The Unbelievable Story

The Legendary Myth of the Night Owl

There I was, riding the winds of life, warm Guatemalan air streaming through my hair, the warmth of a body pressed against mine, riding through the airbase on the back of a scooter.

The events leading up to this moment weren’t so favorable but there I was killing time until the plane arrived.

And honestly… if I didn’t have a witness to the following events,

I probably wouldn’t believe my own story if I told it to myself.

Steve and I arrived 9 months earlier in a foreign country with a foreign language, food and faces. Steve and I grew up together and always dreamed of living abroad in another world away. So, in the summer of 1992 both 19, young and full of adventure, among other things we did just that.

However, South America wasn’t so kind in the 90’s to gay men, so you could say it was a really good thing we had each other or at least he had me.

Being “macho” was their motto and Steve was everything but!

It was late December I talked Steve into accompanying me to the Mayan ruins for a week away after I assured him, we’d be with many “friends” and it would be fun. I was super excited because months earlier I traveled to this same destination for a weekend of fun, freedom, and partying! I was looking forward to a repeat weekend. But it couldn’t have been further from the truth.

The problem was the friends I had met and made plans with on the airbase got called away on a mission last minute and it was too late for Steve and I to reschedule. So, we decided to make the best of it together. After all, I was still excited to show him the ruins I had visited the month before.

After an hour plane ride from the Guatemala City to an offsite army airbase, a 20 min taxi from the base to the main road and a 2-hour air-conditioned bus ride into the Mayan ruins, we finally arrived. We decided to stay in what I described as “flinstone huts”. No hydro, no electricity, no beds or doors and no near by stores and not by choice. Because my friends were called away, they didn’t make any plans for us, so Steve and I were on our own.

Here we were, hanging out in hammocks in 40 degrees, too hot to do anything and bored beyond bored. Once our tour of the Mayan ruins was done there was nothing left to do or see. Steve was relentlessly teasing me about the florescent pink hockey bag with a picture of a night owl, I had brought filled with useless girly items. At the time I felt I needed “my stuff”, you know… 20 outfits, 10 pairs of shoes, makeup, hair products, etc. the usual for a week away at 19.

But even I secretly felt foolish seeing as it was so incredibly hot, I’d been living in my bikini for the past 2 days, waiting for the week to end. Apparently, night owls are rumored to be bad luck and an evil omen. Little did I know I was about to test the theory of that legendary myth of the night owl.

The plan was, we were scheduled to leave on a plane back to the city on Sunday, (5 days away) which is when they were expecting us. But, because the flight was a gift from a pilot friend of mine on an army plane and not a paid airline, we didn’t have much control over when we left. (And there were no cell phones back then)

With so much time on our hands, we figured if we walked to the end of the road at 6am we could catch public transit and if we arrived at the base early enough, we could catch the daily plane back to civilization. (one plane, one flight per day)

So that’s what we did.

At precisely 5:30am we were all packed and ready to go, me and my big 25lbs florescent pink hockey back with a picture of a night owl, filled with useless girly items in tow, ready to trek through the jungle on a mission to catch the next plane outa here.

It only took us 15 min to walk to the corner where the bus was scheduled to arrive. It was a cool morning, a refreshing change from the extreme jungle heat. As we waited with strangers for the bus to arrive, we were hopeful our plan would prevail. The bus indeed arrived but with more people and bags and boxes and bicycles and nets of fruits and vegetables and chickens, yes, I said chickens as though they were passengers of their own. There were so many people, animals and supplies on this big yellow bus that Steve and I were not actually in the bus but on the last step hanging on to each other for dear life OUTSIDE the bus! I was so grateful for Steve’s long gangly arm wrapped around me as a human seat belt, because my stupid 25lb florescent pink hockey sized bag with a picture of a night owl filled with useless girly items was very close to toppling both of us OFF that bus involuntarily.

There were SO many people on that old rickety bus that it actually broke down.

In the middle of the jungle!

Here we were, left competing with 100 other locals (and chickens) hitchhiking in the middle of nowhere. We couldn’t walk forward, we had to walk back, to get away from the crowd in hopes someone would have mercy and pick us up. A long gangly gay man-boy and a somewhat cute blonde gringa with a very large florescent pink night owl bag.

I don’t know if they were being kind or felt sorry for us because I looked so ridiculous and pathetic with that awkward bag, but regardless, a blue pickup truck picked us up with 6 other lucky souls.

25 minutes later we ran out of gas.

Now even more in the middle of the jungle (and 20 degrees hotter) with my stupid, big, awkward florescent pink hockey sized bag with the night owl print filled of girl crap and do you think I could talk Steve into giving a girl a break and carrying it for a while?

Not a chance!

Apparently, my flirty girl charm and big sexy boobs have no effect on a gay man.

Who knew?

At least now we could walk in the direction of our destination and feel like we were still accomplishing our mission. But our time was ticking. And lucky for us it wasn’t long before a white van with roof racks picked us up. “YES!! Perfect” I thought, “a place for my bag and maybe if we’re lucky? Air-conditioning for the final stretch!”

Ya dream on!

“Oh, we had air conditioning alright!” Sitting ON TOP of that van with my nightmare of a bag, Steve, and I once again both holding on for dear life, this time going 100 km/hr on the highway.

Can you picture it?

We eventually made it to the gate of the army base but because they weren’t expecting us till the following Sunday, there was no taxi to pick us up. So, we had to walk another 10km to get to where we wait for the plane.

Yes, hotter than hot, I carried that oversized, stupid, big, awkward florescent pink #$%^ing hockey sized nightmare of a bag with that stupid, smug, old, hairy, night owl all the way to the airbase.

We finally made it! (Even with time to kill!)

That brings us to why I’m on the back of a scooter. One of my friends from my previous visit returned early and invited me to go for a ride. He was taking me to a “macho fiesta” (and sadly “you know who” wasn’t invited.) Besides, we needed someone to watch our stuff and to be honest I needed a break from

“THE BAG!”

The plan was, once the plane came, a car would come get those at the party, and I’d jump on the scooter with my guy, and we’d all catch the plane in plenty of time.

Well as you know… my day hasn’t gone as planned from the start and apparently it wasn’t about to change now!

The car came indeed for the others, and I too jumped on the scooter in such a panic that we arrived back to the base just in time to watch the plane fly away into the afternoon sky and there sitting on the tarmac was no one to be found but a… florescent pink NIGHT OWL smirking back at me.