The Guatemalan people were not the only ones who smiled and laughed. There was a lot of that sort of thing coming from our witty, intelligent, happy team members, too. And not everything we experienced on our trip was difficult or dirty or tragic. That would be giving an unfair portrait of beautiful Guatemala, as well as of our experience.

 

One of the most memorable, and humorous (at least in retrospect) episodes – and there were many! – came on our last night in the country.

 

Our clinic days were over. We’d done all we could do. The medicines were gone, the team exhausted. So as a treat, we caravaned to the lovely Guatemalan city of Antiqua. As European and cosmopolitan as Guazacapán was rural, Antiqua simply oozed 17^th century Spanish architecture and influence. More on Antiqua in a later post, but suffice it to say, the team touched down about midday looking, and probably acting, like a bunch of tourists. We were ready for some fun.

 

 

After a delightful afternoon, each of us having embraced the city individually, the team rendezvoused for a fabulous meal and local entertainment (as opposed to Pat and Doug doing their famed hula routine). Then once again we loaded into the vans and headed for a peaceful evening at Jorge Luna’s (aka The Flash) father’s mountain retreat. Abraham Luna is one of the most gracious, hospitable people one could ever hope to meet in this lifetime – a trait that runs throughout his entire family. You’ll be hearing about Abraham and his family from time to time throughout this blog, and I promise, you’ll always get a pleasant feeling when you do

 

The 45 minute drive to Abraham’s turned into a couple of dreary, late night hours due to a mechanical problem with one of the vans. The group I was traveling with was saved a slow, boring death only because of Adam and James’ nonstop ad lib humor, which I promise you will hear more about soon – they should be writing for Saturday Night Live! For those of us in that van, it was like being on SNL. But let’s skip all this for now, and head on up to Abraham’s scenic mountain top home, which he is in the process of transforming into a retreat, complete with sleeping and bath facilities for whole groups of visitors.

 

It was into one of these very bunkhouses that 20 or so weary men – our team plus Guatemalan counterparts – finally tumbled late that night. The women slept in Abraham’s large house some 50 meters away, and thus they were spared the natural catastrophe which was about to occur.

 

Notice: the following episode contains graphic language and descriptions, including what some readers might consider violent and abnormal behavior. Though the editorial staff of this blog has made every effort to censor and control such expressions, the scene we are about to describe is so horrific, that we can assume no liability for trauma of any kind that may be experienced should you choose to read further. Proceed at your own risk!

 

Each man picked a bunk – top or bottom – and snuggled down for a peaceful night in the cool mountain air; but little did we know what was about to happen. Volcanoes as you know, are a natural part of the Guatemalan landscape and history. Volcanoes of course can be very dangerous when they erupt, sometimes resulting in the destruction of property and the loss lives.

 

But as one by one we drifted off asleep, it wasn’t volcanoes that erupted, but rather snores! Oh, that it could have been a volcano instead. At least we would have had a light show to go with the sound. But, no, we got snoring instead.

 

Those of you who have experienced the snore of a full grown male homosapien can testify that for the most part it is not what could be described as a pleasing sound. It is even less pleasing when one is quite tired and wanting to sleep soundly. In the same fashion, the act of snoring is known to be more pronounced when the person doing the snoring also is dead dog tired.

 

Now picture – I’m about to get nauseous just remembering this – an entire room full of male homosapiens, crammed together in bunkbeds with barely enough room in between to stand, and all dead dog tired. It got ugly fast.

 

I was on a top bunk, and thus more exposed. Over to right, somebody cut loose with a classic, long-slow-drawn-out-on-the-inhale-stroke snore. Not real loud, but noticeable nonetheless. Then on a bottom bunk over by the door, came one of those rhinoceros bellows that happens on the exhale, when it sounds like the guy is fighting for his life – or trying to ruin yours. Right across from me someone else took off with one of those hiccup kinda snorts, followed by a gasp. I think that may have been where Doug was sleeping. Then in tandem, two more cater cornered on my left – different pitches, slightly different rhythms, just enough to totally clash.

 

It was awful. It was raucous. It was worse than my worst nightmare ever. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t think. I wanted to be back in Antiqua in an expensive hotel. No, back in Antiqua on the street would have been good enough. I’ve been in the U.S. Army, and at no time was it this bad. At any given time, there had to be 10 or more snorers. I began to wonder if snoring was contagious, and if so was there a vaccine for it?

 

Could each of these guys really snore like this every night back in their real life in the USA? No way! Not a chance! They’d all be divorced – or did they maybe have a bunkhouse of their own way out back that they were sent to each night??

 

After what seemed many hours, I gave up sleeping. I probably wasn’t the only one. In fact the only guys sleeping were the ones snoring, which by this time was a majority. Suddenly Walt Disney came to mind. Not because Walt snored – I wouldn’t know, but if he did, I’m just sure that little clouds of fairy dust shot out of each nostril all night long. No, I thought of Disney, because with just a little imagination – OK with a lot of imagination, for I was seriously sleep deprived by this point – I started hearing the various snores as instruments in an orchestra.

 

Yup, there was the cello sounding deep, drawn out notes. And the timpani crashing blow after blow. Then the french horn, and the bassoon, and one of those Guatemalan guys was pretty close to a trumpet (sleep deprived, remember?). And best of all, every once in a while somebody was chiming in with a piccolo. All this plus rhino guy, and suddenly I started laughing right out loud.

 

It was a Snore Sonata! I sat up in bed, desperately fighting to maintain my sanity (or at least my version of sanity); arms flailing in the darkness like a blind conductor. More bassoon! More cello! Now softly with the viola and oboe. Now bring up the french horn, as the timpani builds toward a huge crescendo, cymbals flashing like thunder. And after a brief lull, over in the corner, lower bunk comes the pale thin piccolo leading into the next movement.

 

I laughed ’til I cried. Oh, it was a grand moment!

 

The next day I fell asleep on the airplane – and I’m pretty sure I snored most of the way to Miami …