Guest entry by my mom about her visit, part 2 of 14

DAY 1 (upstate New York > Antigua):

The day has come. Brian and I fly from Syracuse, New York, over the Finger Lakes (including a
clear view of Seneca Lake, where Brian and Elizabeth spent their growing-up years — snap goes
the camera button on his Droid); over the lush, uninhabited hills of Pennsylvania; over the rest of
the east coast to Atlanta for a layover; over the Gulf; and finally over the country that we've been
planning for a year to visit: Guatemala. Now Guatemala City. We're here.

Outside the airport, Elizabeth — how sweet to see her face — rescues us from the crowd of taxi
drivers vying to "help" us with our wheeled suitcases, which require one finger to maneuver. Her
Spanish flows soft and fast. We've got the suitcases, gracias. Gracias, no. No, no "teep." I want
her to keep talking just so I can listen to the music of her words.

Our 45-minute taxi ride to Antigua ends with the driver zooming the wrong way down a one-way
street — backwards — to deposit us at the Hotel Burkhard.

After unloading, we head out for food. Elizabeth, who comes to Antigua often for Peace Corps
meetings and for recreation, knows where to go: Sabe Rico. It's like dining in our own private
jungle. Surrounded by fruit trees, we have to get smoothies. We order entrees that we might have
ordered at home: curry burger, veggie burger, chicken with avocado. Avocados, we learn, are as
common here as apples in New York. The papas (fried potatoes) are delicious: muy rico. When
rain hits, we're glad that our table is under a large umbrella. It will rain almost every afternoon of
our trip. July is the middle of the rainy season, which Guatemalans call winter even though
they're well above the equator.

Back at our hotel room, overseen by two large velvet paintings of distinctly unvelvety
conquistadors, we settle in. Brian immediately gets on Facebook on his laptop courtesy of the
hotel's free wifi. Elizabeth checks out our Droids, her first time touching a smartphone. ("I'm not
ready for this," says this tech savvy girl in one breath, quickly followed by "Mom, when you
upgrade, can I have yours?")

At night, all three of us being "of age" by Guatemalan law, we indulge in margaritas at Frida's
"Cocina Mexicana & Bar." Then we peruse the warehouse-size indoor market, Nim Po't. At
every turn in this narrow-sidewalked, cobblestone-paved town whose very name means "old,"
we discover garishly floodlit remains of buildings that tumbled during the earthquake of 1773.
My camera attaches itself to my hand, where it stays for the next 14 days.

I took this photo as our taxi was zooming backwards the wrong
way. Apparently, the arrow simply indicates which direction the
nose of your vehicle has to face. 

Our room at the Hotel Burkhard. What sounded like thunder turned out
to be traffic rumbling down the cobblestone an arm's length from our window. 

Our room at the Hotel Burkhard. Brian was happy to
discover that free wifi was everywhere in Antigua.

A Mayan woman selling textiles on the sidewalk outside Nim Po't. Note her
child's feet poking out from the cloth that keeps him securely strapped to her back.  

Junior pops 'round to the front.  This square piece of fabric, which Guatemalans use to carry everything from babies to cabbages, is called a maletera, a word suspiciously close to maleta (suitcase).

South Seneca falcon meets Mayan falcon at Nim Po't. 

Elizabeth at Nim Po't, home of world's largest retail Maya (indigenous) textile collection. 

Frida's Mexican restaurant celebrates the life and art of Mexican painter 

Frida Kahlo, whose work has been described as "a ribbon around a bomb."

Brian and I are dwarfed by one of Antigua's many ruins, reminders of the devastating 1773 

earthquake. The Spanish invaders, as shaken as the buildings, moved the capital to its current location, Guatemala City.