Guatemala
City 
The guidebooks were easy on Mexico City in comparison to their reading of Guatemala’s capital—the stuff was the making of crime novels. They painted all too vivid pictures of red-light districts, rampant poverty and ugly architecture.
I wouldn’t have wanted to remain in this sprawling metropolis for
long, but as usual, we found much more beauty than the travel guides every
acknowledged (Why are they so stuffy? Who let them be the authority on
a good time?) Yes it was dirty, crowded and unattractive in most patches.
But this capital of 3 million also had one of the most visible counterculture
scenes. In one night, we drank beer in a graffitied bar surrounded by
tables debating politics; then danced in a gay “bar” housed
for the evening in a Chinese restaurant.
The venders of goods, no doubt fresh from the country’s sweatshops,
was so thick down the main boulevard
on a Saturday that you had to walk down the sides of the street—and
pray not to be hit.
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The fortress-like police compound was right near our hotel.
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Tantamount to the city’s bustle were plenty of deserted, and rather creepy, streets.
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The old Chinese lady who owned this restaurant pushed the tables to
the sides on Saturday nights and transformed it into (surprise!)
a gay dance club. Upon paying the cover and buying some malt liquor,
we were instantly scooped up by this friendly, and very drunk,
woman who made us sit and dance with all her friends. Nothing like vogueing
to cumbia.
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Selling soda and watching the planes depart from inside the airport.
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