Even so, my brain was bursting by the end of the second week and I needed to let it rest. My friend and I took that Friday off and ran back down to Monterrico. When some of the other students in class found out what we were planning, they demanded they come with us. It was an impromptu day of hooky, and we got into a bit of trouble when we showed up for classes on Monday. But it was worth it. The only real problem was getting to Monterrico. The van broke down on the way there, and by the time we got to the launch, we had missed the last ferry. It was well after dark and we thought for sure we were stuck on the edge of the swamp until morning. A few minutes later, a random boat passed by, so we hitched a ride. I don’t know that my friend and I alone would have been so brave, but we were a group of eight and we had men with us. And men make all the difference when you’re traveling. Or so we thought. Once we were well into the swamp, some of the local men started getting a little fresh with a few of us girls. We were really uncomfortable, but couldn’t get away from them. And our men, who had never been in a similar situation, proved to be fairly useless. They were afraid of angering the boat owner, and had visions of all of us floating in the swamp for weeks until someone discovered our bloated corpses. I took matters into my own hands.  We had all been drinking on the ride to the ferry (probably another reason we felt safe enough to hitch a ride), and so I had the bright idea of pretending to get sick. I thought this would turn them off and they’d leave us alone after.
I was right and I was wrong. It did turn them off, but rather than leave us alone, they became really concerned for my safety and insisted on getting us to shore right away. They even escorted us to our hotel, refusing to leave until Tony promised to personally keep an eye on me. Once done, they simply disappeared back down the beach. It turns out they weren’t trying to be perverts, they were just behaving like they saw men in American movies behave. This was my first exposure to a foreigner’s misconception of American women. And when you consider their perspective is based on the only information they have to go on- American movies- it kind of makes sense. Since this incident, I have experienced the same attitude again and again. It frustrates me every time, but now I can understand where foreign men get their ideas. I don’t like it, but I get it. And that helps me to deal with it.
Back in Antigua, we decided not to tell anyone about our brush with swamp death (or so we perceived when we were on the boat). Instead, we took the berating we deserved for skipping school and went back into the routine: language in the morning, afternoon study and evening activities. Sometimes after salsa, some of the group would go out to dinner. We wanted a chance to see more of the town, mingle with other locals, and just enjoy the ambiance of this incredible place. Always, the people were beyond friendly, funny, patient with our blossoming Spanish, and had a great collective sense of humor. The food was good, the wine was good and the company was good.

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