Taking the paca by storm...with only $3

Hello everyone! Sorry I've been gone so long. Joel's accident threw my life into a tailspin, but he's doing much better now. Thanks to everyone for the well wishes and prayers during the sucky parts of 2013.

This is what Q25 looks like.

So, the other day I was a little bored and decided to challenge myself. I said, "Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to buy as many decent items as you can from the paca for Q25." And guess what? I chose to accept the mission. I scrounged around in my purse and found Q25 (roughly $3) and went on a trip to the paca.

Many of you have heard me gush about the deals, the digging, and the downright strangeness of Antigua's pacas, but for those of you who haven't heard about my obsession, lemme 'splain. Basically, the paca is a giant garage sale where vendors rent spaces and sell everything from used clothes, shoes, hats, toys, books, headless dolls, and the occasional small kitchen appliance. A whoooole lot of it is absolute crap, but there are many treasures to be found if you have patience and determination. Anyone who has been to the paca with me will agree that I am like a pig sniffing out truffles when I'm there. Seriously, I burrow into those piles like a hungry weasel. Squeeeeeeak!

Welcome to the paca.
Let the digging begin! 

Stamina is a must when tackling the paca. Wear comfie shoes and loose clothing. Bring a bottle of water and if you're smart (which I am not) bring some hand sanitizer, too. You can't just breeze in thinking, "I would like to buy a blue shirt today," because odds are, that blue shirt is buried alive and while you are digging it out from under a pile of pajamas, dirty socks, and Disney-themed sweatpants, you will get distracted by the red designer skirt, the glittery pink tank top, and the funky rainbow-colored hand-woven poncho from Peru.

Strange as it may sound, I've been kicked in
the head by these low-hanging shoes
more often than I'd like to admit. (Dammit.)

Each booth has a table in the middle and racks of hanging clothes. The piles of stuff on the tables range from Q1 (12 cents) to a whopping Q10 ($1.20) for each item. I never, never, ever shop in the Q10 piles. Nuh-uh. No way. I realize it's only $1.20, but hey, this is Guate-freakin'-mala and all of this crap is USED, so I refuse to pay more than Q5 (60 cents) for anything in the pile. I'm not rich, ya know.

Anything on a hanger magically costs more. I don't know why, but the act of putting an item on a hanger jacks up the price. In some pacas, clothes on hangers are a little nicer than the stuff in the pile, plus it's MUCH easier to look through the hanging clothes. Should you find something on a hanger that you really like, the paca owner will give you a price. Always, always, always negotiate. Never take the first price they give you. Make a face that says, "Ehhh, I don't know, Q30 seems a bit high..." And I guarantee as soon as you start putting it back on the rack, the price will decrease. Negotiating is just part of the game here. Play ball!

If you'd like to "see" what it's like to be there in person, watch this short video I took today. It's a mind-numbing symphony of paca owners yelling, "Buena ropa! Buena ropaaaaaa!" in an attempt to draw people to their booths. Some of them are so loud, your ears will bleed. Luckily, this video is a mere 19 seconds long. Bleeding will be minimal.

And when you purchase something, they put it in a plastic bag for you. A black plastic bag. So, basically it looks like everyone in the paca is walking around carrying bags of porn. Keep it classy, Antigua.

Treasures await! Dig! Dig! Dig!

So! What kinds of stuff can you expect?
E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G. Paca digging is always an adventure -- you never know if what you're pulling out of the pile will be a cool vintage Levi's shirt or a horrifically stained pair of gym shorts. You would be shocked at the brand names that make their way to Guatemala. Polo. Chico's. Hugo Boss. Calvin Klein. Liz Claiborne. Versace. Eddie Bauer. The North Face. Prada. Armani. Tommy Bahama. Think of your favorite brand name and...yep, it's here. Think of a brand name you can't afford. Yes, even that one. Yes, that one, too. Good news! You can afford to buy it here. Even some uber-pricey designers from Europe, Japan, Italy... Yup, they're here. I look at these items and I think, "Someone spent a lot of money on this...and it ended up in a pile on a table in Guatemala." (And it only costs 12 cents here.) Score!

The saddest items are the family reunion shirts. I don't know why, but it bugs me that someone would wear their shirt at the reunion then toss it into the donation pile when they get home. Traitors! I don't care how much you can't stand your parent/sibling/cousin -- you keep that damn shirt FOR LIFE!

Why is Bill Cosby sad? Because he knows his
sweater is destined to end up in Guatemala.

Do you need an ugly sweater for your annual Christmas party? Let me know. It's Ugly Christmas Sweater mating season here year 'round. Are you in the medical profession and in need of scrubs? There are tons of cute and fun scrubs waiting for a home. I once found not one, not two, but THREE matching ugly green sport coats on one table. Each was only Q1. Someone out there won the Master's three times and chucked all of their beloved green jackets in one fell swoop. And they ended up here. Remember watching "The Cosby Show" back in the 80's? You can't throw a rock in the paca without hitting a sweater from the "Cliff Huxtable Collection." And they ended up here. I've found concert t-shirts, tube tops, vintage Wrangler cowboy shirts (with the fancy pearl snaps), old prom dresses (hellooo Gunne Sax), absolutely stunning beaded saris from India, London Fog coats, ski bibs (yes, SKI BIBS -- as if anyone would need one here), jeans with the entire crotch ripped out (HOLY CRAP -- what kind of horrific shark attack was that person in???), baseball caps from previous Super Bowls, and... dirty underwear.

Dirty underwear, like an underwater mine,
awaits your unsuspecting hand. BOOM.
Go ahead. Reach in... I dare you.

Yesss... Remember me telling you about the hand sanitizer? Yyyyep. There's nothing worse than reaching into a pile of clothes and pulling out underwear. Wait. I take that back -- there is something worse. Reaching into a pile of clothes and pulling out moist underwear.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEW! 

And as you toss those undies back in the pile for the next unsuspecting shopper to discover, you will
involuntarily make a sound similar to that of a cat horking up a hairball: UUURGLAAAACK! 

Ah, but I digress...

So, there I was with my Q25 in hand and a mission to accomplish. I ended up with seven items. SEVEN! Am I a smart shopper, or what? When I found the (possibly vintage) reversible embroidered Japan jacket, I squealed like a kid getting a new bike on Christmas morning. Unfortunately, when I got home I realized the zipper was broken and it's got a few tears, but hey, it's still a cool jacket. Maybe I can sell it on eBay. OH! And if you are a member of my family in Texas, STOP READING NOW. You don't want to spoil the surprise next time I'm home and handing out my Treasures From the Paca gifts. Right?

So, here's what I got:

Paid Q3 (36 cents)
This shirt is suuuuper soft. I'm a very touchy-feely
shopper. If it's soft, I'm more inclined to buy it. 

Paid Q5 (60 cents)
I have to figure out who is the biggest
Star Wars fan in my family. 

Paid Q3 (36 cents)
This one is sooooo going to my brother.
Last year I gave him a shirt that said
"The Original Rat Bastard." Oh, how I laaaaaughed. 

Paid Q1 (12 cents!)
This is going to my stepfather, who is a fan of
Hawaiian shirts and "Woody" cars. Perfecto! 

Paid Q5 (60 cents)
Sorry for the blurry pic, but this is a Tommy Hilfiger shirt
in absolutely perfect condition.

Paid Q5 (60 cents)
I love this hoodie! It's in great shape
and I thought the skeleton drawing was cool. 

Paid Q3 (36 cents)
The very cool embroidered map of Japan,
complete with volcano and dragon/sea monster. 

Look closely and you will see a tiger
on the left and a dragon on the right. 

And there you have it. Three bucks' worth of clothes from the paca. Now, who wants to go shopping with me? I'll take you to the coolest places!

Until we meet again, stay thirsty for bargains, my friends!

-Jennifer

“Thirty Dogs in Thirty Days” or “Why My Lipstick Smells Like Kibble”

This is my version of heaven. These dogs -- Hotai and 
Clementine -- live at the vet clinic where I volunteer. 
I walk them almost every day.
 

Anyone who knows me knows I have a soft spot in my heart for dogs.

Nothing makes me happier than to be surrounded by dogs. Big dogs, small dogs, puppies, old dogs, hairy dogs, fat dogs, drooly dogs -- I love them all. But mutts are my favorites. I prefer a scrungy-looking mixed-breed mutt with mismatched ears, a bald spot, and a crook in its tail over a fancy pedigreed dog that’s never played in the mud. But that’s just me. What can I say? “I like big mutts and I cannot lie... You other brothers can’t deny...” (Sing it! You know the words!)

There are stray dogs everywhere in Guatemala. EVERYWHERE. So if you are a tenderhearted dog lover like me, it breaks your heart to see them and feel like you can't do anything.

Workin' it on the street. 

But wait! There is at least one tiny thing I can do: I can feed ‘em! 

This is the dog food that I buy.
According to the bag, it
includes the flavors of meat,
cereal and milk. Since I've
never tried it myself, I'll
have to take their word for it.
YUMMM.

And feed them I do.

You know how people give something up for Lent? Well, I’m not Catholic or I don’t think I’m Catholic but I think I was baptized Catholic but it sorta ended there and I really don’t know much about the whole thing even though I’m living in Ground Zero of Catholicism (well, second only to the Vatican, I guess). Aaaanyway, so rather than giving up something for Lent, I've heard you can take on a daily ritual (like sit-ups or something) to better yourself. I decided to do a “Feed Thirty Dogs in Thirty Days” goal. I’m not ashamed to say that I have no idea how Lent lasts, but I thought it would be a nice thing to do. (OH! Wait -- according to Google, in 2013 it’ll last for 46 days – sooo, crap. I guess I need to change this to “Forty-Six Dogs in Forty-Six Days.”) Well, it looks like I need to buy more dog food.

She was in the park almost every day.
I rescued her and named her Cookie.
Sooo, if anyone wants to adopt her....

So now I don’t leave home without a baggie of dog food in my purse. You have no idea how much it sucks to come across a starving dog and have nothing to feed it. One evening I was walking home from the grocery store when I came across two young, hungry dogs. I opened my grocery bag and fed them several pieces of the sandwich bread I had just bought. So, now I carry dog food everywhere I go. And yes, this makes everything in my purse (lipstick, phone, keys) take on the meaty and oh-so-satisfying aroma of kibble, but it’s worth walking around town smelling like I just put in a double-shift at The Kibble Mine.

Even Brad Pitt enjoys the scent of CHISPITA. (But from the looks of this picture,
it seems he's trying to cover his nose. Or, like he just threw up a little.) 

“Hey, Jen... What’s that unusual fragrance you’re wearing?”
 “Oh, you must be referring to my new perfume – Chispita.”

 “Interesting... Is this why are all of the dogs following you like you're the Pied Piper?”

 Yyyyyep.

Ahhh, but I digress...

I've learned not to just dump the entire baggie on the ground when I come upon a hungry dog. Believe it or not, some of them will not eat it. I don’t know if it’s because they've never encountered kibble before, or if they’re holding out for something better. There have been times I've offered up the baggie of food only to have the dog raise an eyebrow, look at me skeptically and say, “Oh, come now! You expect me to eat this crap? Doncha have any raw chicken in that purse of yours?”

(Don't look at this one, Mom!)
This poor guy was so sweet and so very hungry.  

So now I do the Kibble Test. I toss a few bites to the dog to see if they’ll eat it. Some are very wary of eating while I’m watching and will slink away – as if I’ll take the food from them – so I put the food down and take a few steps back. If they eat it, I leave more food for them to eat when they’re feeling brave. Other dogs will eat the food right out of my hand. That’s right, I am ________ (Crazy? Stupid? Trusting? Foolish? Naive? Insert the word of your choice) enough to let a stray dog eat right out of my hand. I've never been bitten. These dogs are not mean, they're just hungry. Most of them have never had a human being pet them in their entire life. (Oh yeah, and if they’ll let me, I pet them, too.) _______??!?! (Go ahead and insert another word of your choice here.) 

Seriously... How can anyone pass a dog like this and
not feed it? I think I gave him the entire bag of food. 

Occasionally, I’ll come upon a sleeping dog. Well you know what they say about letting sleeping dogs lie... And even though I don’t like it when dogs lie to me, I leave them alone. (Ba-dum-bum.) In those cases, like a sneaky Kibble Ninja, I leave the food next to their noses. Just a little something to greet them when they awaken. Every now and then the flavorful aroma will wake them up – first their nose twitches, then their ears perk up, and lastly, they open their eyes and – BEHOLD! – a pile of kibble awaits! Oh happy day!

Strangely enough, there have been a few times when I've walked around town and not seen a stray dog. Not even one. And other days I will feed three or four, so I guess it all evens out somehow. 

And there you have it. The reason why everything in my purse smells like dog food. If I could carry a 50-pound bag with me everywhere I go that would be even better – but the locals already look at me like I’m a freak show for feeding the dogs as it is. There have been TOO MANY occasions to count when I've been feeding someone (oh, and did I mention that I talk to the dogs as I feed them? Yeah, there is just no limit to my insanity) and looked up to see an ENTIRE family of Guatemalans staring at me in disbelief. I just shrug my shoulders, smile, and say, “Me gusta perros,” and get back to work. One dog at a time... 

Until we meet again, stay thirsty (and hungry for CHISPITA!) my friends. Nom-nom-nom...

A hungry mama dog... sitting under a truck. 

Notice the tail tucked between the legs... As if she
needed to be afraid of me? 

Action shot! 

She ate the food so fast, by the time I got my camera out, she was looking at me like,
"Sooo, what else ya got? More, please!" 

Another hungry mama. Someone once said, "The only thing worse than being
a street dog in Guatemala is being a FEMALE street dog in Guatemala."
All they do is pop out litter after litter of puppies. *sigh*

It's hard to tell from this picture, but this lovely girl was so scared,
she kept her back legs planted and leeeeeaned into the food. 

Notice the little lick marks on the concrete? I think this dog was part ant eater --
she used her tongue to pick up the pieces of food. 

This guy was very nervous. He ate the kibble...until a parade came marching by
and scared him off. 

A handsome, shaggy diner at Jen's Bar and Grill. (Minus the "bar.") 

This was a very friendly boy with a terrible case of mange across his face.
He wagged his tail the entire time he was eating.  

I fed this skinnnnnnnnny little dog at a school. After I put the food down,
I looked up to see about 20 kids staring at me like I was from Mars. 

I wanted so badly to feed this dog! He kept scratching his back on the grass...
I must've stood there for ten minutes waiting for him to stop. I even climbed
over the little metal fence to give him food. He sniffed at it, then
went back to scratching his back. Oh well! I tried. 

I love this picture! Look at those eyes! They scream "FEEEEED MEEE!"
I was eating street food at the time and gave him the skin off my chicken leg.
After getting meat, he had noooo interest in eating the kibble I offered him. 

A skinny skinny skinny mama in the market. 

I like to think he's looking up and saying, "Hey! Thanks for the kibble!" 

Feeding two at a time. I'm sure the gal in the blue skirt was giving me weird looks.
(I'm used to it. I'm made of Teflon -- their stares just slide off of me.) 

I remember this night was cold, but I don't remember it being this blurry...

This is one of the extremely cautious dogs who wouldn't eat until I was halfway down the street. 

After being fed, it's time for a drink! Not only are the fountains in Parque Central nice to look at,
they also provide water for all of the street dogs in town. 

Anyone need a vacuum cleaner? This dog found every tiny piece
of kibble I tossed his way. 

A bow. Wow wow.

For Girls Only! (Really!)

First, let me say that this post is for GIRLS ONLY. 

OMG! This edition featured a-ha!
I looove them! I didn't know where Norway
was before they, like, came along. I'm pretty sure
 I, like, bought this magazine and, like, hung it
on my bedroom wall. And, like, in my locker.
Squeeee!

And this post has nothing to do with living in Guatemala and everything to do with being a GIRRRL. Like Teen Beat magazine, Spanxx and Duran Duran, men just won’t get it. Nor, will they want to.

That being said -- men, consider yourselves warned. Read on, if you dare.

(Seriously guys, this is your last warning! Spare yourselves! Go away! Close this window and surf the web for techie stuff or motor oil or porn or whatever manly men look at online. Because if you’re like some men I know who break out in a cold sweat when the word tampon is mentioned, you will want to stop reading NOW.)

...Waiting for the men to leave... Tapping my foot impatiently... Are the men gone yet? Ok, good. Let's carry on, shall we?

Every 28 days I tell myself, “This is just too funny not to share.” So, here I am, sharing away.

I guess Playtex figured calling them
"Playtex Sport" was more effective than
calling them "Playtex Lounge Around
and Eat Chocolate All Damn Day" 

Basically I’d like to know: When did tampons become fortune cookies? Yep, you heard me. I want to know when tampons started giving us gals advice on how to live our lives.

Let me do some ‘splaining... Last year, I bought a box of Playtex Sport tampons. They come in a hot pink box and have silhouettes of women dancing and jogging and playing tennis and ALL of those fun and frisky things we ladies do when we’re on our periods. (And golly, if you're like me, sometimes you find yourself dancing and jogging while you play tennis. Mm-hmm.) The box is fun and cheerful and just looks like something you’d want to see waving at you from under your bathroom sink. 

But really – I think it’s time for truth in advertising. Why not have a box showing what it’s really like when Auntie Flo comes a-calling? Like, a silhouette of a woman growling and killing off a tube of cookie dough. Or, maybe a silhouette of a gal curled up on the sofa with a heating pad. Or – better yet – a woman chasing a man around with a knife after he said something stupid to her like, “Oh, come on! Cramps can’t be that bad!”

God bless the person who figured out how to package
and sell cookie dough like this... You are my hero.

Ah, but I digress...

I'm not sure when I first noticed, but WOW. Really, WOWWW. I guess it was when I was holding the wrapped tampon in my hand, trying to figure out which end was “up” and what end to tear open, when I first saw the WRITING ON THE WRAPPER. Yes, there were words on the wrapper. And not just “You are holding a Playtex Sport Tampon.” Nosirree. It was a secret message sent to me directly from the Tampon Gods. It said, “Go for the standing ovation.” Really? I should go for the standing ovation? Hell yeah! So, from that moment, I decided I was going to go for the standing ovation that day. Because my tampon told me so.

YEAH! Go get 'em, tiger! Conquer the world! RRROWL!

After that, every time I pulled a tampon out of the box I felt like I was going on a new and exciting adventure. I never knew what little message it was going to tell me, like “Game on!” or “Practice makes perfect,” or “Live Fearlessly!” Live fearlessly? Ok, next time I encounter a Nightmare Bug, I'll lasso that sucker, teach it to ride on my shoulder and name it Norman. And I will do it all without an ounce of fear. Because my tampon told me so.

I have to admit, the messages were sort of hard to read – yellow ink on a light green wrapper – but for those of you who are farsighted or damn near blind, it would be worth buying a new pair of glasses or getting an eye transplant just to read these inspirational comments.

I remember being so excited about my magical inspirational tampons that I tried to give my dear friend Marnie one of my tampons to prove I wasn’t making it up. “Look!” I said. “It says ‘Strive to be your best!’” Unfortunately, we were having this conversation during lunch... At the Cheesecake Factory. (Sometimes I forget I’m in public... And okaaay, fiiiiiiine. I guess handing a tampon to someone over the table at a nice restaurant is considered a Romper Room No-No. Yada-yada-yada...) Marnie, being the level-headed and sweet person that she is, glanced at the tampon to appease me, then looked around and discreetly handed it back, as if we were exchanging illegal drugs right there in front of the lunchtime crowd. (How funny would it have been if the waiter walked up just then and caught us? Oooh, the laughs we would have had!)  

I sorta wish Playtex would print things like, “Don’t even think about wearing those white pants,” or “You are only supposed to take two Midol at a time,” or “Don’t kill your boyfriend/husband because murder is illegal” which, let’s face it, are what we really need to hear when Auntie Flo is in town.

If only Joan of Arc had Playtex Sport
tampons cheering her on, things might
have ended so much differently for her. 

For anyone who is thinking, "My old tampon just isn't bringing me the satisfaction or inspiration I'm looking for," and in the market for a new box of tampons, I highly recommend these. Not only for their impressive tamponic performance, but also because you will giggle like a silly little schoolgirl every time you read the wrapper and pop open a new one. Your period will no longer be a pain you have to live through, but an inspirational adventure.

My very favorite tamponic comment to date is, “Go out. Have fun. Trust your tampon.”

Because let’s face it – if you can’t trust your tampon, who can you trust?

Until we meet again, stay thirsty, my girlfriends!

P.S. If you are a man and managed to read this entire post without saying “Ooooh, grooooss!” and/or breaking into hives, give yourself a pat on the back for being brave. I promise not to tell on you, so no one is going to come and take your Man Card away. :-)

Guatemala: A Culinary Melting Pot

I’ll admit it -- I’m a picky eater. In fact, I’m probably the pickiest person you’ll ever meet when it comes to food. As a child, during mealtimes my mother would set the timer and say, “If you’re not finished eating by the time this goes off, you’ll __(insert punishment here)__.”  

It didn’t work. Needless to say, I endured a lot of __(insert punishment here)__  just to avoid eating whatever was on my plate. I wasn't going to eat what I didn’t like. And there were a lot of things I didn’t like.

Tick-tick-tick-DING!

This is what I do to eggs when I have Sharpies nearby.

It’s a wonder I didn’t grow up with an eating disorder. (Does “Pain in the Ass Picky Eater” count as an eating disorder? Someone look it up in the DSM-IV book.) 

As an adult, I’m still picky. I don't like butter. I don't like sour cream. I don't like mushrooms. Or olives. Or liver. I don't like eggs, although I'll eat them here only because they are cheap and plentiful and I can draw on them first. 

I recall going to dinner with my dearest darling wonderful friend, Melissa, and ordering nachos. But, much like Sally from When Harry Met Sally, I wanted them my own way -- just chips and cheese. None of that nasty green guacamole (reminds me of The Exorcist), no sour cream (oooh, yucky), no tomatoes (too slimy), and definitely no jalapeños. When the waiter brought our food to the table, he announced what was in his hands, “Ok, who gets the regular nachos and who gets the boring nachos?”

These nachos are not for me.  More for you!

Boring nachos! Ohhh yeeeeah. Come to mama.

I respect those people who can go to a potluck lunch and try a little bit of everything. Mark my words, you will never hear me say, “Oooh! Someone made Eggplant Squash Succotash with Squid Nuggets and Peas! How interesting! I’ll take some of that!”

Basically, if I can't recognize it or name it, I'm not gonna eat it. Nope. No way. 

Eating mystery food is my version of hell.

Last week, I ran into my friend David and we went out to lunch. David is from Puerto Rico, a very talented jewelry/furniture/home designer and is wonderfully gay. He calls me “ChaCha.” It’s fun hanging out with him because if an attractive man catches our attention, I will ask, “Your team or mine?” I have to ask because I was born without the Gaydar gene. I only assume a man is gay if he comes up to me and introduces me to his partner. Or if he is on the tv show “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.” Or if he knows (and sings) a lot of show tunes. In high school one of my best friends, Robert, was gay and I had no clue. (In my defense, Robert didn't know he was gay, either, until he was in college and then it was all gay, all the time.) During high school Robert dated my friend Deborah, and I thought it was soooo cool of my mom to let Robert spend the night when I had slumber parties. She said she knew Robert was gay and nothing would happen if he spent the night. (And it’s true! Nothing ever happened! EVER!) My mom has a very accurate Gaydar. Heck, even my grandma knew Robert was gay! I was clueless.

Ahhh, but I digress...

Anyway, so David and I were trying to figure out where to eat and he said, “Oh, ChaCha! There’s this new Mediterranean place that is supposed to be excellent!” And a sort of grunting/gurgling sound escaped from my mouth – the sort of sound you’d make if you were playing poker and were working on a royal flush and you just picked up an ace from another suit and had to throw it out. Yeah, that kind of sound.

David looked at me and said, “What? You don’t like Mediterranean food?” And I ‘fessed up and said, “Ehhh, I've probably never tired it.” And then he said what people have been asking me my entire life:

“How do you know you don’t like it if you’ve never tried it?”

Well, because... It sounds like it could be slimy. Or gooey. Or squishy. Or made of unfamiliar ingredients. Or have meat in it that I can’t identify.

Let’s face it, I had no good reason for not liking Mediterranean food. And David’s peer pressure was killing me. *sigh* Ok. Fiiiiiiiiine. Let’s go to that Mediterranean place.

*siiiiiiigh*

Here's a picture of Zoola's cool interior.

The place was called Zoola and it’s actually a hostel. A really COOL hostel! And a really CLEAN hostel, for anyone who is in the market for a place to stay in Antigua. It had these giant pieces of fabric covering the roof and these low low low tables and big pillows and straw mats on the floor. In other words, no regular tables and chairs, so plop your bootie on the floor and get comfie! I felt like at any minute, a live camel would come walking by. It was awesome!

Zoola is run by a brother and sister from Israel who cater to Israeli students who want to travel abroad. They also have another location in Guatemala near Lake Atitlan but they wanted to branch out in Antigua. (I’m glad they did!)

David asked if I liked falafel and I was like, "Nooo…? Well. Maybe? I don’t know. I don’t think so, but I’ve never had it." Honestly, I had no clue what falafel was. All I knew was it had the word AWFUL in it. Then again, it also contains the word LAWFUL, which means my brother (who is a cop) would probably like it. Falafel sounded like something that would be covered in alfalfa and be made out of pygmy goat or alpaca or mashed-up grasshoppers or something. Regardless, David ordered the falafel for us. The waiter described it to me as “balls of meat with a dressing on top.” Needless to say, I was nervous. Balls of meat?! Dressing?! Oh, what food hell was this??? I started to sweat and began to plan what I’d be eating after my lunch with David was over.

Falafel! It's not awful! 

And when it arrived… I checked it out like a cautious dog circling a hissing cat. And then I took a bite... And... It was AWESOME! It was crunchy! I like crunchy things. It was flavorful! I like flavory things. It didn’t have too much dressing on top! I don’t like too much dressing. It had cucumbers! I like cucumbers. I’ve been craving it ever since. Score one for the picky eater! Woop-woop!

Interesting that my first falafel experience was in Guatemala with a man from Puerto Rico, served by people from Israel, while sitting on a straw mat. (No camels, however.) (But there was a very shy dog who lived at the hostel.) (She licked my nose when I met her.) 

It was a truly unique experience.

Mmmm... pizzaaaaaa...

On that note, I have to say my new favorite place to get pizza here is a tiny dive called “Gourmet Express” which sounds like a cheesy little fast food Chinese place, right? Nope. It’s run by a very opinionated German guy named Roland and his sweet Guatemalan wife, Ana Maria. And when I say it’s a “tiny dive” I really mean it – there are two tables in the whole place. I invited a few friends to meet for dinner one night – there were nine of us – and we took up the entire restaurant. Oooh, and now I’m craving pizza.

Nom-nom-nom.

So, if you're in Antigua and you want Mediterranean food, eat at the Israeli restaurant. If you want Italian food, go to the German guy’s place. Oh, and be sure to try Roland's German beer -- it's very strong and it'll make a man of you. JAWOHL! 

And until we meet again, stay thirsty (and hungry) my friends!

-Jennifer