I’m about a minute away from arriving at my Spanish class when I see a familiar face walking towards me from the other direction. It’s Coco, from the Vancouver to Portland bus. We smile at each other s we both open our arms for a hug. He’s with a friend, her name is Shannon. He’s across the lake at the sleepy local of San Marcos like planned and is over in San Pedro to run some errands for the hostel he’s working at. “Hostel del Lago is having an open mic tonight,” he tells me, encouraging me to come. I say I might see them there as I run off to my Spanish lesson excited to explain the recent happenings to my teacher Juan Marcos, in Spanish of course.
The open mic and post jam have come to a close. People saunter back to their dorms to continue with the night’s activities. Coco is at the bar playing chess with a very tall, at least 6’6”, man with dreads and a recycled fire department jacket. We’ll later joke about the demise of the original owner, Phil, whose name is patched onto the right breast of the jacket. I approach the bar and Coco compliments me on my contributions over the night. I sit myself beside the board with a clear view of both players. I introduce myself to the tall man and go to shake his hand. As he takes my hand he tells me his name, Styx. My eyes widen as our hands become suspended in a prolonged shake. “Styx?”
The only Styx I had ever met was a 6’6” dreaded nomad in Cambodia and he was now standing in front of me three years later in Guatemala. We both laughed with disbelief as we embraced one another in a enthused hug.