The Ultimate Culture Slap

Marcos started in Mexico eight months ago with shit for Spanish. His only encounters with people of the Caribbean all took place in Spain. The guys were thugs, the girls were prostitutes or purposely flirting with you while a group of guys hid, waiting to beat you. His words, not mine.
Here he was, sitting, day one, fully disoriented. A Caribbean girl comes over and is asking him everything and being all friendly and cute, flirting with him like many more Latinas would in his future. After a while and lots of looking over his shoulder, Marcos decides she’s not with any guys and starts repeating in his head “She’s a prostitute. This girl is a prostitute. I am talking to a prostitute” He finally cuts her off:
“Are you a prostitute?”
She gasps, does a double take, and leaves. But not before slapping him across the face as hard as she could.

 

A Royal in Nicaragua

On the Pacific coast of Nicaragua, Marcos rents a motorcycle. He tells the owner he’s taking it to a nearby town, but naturally takes it to the Atlantic side. With a female traveler in tow. He told me what he returned was more like half a bike. Parts fell off throughout the entire trip, he was repairing wires in the rain as they crossed mountains and rivers and somehow got it to work again each time. He’s still got a nice burn on his calf from the adored bike.
Somewhere along the way the two found 100 dollars on the ground. In the cheapest Central American nation, they lived like kings. Lobster dinner in Nicaragua is $3 for a plate of fresh-caught heaven, but this was Lobster dinner for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

 

Baked by Belizean Bakeries

Marcos befriended the bakers of his preferred bread-stop in the tiny land of Belize. He really must have been tight with them, because on his last day the gave him “space cookies.” Family owned, let me note the staff included a 60-year-old granny. I asked if they were chocolate chip or whatever type, to which he said “no idea just imagine the best cookie you ever tasted.” He had one, felt normal, and went to bed.
The next morning he was crossing by boat to Guatemala. He figured he shouldn’t have the cookies on him and eating the last three all at once made the most sense. He does, and soon finds himself stoned out of his mind, being violently thrown around in the front row of the lancha of the bumpy ride where one’s bum is more often in the air than on the seat, and mostly asleep.