Guatemala, good god

Arrived here after an interesting 12 hour journey which involved 2 bus changes, 2 immigration offices, thousands of helpful locals trying to make money off me, back spasms from pygmy sized seats and wreckless driving by everyone who has ever touched tarmac in this country. It was worth it.
......after milions of years of great earthquakes and volcanic eruptions a huge valley formed at 1500 metres in Central America. The Spanish, discovering the rich volcanic soil decided to establish one of their quaint colonial towns here and went about erecting many one storey buildings of charm planned out around a market square in the centre. All was well until the earthquakes struck again, and again and again, rendering this town uninhabitable in the 1500´s. But the people with the questionable never say die spirit(stupidity) re-inhabited the place. They were prepared to put up with the earthquakes and I can see the reason why. Antigua is stunning. It is flanked by three huge volcanoes, Pacaya, Fuego and Acatenango. The cones of which jut high into the sky covered in lush jungle up to their waist. One of them throws smoke into the air constantly and to such an extent I swear I could smell it. The town sits uneasily between these amazing natural occurances. One redhot belch and it is all gone. The town itself has an interesting nightlife because of people like me, learning Spanish but is generally serene save for the infamous Guatemalan chicken buses shattering the serenity. Tourist board of Antigua should give me a job.
............on occasion while travelling alone you must lower yourself to the lowest common denominator of entertainment in town. Moreover than not for an Irish person it is an Irishbar. This may seem extreme, but considering I have not met a single Irish person yet, I felt obliged to seek them out on a lonely night in Antigua. It beat sitting in a cafe bar alone, hoping the barman would have some pity conversation with me. The following is roughly an account of what happened. It has been distorted by beer and whiskey.
One Gallo por favor. The bargirl asked my name in a pitying way. I responded cheerily, happy for the company. She was Canadian with an Irish mother and father. The guy sitting next to me exclaimed when he heard of my nationality, he was Danish and the owner of the bar. He questioned me at great length about the inside of the bar, its decor and if I thought it was authentic. For an Irish bar abroad it was. Tacky and full of Guinness adverts. He then warned the only Irish drink they had was Baileys because of strict importation laws. fair enough, he may aswell cash in. Then he ambled away behind the bar. Thats when I met German Eddie. Giant grey locks of hair sprouted from beneath his flatcap. A native of the Fatherland but resident of Kerry for twenty years he tried to tell all he was Irish. In the background the first chords of Irish Rover began playing, I turned to find the Danish owner winking at me knowingly, (I was the first Irish person he´d come in contact with in months). Eddie began to Irish dance hysterically and grabbed my arm forcefully, his flat cap barely controlling his hair beneath. His German moustache gave his nationality away. Within moments I was involved in a bastardised ceile. The space was no bigger than a kitchen and all wanted a go. Free shots of whiskey surfaced and disappeared quickly. Locals began getting involved. (At this point I began thinking I was a performing Leprechaun, only missing a Shellaleigh and Pot of Gold), Old women came up, asking to dance with the Irishman. Before long it was over with German Eddie draped on a Guatemalan woman of a pensionable age being dragged out the front door to who knows where. All was good, to a point as I bumped home through cobbled streets, tripping over giant footpaths and dodging dangerously placed window ledges.
Go on yis good things, hasta luego, I´ve started intensive Spanish.