FOUND IN GUATEMALA

I WOKE BEFORE SIX on my first day in Antigua. The older I get, the less I care about what happens at night. Intellectually, I know plenty of interesting things happen in the evening. But I am drawn to the quiet of the mornings now, the emptiness of streets and skies, the unobstructed view, the clarity of thinking.

I had risen early to hike to Cerro de la Cruz, a massive cross on the side of a hill, from which one can see all of the city beneath it, and Volcán de Agua in the distance. I crossed the calm cobblestone roads, the business of the day only just beginning. I walked past the low Spanish colonial buildings through the vacant town square, Plaza Mayor, where I took a moment to study the cathedral, and then north, past closed doors after closed doors, the city still asleep. Only as I arrived at the base of the hill did I begin to see people, all gently greeting me with “Buenos días”: a shopkeeper opening up his tienda, the girl behind the counter at a small bakery situated across from a rusted-out Ferris wheel, and then, as I hiked, some girls in plaid skirts apparently on their way to school, confidently skipping down trails I would have sworn went nowhere.

Finally I arrived at the cross. I am always a fan of enormity in public art, religious or otherwise, so even though