Bull Balls and La Boca Costa

“…son testiculos de toro,” Hector explained to the table. I don’t think I have to translate this one for you all to get the idea. “Tom, quieres probar?” he asked me. Tom, do you want to try? I looked at the filleted and pan-fried testicles and thought to myself, ‘juevos de toro’ eh? They kind of look like eggs over easy. My friend Sergio’s Elisa’s eyebrows shot up spontaneously, as if to say “mi juevo,” or absolutely not. Ana Maria, Sergio’s mom, didn’t seem fazed by any of this. Diana, Anamaria’s daughter, seemed a little eeked by the thought of eating bull balls, too.

Now, you might be asking yourself how the hell I came to be seated next to a man, eating testicles a la bull and eager to share his treat with those seated around him. Actually, if you’ve been following my blog, you’re probably wondering who the hell these people even are in the first place. Well, that in itself is an interesting story.

Just over a month ago, when I went to Antigua for a week, I was introduced to a man of sixty-some years by my Polish host Zena. His name was Edgardo, and we all ate lunch together. He told stories of living and working in the states for years and years and his struggles finding consistent work right now, all while unabashedly showing off his warm toothless smile. He also told me of a woman, a good friend of his, named Ana Maria who lives in Xela. He asked me if I could deliver a gift to her; a simple necklace with a stone he carved as the pendant. “Of course,” I told him. It would require practically nothing of me to call up this woman and deliver his gift.

There’s an episode of The Office in which Andy and Dwight try to out-polite each other so that the other would not be indebted to return the favor to the other. Well, if Ana Maria thinks anything like Andy and Dwight, then Ana Maria and her family made sure to pull out the trump card right off the bat. I met her in the Parque Central, in front of the cathedral where she works, and, after giving her the letter and necklace, she invited me to her house the following night for coffee with her family. When I showed up, she gave me food and hot chocolate. Her son Sergio is also twenty-two and also plays guitar. We had a little jam sesh, shared some music, and when he went out to pick up some cigarettes he came back with a couple brewed surprises. I had no idea what to expect from that night and, to be honest, what I did expect wasn’t much. But good intentions and good deeds go round and round here; it seems like all you have to do is throw yourself into the cycle and enjoy the ride.

We hung out a couple more times, playing guitar and enjoying a couple more beers. Sergio showed me pictures of his house on the coast, the home where he grew up and where he returns now with his family each weekend. He asked me if I wanted to join them one weekend so that I could see a different part of the country. I was shocked, but I said I would love to.

Then, a few weeks later as if I transported in time, I was at a table in his spacious but simple colonial style house, being offered a taste of testes a second time. The group waited anxiously for my answer, probably half-grossed out by the idea of eating testicles and half-hoping that I’d do it and expose myself to a barrage of ball-related insults. I told Hector, Sergio’s older brother, yes, but only if Sergio manned up and joined me as I crossed a boundary I never thought I would. Sergio let out a bass-y laugh and agreed. We both got pieces about half the size of my pinky nail. We looked at each other, nervously chuckling and probably wondering if this would somehow make us gay. I picked up my fork, scooped up the Italian-sausage-looking sliver of meat and before I knew it, there was a piece of testicle in my mouth. The taste was actually overwhelming. I don’t know how to describe it, but if I hadn’t known it was bull ball I probably would have said it was ‘alright.’

I looked around the table as the little piece began its journey to my belly. Hector was smiling. Diana had that cheeks-pursed, eyebrows-raised look you’d expect someone to have if they just watched you eat an animal’s testicle. Anamaria’s eyes remained hidden by her tinted classes, but her usual puckered-lip expression transformed into a big, lip-sealed cheek-to-cheek grin. Across the table, Sergio grabbed his Coke and took a big swig, washing away the taste but not the shame. His girlfriend just chuckled and shook her head.

After dinner, Sergio and I exited the finished wooden walls of his house into the mini-compound that his family owned. Behind the gate to the street, there was an entire yard filled with tiny four-wall structures with families living inside. Sergio told me that the people living here were only charged about 400Q (about 80 bux) each year. He said that she couldn’t just give them away for free because then everyone would come in and try to claim something for themselves. By charging them almost nothing to live there, it keeps the peace and also does some good for these families as well.

We hopped in his mother’s pickup. I didn’t get a look at the make, but it was nice and new, spacious, and had air conditioning, something I had not yet experienced in Guatemala. We drove through the town, looking for a little tienda that had a couple of liters of beer for us to enjoy. Even though it was dark, the streets were vibrant and full of people enjoying the warm night air. A lot of the houses – if you can call them houses – we passed were assembled from corrugated tin paneling and pieces of wood thrown awkwardly holding them up. Out of all of the kids that we drove by, I’d say one out of every three were running and playing on the dirty, rocky, garbage covered roads barefoot. Men merrily stumbled by, red-faced and drunk.

Our first trip, I walked into the tienda with Sergio. There were two small kitchen tables that a few young guys were seated at, drinking some beers, a small counter, and an even smaller refrigerator. That was it. Everyone’s jaw in the tiny square room dropped when they saw me. Apparently not many foreigners had passed through these parts of the country. This will probably be as “real” of an experience of Guatemala as I will get in my time here. I was happy Sergio let me pay for my half this time. The rest of the night was spent sitting and talking with the family over a few small glasses of beer.

I woke up the next morning with the sun peaking through the windows of my second-floor room for the night. I walked out onto the balcony – yes, there was a balcony surrounding the entire square house – and looked out at the five or so volcanoes visible in the clear morning sky. The view was stunning. Guatemala really is a beautiful country.

That day would be filled with a visit to Hector’s grandparents-in-law’s coffee/cacao/over-sized lemon plantation, delicious carne asada, a lot of relaxing, and capped off with a variety show to elect the “queen” of the town. We watched the show from the balcony outside of Sergio’s bedroom (which became mine those two nights; Sergio shared his mother’s bed). I sat there, watching men in white masks, wigs, and hilarious “your fantasy animal” dresses strut their stuff, a standup comic, and a ridiculously talented ten-year-old singer, understanding almost every word that was said but somehow still missing almost every joke that was cracked. It didn’t matter. I was just grateful to be a part of it all.