Guat have we gotten ourselves into?

I’m not really sure how to start this one, so let’s just cut the bullshit and jump right into.  What happened to the Jamaica blog that I never finished?  I got dumped three days after I got home, which tends to put a slight damper on writing about the fond memories of the trip I took with my ex.  So, fuck the Jamaica blog, and welcome to the Central America blog.   Who’s going to Central America?  Some awesome single bitches, that’s who.  Let’s welcome back my Yacht Week Vodka-to-the-Face-Partner-in-Crime, Carly, and fly south for the winter.   Think of this as my “Eat, Pray, Love” trip, except I can’t eat since I’ll be in a bathing suit all of week #2, I can’t pray because I don’t like wasting my fucking time, and if anyone actually says the word “Love” over the next two weeks I’ll punch them in the neck while I make out with a bottle of Absolute. I considered using “How Stella got her groove back”, but I think the old bitch reference in that analogy is a tad aggressive.  Plus, Angela Basset didn’t have to worry about sexually transmitted Zika back then.

First, lets re-meet my wing man, Carly:

Likes:  Vodka-to-the-face, tan boys with light eyes (join the club), fighting international bowel irregularity with coffee, friend zoning, the natural wave of unwashed hair, small talk.

Dislikes:  Losing her voice day 2 (I can sympathize), meat, people who try too hard, undergarmets, makeup, thirsty females.

Favorite travel memory: Hiking up a volcano in Italy after ten shots of vodka and then sailing around it from the ocean as it errupted.

So here is the plan: fly to Guatemala and spend the week of Christmas chilling the fucking out, hiking some volcanoes and doing yoga at an eco-lodge on a lake.  Do I suck at hiking?  Yes, as indicated by prior blog  evidence here and here.  Do I suck at yoga?  Yes, as indicated by the fact that I hate awkward silence and rooms full of mouth breathers.  But apparently these are things you do in Guatemala, and who the fuck am I to argue with Rick Steves?  And let’s be honest here, I’ll probably find a way to “hike” to a bar and reward myself for an hour of stretching by sitting my ass in a lakeside hammock for an entire day.  And this, my friends, is what is referred to as the calm before the storm.  Did you miss the entire Thailand series where Carly poured vodka down my throat at 9am every day for a week?  Had you caught it, you would know to expect more from us.   After our mellow week of red wine and downward dog, we’re going to Yacht Week’s bastard child: The Bucketlust, Belize.

No, I didn’t mistype “Bucketlist”.  Bucketlist is the theme of my entire fucking life, not this one solitary endeavour.  The “Bucketlust” is the brain child of a of a group of Yacht Week seasoned veterans who have taken it upon themselves to crowdfund a entire week of nautical debauchery with zero rules, zero fucks and zero accountibility.  Picture Yacht week gone full-on “Lord of the Flies”.  Like in “Heavyweights”, where the shitty adults lose control and the camp runs-a-muck.  Just replace overweight teenaged cake-eaters with over-aged acoholics who refuse leave never-never land.  Basically, my kind of people.   These are really just all my assumptions, as this shit has never been done before.   Our boat will either sink day 1, or we’ll become the most aggressive drunken pirates Belize has ever seen.  There is no halfway here.  If these Peter Pan’s pull this shit off, it will be a week long floating rage-fest the likes of which this world has never seen.  So Carly and I are just along for the ride.  By the way, these people use the word “Rage” more than often than they use pronouns.  So I figure I’d better just get on the rage bandwagon and start now.  How did we get ourselves into this, you ask? It’s a fairly short story…

It was January 2016 and Carly and I were fresh off Yacht Week Thailand.  Unable to afford a classy Hollywood recovery in the Betty Ford Center, the only option was to endulge our vices further and get ourselves on another yacht week.  Enter: the Bucketlust facebook group.   Carly and I happened upon this facebook group through our Thailand skipper (you’ll remember him as “The Legend”) and immediately decided it was destiny.  Fast forward a few months to April and I’m shit faced at the Yacht Week 10th anniversary party in Los Angeles begging total strangers for a cabin on a boat, any boat, departing from Belize.  As you know, I’m very convincing when shit faced, so here we are, eight months later, eagerly awaiting the 29th of December with a mixture of excitment and fear.  But the good kind of fear, like the fear you feel when you take that 10th shot and roll the dice on a random Thursday night.  Let’s all just hope that the old saying proves true: The best way to get over a man, is to get on a boat.  No, I didn’t fuck that I up.  I simply applied an outdated colloquialism to women who don’t need a man to make them happy.   They simply need a man to sail their fucking yacht while they drink vodka.

Thursday, December 22, 2016

Today is a short one, so I’m just gonna tack in onto the intro blog.  1am – board the flight from LAX to Guatemala City.  Carly and I are used to hauling all the way to Europe or Asia for yacht weeks, so a four and a half hour non-stop red-eye seemed like easy money.  That was before we experienced the hell that is an Avianca flight to Guatemala.  It was a fucking flying Quinceanera.  Full-on cross plane conversations between strangers over an in-flight meal in a fully lit cabin at 2am.  We arrived and shook off our crankiness.  Because its hard to be cranky when you just landed in a foreign country.  True to form, I had organized a private transfer ahead of time, so we were in Antigua about an hour after we landed.  You all know I don’t fuck around with the blantant inefficiency of sorting out transportation on the fly.  We drove out of Guatemala City faster than you can say “pety theft” and arrived at our Hotel in Antigua in time for breakfast, We then took a walk around town while we waited for our room.  We also might have took a jump in the giant trampoline on the roof of our hotel.  Because it was a trampoline.  On a roof.  In the sunshine.  You have to be dead inside not to love that.  We were basically zombies at this point, so we hit the afternoon nap hard.

Let’s talk about Antigua, Guatemala.  First of all, some advice.  Get the fuck out of Guatemala City the second you land.  It’s dirty, it’s shady, and there is nothing there you want other than transporation outlets.  Antigua, on the other hand, is like going back in time to another world.  A Mayan world.  A simple, quint, adorable town full of cobblestone streets and colorful buildings built among beautiful ruins of a town once devastated by an earthquake.  There isn’t a ton to do here other than walk around, check out the market, and chill over some drinks.  We did managed to knock out all three today, ending our day at Cafe Sky, which is the best rooftop bar in town.  The sun set over a few volcanoes as we drank our wine.  We went to bed at 8am, in preparation for our 6am call time to hike one of those volcanoes tomorrow.

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