There was an embarrassing pause after I was first asked if I wanted to go to Guatemala. It isn’t the sort of question one is prepared for. I don’t, in fact, recall ever having given the matter much thought one way or the other. When it was explained that the reason was a meeting of the Mont Pelerin Society, however, I began to pack.
I checked with my six-year-old son, a map freak, on just where Guatemala was. Then, since a consistently unreliable source told me it was hot and dry there, I bought a warm suit and an umbrella. To find out about vaccinations, I naively called the listed number for “Vaccination information for travel,” was told to call another number, then another, and so on for seven trials (par for New York). Finally, duly vaccinated and armed with a cough-medicine bottle full of Scotland’s answer to cowardice, I boarded what the Guatemalans affectionately call “Pandemonium Scareways” and was on my way.





Comments