Thanks for asking how the Guatemalan floods are treating me.

The phrase “They’ve closed the New England Thruway!” resounded in my head. Except for my sopping blankets, this is oh, so not like “..three days of fun and music.”


They are less rough today, than for the last week. During the last three days, the rain has been utterly merciless. So much volume fell, that I could clearly hear the roaring of that café ole colored Rio from my window – ten blocks away.

On “night two” of this torrent, I had to move my bed from under the dripping and (dare I say it?) drooping sistered-up vigas . Today, the mud-rivers that gushed down the Calle Santander, dried into dust ruts until the afternoon deluge.

The biggest news, here, is that the chicken bus (and everything else) remains on the Solola side of the rockslide. Yuppers, the last sliver of one-way road was finally pummeled away. So, the only road out of here– the one that, ultimately connects to the Pan American Highway, will be closed for the next while… That is sort of okay, but I discovered the bridge to my barrio closed to vehicles, yesterday morning. The phrase “They’ve closed the New England Thruway!” resounded in my head. Except for my sopping blankets, this is oh, so not like “..three days of fun and music.” I heard that during this spring the barrio was isolated for several days and that the water rose over 20’ and covered the bridge. The worst thing that happened (so far) is that the internet failed for 24 hours.

Friday night, I saw bunches of skinny bike racers snapping up pupsias at Chero’s. They were all hunched down in their tiny hats and branded jerseys– stuck on this side of the starting line. This was a big blow to Panajachel – they had anticipated about 1,000 riders over the weekend.

In fact, I have just learned that this is only the beginning of rainy season –two real wet months to go. And, now that things at mi casa have become a lot more like camping than I am accustomed to I feel obliged to step into the Herrimienta and purchase my own pair of rubber boots because the season will be too long for me to continue borrowing Carlos’ knee highs and while I am there, perhaps I will select a very-not-Martha plastic canopy for my bed.

Author: diane e. dreyfus

on the road until they put the lid down

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