Paco on the Road

My English name is difficult for Spanish speakers and for those who speak the dialect. In the Maya highlands, Marco Aurilio, a Kʼicheʼ speaker and my companion into the world of shamanism, could not pronounce it at all. Because of the fiery chile peppers I always ate, he tagged me Paco, which sounds similar to his word paqon, meaning hot and spicy. The name stuck. My wife and sons call me by that name, as do all my friends.

On our way out, at the edge of the crater that holds the mystical lake, the chamán brushed us with a bouquet of lilies. No dejes nada de tener he imparted. Don’t leave anything to have. We promised we wouldn’t.

“You boys going to get somewhere, or just going?
We didn’t understand his question, and it was a damned good question.”
~ Sal Paradise

The Tells

The Maya Highlands
Travels in South America
Camels, Curry and Chai
Mt. Everest
Whale Tales
Camp Coati
Adventures in Yucatán
The Miskito Coast
In the Painted Caves with the Shamans
Shipwreck, Cannibals, and the Island with the Long Tail
Texas Boys and the Big Fish
The Little Texas Grandmother
El Centauro del Norte
Most Soldaderas Wanted to Fight Just Any Man
The Lone Rider from the Land of the Magic Quileli Bird
Search for the Lost Seri Sanctuary
Treasure of the Round Rock Rest Stop
Maguey to Mezcal
Las Corajudas de Chachos
From Lubbock to Zorro in Ten Days
Massacre at Nochis
Punked and Pimped at the Jardin
Little Paris
Los Baratillos de Oaxaca
When the Dead Come Home
Find Her Cape
Skulls, Frothy, and Nosh up a Tucker
Dutch Treat & Blimey Brits
The Rose of Reforma
Karen’s Kreations
The Shaman and The Surrogate
Seeking Duende in Hispania