(Xela, Guatemala)

I arrived in Quetazltenango (also known as Xela) on Christmas Day. All was quiet on Christmas Day and the bustling bus terminal I arrived in nearly a week ago was silent save for the odd rat or tourist. It took a while to find a place as most hostels sent their staff home for the holiday. The streets were still and after settling in, I grabbed my camera bag and headed out to explore the city.

(Xela, Guatemala)

I turned a corner and headed down a narrow sidewalk on an empty street. At one point, I was squeezed between the wall and a parked car. Two Guatemalan males came from behind. One of them grabbed my hand and the other shouted something in Spanish. For some weird reason, my first thought when I was grabbed was: “someone is trying to molest me.” As a reflex action, I pulled the guy grabbing me over the front hood of the car as I tried to comprehend the situation. The guy lost his grip and I made my way to the main street, where I engaged in a staring match with my muggers.

(Xela, Guatemala)

Nothing was lost, but I wondered if the second mugger might have been saying “I have a knife.” The incident shocked me, and I spent the next 32 hours in town paranoid. At night, I ran into my two muggers again. However, I had spotted them early and they seemed disappointed. As I made my way back to the hostel, the dark and unfamiliar streets seemed hostile and angry. I eventually stumbled upon a nice Seattle girl who spoke Spanish and helped me find my way back.