It is often said that the early bird gets the worm. Waking up in San Pedro, Guatemala, I am reminded that it should also be said that the early bird gets the hot water. Stupid early bird.
Don’t get me wrong, I am no stranger to cold showers. I have enjoyed endured my share of cold showers, river rinses, and even bucket baths. But, having enjoyed the creature comfort of my reliable hot water tank for a year since my last trip, it has been a while. As I reach hesitantly under the water spray, a thousand tiny little icicle daggers shooting from the shower head, I debate skipping it altogether. But, let’s be honest, I made that choice the day before. And, if we’re being totally honest, the day before that.
Despite emerging from the sweaty confines of a the pickup truck the five of us arrived in, I rationalize that my body is likely fine, and I really just need to wash my hair. So, with arched body, I manage to avoid all but the most errant spray as I lean back soaking my head – one of the more sensitive-to-temperature parts of the body – and I stifle an all out bloody-murder shriek. It seems I have gone soft.
Through grunts of torture, I lather and rinse. There is no repeat. As evidenced by the dirty white towel I leave in my wake, I indeed managed not to get any part of my body wet. Or clean. I consider it a win.