.

Around 10 pm an apparently morbidly depressed mariachi band showed up. Their skill matched their attitudes. They looked miserable standing up there, as though their mothers had just scolded them for not wanting to perform. They were dressed in matched, faded and stained red bolero jackets that looked like they’d been dug out of a dirt basement. The one time they perked up was while singing La Bamba, with solos by the tiny man with the giant accordion (or as John Duffy might have said, the little man with the big instrument). Their version of Volver made you want to cry, but not for the reasons they might have expected. Alcohol flowed liberally and I learned a new word, often repeated because my waiter kept asking if I wanted one: trago, or alcoholic drink.

Guatemala loves explosives. The night’s sound track intensified in volume the closer to midnight we got. There were maybe forty people wandering around in the dark (and very nice) garden of the hotel. Shortly before midnight, I was like a dog when it spins in circles trying to find exactly the right spot to lie down in. After visiting the edge of the lake and meandering down some paths, I found the perfect hammock under the stars, where I could see and hear the festivities, but had time to think profound thoughts. I saw a shooting star.

Finally I sensed The Hour approaching and was waiting for A Sign. I thought that the fireworks was it, but it turned out that they were a prelude. I waited. And waited. I guess I missed it, because the next thing I knew, every couple around me started hugging and kissing, and then hugging for longer. The lawn was dotted with pairs embracing, and me. I’m used to it, but still. Shortly before, I’d lost Maria in the dark, so I didn’t even have a chance to hug her.

Then came a great thing, and the reason Maria suggested we come here. The staff brought out twelve oval cloth balloons—globos—about three feet high and open at the bottom: in essence, teeny hot air balloons. At the bottom was some kind of flammable device that either flamed brightly, or refused to. All around me, people picked up a globo, lit a fire in the bottom, waited until it billowed with heat. Then they set it free. It rose slowly, wobbled, and then picked up speed and drifted out over el lago. It got yellower the further it went. Even ten minutes later, you could see its tiny glow, high in the sky over the middle of the lake.  Then another globo went up, and another: twelve in all, each representing a month being released into the past. It was visually enchanting and ritually rewarding. After a while, I didn’t want to be only an observer. I wanted to dispose of a month or two of my own year. So I walked over to a group of three women who had their globo nearly inflated. I reached between them and just held on to the edge for a moment, and then backed away and watched as they let it ascend it into the black and star-filled sky above the black and sparkling lake. Then Un hombre happened to pause near me, trying to light a globo by himself. Uninvited, I reached and wordlessly, eye-contactlessly took the opposite side and helped keep it stable. At that moment, a woman nearby removed a glow-in-the-dark bracelet from her wrist and screwed it onto mine with a smile. Then she placed a plastic red bowler on my head and walked away.

It’s frustrating to be the only one here unable to speak Spanish, except to say gracias, yet more words would have totally gunked up that moment.

Then a man crawled under a painted, horned, wooden torrito that was surrounded by a metal armiture. He started running around the grass in front of us, bucking and spinning. Suddenly the bull caught on fire. He shot flames and and pinwheels and rockets from his flanks, as his occupant underneath wove and danced in circles on the lawn. I haven’t been able to find out what it symbolizes, but it was way cool.

Okay, so the power just blacked out and when it came back, I’d lost some changes and correct typos and bad-writing-os. I’m not gonna keep going. I’ve been doing this for, like, three hours. Feliz aí±o nuevo anyway.