The Washer Womens Paparazzi.

....they come in packed chicken buses from surrounding villages overlooking Antigua. Their diminutive size alows three to a seat. Great bundles of soiled clothes lie on their laps and in the above bag space. The bus trundles through cobbled streets, sinking in the centre and stops outside a yellow building, housing an ill looking hospital. The women gather their carefully packed bundles and pop out of the bus. From the hospital they cross a manicured green park towards a row of bright orange arches. Cracks in the stone work and paint give them a jaded look, but the colour compensates in the strong sunshine. Beneath the arches is a line of sinks. They come here to wash their clothes, as they have no running water in the village. Each woman takes a position at one of the faded red sinks. The gently take heavy ethnic skirts, blue, red, white and black intermingled in a chaotic tartan. These dresses reach up to their brests, giving the impression of long legs, but their short blouses make them seem disproportionate. They place the garment into the sink, which gently slopes deeper into the water. And they scrub. As I sat there watching these women going through this ritual I saw 3 different tour groups clamber out of air conditioned buses. Each group had their own washer woman. Each group had a hundred flashing cameras. Nobody asked if this intrusion was welcome. The women seemed use to it and ignored them. Occasionally one would lift an eye suspiciously searching out danger. These women have heard the rumours of the Gringos coming to their villages and kidnapping their children to harvest their organs or raise in ádoption´. I didn´t know I was in a human zoo....
.......The Dutch are over-running this town. Maybe thats an exagerration but the majority I have met are Dutch. Overall their seems to be 2 categories of people here. 18-22 year old students and middle aged dropouts who run businesses. I dont fit easily into either one. The former are an interesting bunch. They come to learn Spanish and travel Latin America. Some end up staying here for months, enjoying the afterparties and nightlife. It doesn´t take long to meet people here and there is a party atmosphere. By the end of six months, they have ended up working for $2 an hour just to exist. I am surrounded by these teenagers in my hostel. Its ok, but sometimes you cant help feeling you are alone. I met one guy who will remain nameless, who has almost assumed royalty in the nightlife here. He is teetering on the brink, a holden Caulfield waitng to happen. At 18 he has already broke down once, or maybe its just rubbish talk. You never can be quite sure when you are travelling.
As for the latter. They are infinitely more interesting. Genuine hippies, mostly from the States, some from Britain who got so sick of the real world they ran away and sat in the bars and criticised their homelands in comfort. These guys are pumped full of lives of excess, sense of abandonement and years of travel. They gather in Cafe No Se and entertain each other playing music, denouncing bush, writing lists of music prohibited (U2,Oasis,Tom Petty, to name a few) and drinking. In short, you can talk to them for hours.
......´want to go to an after party?

´si´
´come with me´
After parties , unofficial clubs and purely underground in this town. Full of us lot trying to carry on into the night. And curios locals looking for a foreign fling. Interesting.

Thanks for listening, you been great, a bit heavy I know, but get back to work, I provided some rest bite.