Back in the days, during Guatemala’s simmering civil war, I took on a solo bicycle trek through the Peten region of Guatemala. My original plan was to exit through the jungle to Chiapas. This was at the height of the rainy season – suffice it to say I learned a lesson.

Though vaccinated, I contracted an illness. My urine turned the color of CocaCola. I thought I was going to die – ironic, since earlier machinegun-toting (soldiers? Rebels?) hijacked a bus I was on for several hours. The locals hid me under the seats in the back… to die alone in the jungle seemed anticlimactic.

I struggled (and how) to a hotel. For six dollars a night I got a bed and a concrete shower. When, feverish and needing to cool down, I turned the shower on… it emitted an wheeze like an old tubercular man punched in the gut, and dribbled a brown trickle from the plastic pipe emerging from the wall. The concrete floor was cool with my face pressed against it though, and the trickle was cold.

When I finally, after days of this, had enough strength (after gobbling every antibiotic I had), I stumbled to the nearest restaurant. The cook was asleep on the grill, which should have been a sign. But I was too weak to explore. I saw “hamberguesa” on the menu – good Lord, a hamburger! Comfort food for a very sick traveler. I was in for a surprise.

Inside the bread, the patty was paper thin, and crunchy, like a potato chip. I opened the assemblage, and I swear it looked like it was covered in matted fur. It was incredibly salty. After days of delerium, I needed the calories. I just gritted my teeth and ate it.

This is the worst thing I’ve ever eaten – whatever animal it was – and I’ve eaten things like aged khlea in Morocco. It was worth it though!

Cheers
Perri