The $10.00 Princess

Every time I looked at her I told myself I should leave but my heart kept pulling closer to the warmth of her coal-black eyes.

The smell of burning meats mixed with barbeque smoke and endless samba music from the pickup truck high in the mountains outside Guatemala City. Alexandria was a stripper I met in one of the city’s more reputable establishments where the doormen wear tuxedos with their shotguns.

It was as if we knew each other in a different life. We talked all night and met the next morning. By the afternoon I was dancing with her sister on a sidewalk and acting like a new member of the family. It was too fast but too fun to stop.

I remember seeing her the first time. A taxi driver was taking me around town to introduce me to nice, young girls that would never look at me in the world I normally live in. We had gone to five previous bars and I immediately left each one, equally uncomfortable with myself as with the plain-looking girls in heavy makeup and cheap cherry-red, see-through blouses.

A lively tune blared out of the radio and Alex put her tiny, soft hand in mine and pulled me onto the sidewalk.

“Dance with me, mi amor! Show me your new moves! You catch on quickly! One… Two…Now watch my hands…”

Alexandria, 25, was the oldest of the sisters. Maria, the second oldest, was not as beautiful as the others but had a contagious laugh. She was unemployed but hoped to teach dance someday. Yanna, the third oldest, had long blonde hair and a body that would make even the Pope blush. She was sex incarnate and she knew it. Tamara, the baby, looked completely different - coco skin, Afro-American nose, big boobs and butt. She was born from a different father.

All of them left their native country of Panama in search of a better life six months ago. I suspect Yanna and Tamara were strippers, as well, but I didn’t want to ask. Maria was one month pregnant and lived with her boyfriend Hugo, a short and balding cattle rancher who was the owner of the pickup. Four girls from a family with nine children total.

The hood of the Chevy served as the buffet spread. An 8-year-old girl kept everyone fed and happy, bringing tortillas and sausages from her mother’s barbeque and returning with the empty plates. Sixteen large bottles of beer were set in a line in front of the windshield.

Alexandria’s arms wrapped around my shoulders and playfully pulled my earlobe with her finger.

“It’s a good night isn’t it? You are happy? Kiss me.” She whispered and then let out a laugh. “Maria! You taught him well! He dances better than Hugo!”

Maria stopped dancing to study the progress of her star student and held out her hands as if I was a great masterpiece just completed. I was as pleased as anyone else.

“Actually, the hotel I work at in Cancun is looking for a dance instructor. You are better than the one we had before. You should come work there with me.”

Maria grabbed me by the arm and gently pulled me aside. I stopped dancing so she could look at me square in the eyes. Her voice low and hushed, trembling with excited hope.

“Do you mean it? I can’t speak English but I am a quick learner and would work very hard. I am not married. I don’t need this baby and can get rid of it easily. If you can get me a job there I would come right away.”

“I’ll speak to the General Manager and do my best to get you in.”

She slipped behind her sister and together they continued moving to the bouncing beat. Her smile was from ear to ear and she gyrated her hips with even more energy.

“Bada-bada! Bam bada bada bee! One, two, three… I‘m going to live on the beach and teach dance, dance, dance!”

The sun slid below the mountain peaks, surrendering the festive day to the night shadows. The little girl helped her mother stack the plastic chairs as two men loaded them onto an old flatbed truck. The crowds thinned and two police jeeps pulled into the parking lot. It was time to go.

Alexandra was nervous, looking at her watch every few minutes.

“It’s 7:30! I have to get back. I must be in my room before 8pm or my boss will be very unhappy with me. Hugo will drop me at the bar and then will take you home. HUGO! Vamonos!”

“But it’s your day off. You have to be in your room by 8 o’clock?”

“He is very strict. I want to stay longer with you and spend all night in your strong arms,” her finger lined the contours of my lips, “but the rules can’t be broken. Let’s cuddle inside the truck while we wait for Hugo to drive us.”

She sat on my lap in the passenger seat, her hands and hair covering my face. It was like we created our own perfect universe where only our eyes, mouths, and loving whispers existed. My hands stroked her back and moved across her stomach. Her skin was so soft… but her stomach felt like it was covered with tiny scars. She pulled her shirt down as a reflex.

“Stretch marks. I had a baby not too long ago. A boy. Does it bother you?”

The shame and apprehension in her face was sobering.

“No! Not at all! You are beautiful. It doesn’t bother me a bit. You can‘t even notice…”

I held her tight in my arms and massaged the nape of her neck. The air fell out of her lungs and all was silent for eternity. Three short kisses and the other door opened. Hugo was ready to go. With the windows down and a clear sky we headed home, Alexandria still snuggled on my lap.

“WWWWWEEEEEEEEEEEE”

The sirens wailed and the lights flashed. The police had followed us out of the parking lot. Hugo punched the steering wheel, turned off the music and pulled to the side of the road.

“CARANJO! OK. Everyone get out slowly. Don’t worry… William! Do you have your passport?”

“No problem. I have all my papers with me here.”

Three policemen climbed out of the jeep with body armor and AK-47 rifles. He took my passport and the identification cards of Alex and Hugo. The police asked Hugo to sit in the jeep with them until everything was sorted out

“Senor, you want to go to Tikal? Thirty American dollars. I take you there myself.”

Tired, sweat-soaked, and alone I would have gladly paid 30 dollars just to be out of danger and enjoy sitting somewhere air-conditioned. I came to Guatemala looking for adventure but the difference between that and disaster is razor thin. It is especially true in a country as much infamous for its crime as famous for beauty.

The man walked me to his beaten-up blue pickup and pushed open the door. I got in and slammed the door, putting myself at the mercy of local hospitality. It was way too late to have second thoughts.

A few minutes outside the airport two jeeps and eight soldiers with AK-47 rifles in their hands blocked the road. The driver slowed and honked his horn with a smile. The stern men under khaki helmets waved us ahead with little interest. I, on the other hand, was quite interested in them. The driver anticipated my question.

“They are looking for drugs or unruly political groups. No worries.”

“What kind of political groups?” I wondered.

The man looked uncomfortable for the first time and turned the conversation towards his country’s wealth of bananas, mangos, and coffee. After a bloody civil war that has claimed thousands of lives over 36 years, it is a subject Guatemalans no longer want to talk about. Life is good because there is no war. Enjoy the peace and quiet.

The flat rolling ranches and fingered lakes gave way to a carpet of densely-packed trees that cut the sky to a thin swath of blue. It made the air nice and cool but inside the forest looked both powerful and forbidding. It is not the place you go off alone on nature walks for one could lose their way within two minutes.

“A guy did wander off the trails last year - some American tourist. It took 3 helicopters and 900 soldiers to find him. He was scared - but alive. Lucky loco!”

I promised myself not to be the next. The area is a UNESCO world site - known as much for its ecological diversity as for its treasured Mayan ruins - the largest in existence. It is a source of pride and a treasure for its people.

“We got spider monkeys, howling monkeys, lemurs, jaguars, peacocks, turkeys, tarantulas…”

He went on and on but I couldn’t understand his Spanish. Turning my head towards the never-ending walls of jungle gave my brain a break. Before long the truck came to a crawl in front of a group of 5 shacks.

“Here you go! There are two restaurants and three classes of lodging. You have $40, $20, and $10 per night.”

The difference in class? All rooms are the same. The price gets progressively cheaper if more people have to bunk in the same room with you. The rooms were simple, airy, and comfortable with a shower and toilet. Bottled water was provided for brushing your teeth. Not Ritz Carleton but good enough for me.

The sun descended behind the hills, the last rays mixing with the sounds of birds and monkeys to create a mystic, exotic world. The temple of the Jaguar rose above it all in powerful, beautiful silence. It was marvelous to behold and sad that I had no one to share the moment with. Mother and Al would have been blown away.

From the forest trails arrived a wide variety of travelers: rich baby-boomers, pot-smoking youths, long-haired naturists, religious Mayans. Under stars and candlelight we ate roast chicken, exchanged stories of far away places, and got tipsy from cheap Chilean wine. At the stroke of nine the manager flicked the generator switch, cutting all the electricity. The black silence overpowered us and pretty soon we all retired to our rooms and dreamed of tomorrow’s journey.

The sounds o the jungle were alive well before the daylight. A few hikers talked the night before of climbing the mountain to see the sun rise onto the pyramids. The inability to see my hand touch my nose in the blackness helped me decide the idea was nuts. At twilight I took the farthest trail and worked my way back.

A slight fog gave the forest a “Raiders of the lost Ark” effect. Quietly I stalked the trail with my camera ready to shoot. Wild turkeys with long shiny blue feathers trotted past me more obsessed with their next meal than me. A flock of huge brown birds sleeping in the trees awakened with a startle as I passed below, causing me to nearly jump out of my skin and curse out loud. A lemur looked on, unimpressed. King of the jungle I am not.

To the side of the Acropolis, a guide was explaining to his group the sound of the howling monkey.

“You might not see him but high above me is a howling monkey. Right now he is silent but if I shake the tree like this - MMMMPH! You will hear the monkey howl.”

A huge, small-headed black monkey held onto the top of the swaying tree and let out a loud sound reminding me when dad used to collect snot in his mouth before spitting out the car window. It was a loud sucking sound that makes the hair on your neck stand on end.

“GGGGNNNNNNOOOOOOGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!”

Fortunately for everyone the man stopped because the monkey looked ready to show the guide a thing or two, as well. It would have made a good picture if it did.

Some 14 stories high atop one of the pyramids were an odd collection of creatures. A rotund Mayan man in a jogging suit chanted, slowly moving three fingers in circles while facing the alter. Oblivious, two German couples sat on the edge of the pinnacle preparing cucumber sandwiches. Two bald vultures jostled and surveyed below, presumably looking for dead animals. All this crammed in a space of about 3 square meters.

I left to be alone and enjoyed the sound of leaves rustling in the cool breeze like distant rolling thunder. Perhaps the mysterious Mayans are whispering their secrets or grumbling about the intruders in Bermuda shorts. A prosperous city developed around 600 AD, creating pyramids out of limestone to honor dead kings. By 1200 the city was deserted and the city was given back to the jungle only to be redisco