Lago Atitlán

#27

Upon arrival I made the mistake of sitting in front of the ferry that transported me to my accommodation. Speeding over the water, slamming its front repeatedly caused a brand new concussion.

Now I’m floating. My body is on the surface, my pain and sorrows on the bottom of the lake. Yes, that would be nice. It’s a blue sky and internal grey clouds. Lake Atitlán is nature on steroids. Garda Lake: the Jurassic Parc edition.

And I’m okay with leaving.

The amount of tourists in this area compensate the breathtaking views. Prepare for first world problems to come. The spoiled westerner in a premature midlife crisis.

Ever since leaving Guadalajara I’ve been living a backpacker life. Beating the purpose of what I’m trying to accomplish. Making it impossible to settle down when one picks up its backpack every other day.

Gears need to be changed, a refuel is needed. Because being on the road has been taking its toll on me. My health is deteriorating more and more by the minute.

In the distance I hear the sound of shouting youngsters assaulting their liver. I breathe out and leave the surface. My sorrows sink together with their captain and their mothership.

Silence and darkness. I would be a tremendous fish. Swimming in the tranquility, flashing my fins, hanging out with all the other sharks.

What to do? A rhetorical question. My mind is set on returning to South America. That would mean: Guatemala to Colombia.

El Salvador: appealing; Honduras: I’ll skip for the moment; Nicaragua: not too fond of Dutch people right now; Costa Rica: already went, and Panama has a price tag that I’d rather not read.

All countries that would make good holiday destinations, but of which I know that I will most likely not settle down in. And above all: bus rides, bus rides and then some. Multiple days of literally being stuck in buses. Ruining the remainder of health I have left.

Not now. I’m physically not able to do it. My brain is being deep fried, muscles are being chewed on, my skull is cracking. Honestly, I’m tired, too tired.

All I need is my personal medicine. A sweet girl to smile at me, a gym to prevent my body from aligning with my health, a fridge full of fruits and vegetables and a quiet space with a bed to rest in when the monsters come out to play.

Where? No idea. But it needs to be soon.

I come back up, breathe in the fresh air and return to my bedroom. Invitations for heavy drinking and music pounding my eardrums get declined. My body seeks recovery on the mattress, my mind drifts off to the lake. Attempting to drown its sorrows yet again.

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