There’s a special place called Rainbow Café on one of the less transited cobblestone streets of Antigua, Guatemala, one of UNESCO’s world heritage sites, where I could always go when I needed to hide from the world and get a breath of fresh air. 

The entrance is deceiving, a couple of used book stands at the entrance and a cashier at the back, the walls old and run down like most of the places in Antigua, but not the kind of run down dirty by neglect, just run down by age and use, and in harmony with the many beautiful ruins that survived the earthquake of 1773.

Rainbow Café was (and probably still is) one of the best-kept secrets among local Guatemalans seeking anonymity and one of the must stop places for the many backpacking travelers that come to learn Spanish or simply visit. Behind the entrance there’s an indoor patio that you can only see once you’ve gone past the bookshelves and the cashier.  It is the typical Spanish architecture that is so common in Antigua and there are small and old wood tables and chairs for people to sit and order whatever they feel like from their well stocked (and relatively cheap) international menu – from a frozen cappuccino if the day is too hot to a large order of nachos and guacamole if the hunger is too fierce.

There is usually some Ibiza or Gypsy King (my favorite) music playing and you can be sure that no one except the waiter will walk up to your table. You can breathe, and begin to listen to your thoughts, take out your paper (or laptop!) and begin to write.  The only one who will be looking over your shoulders is the majestic Volcán de Agua that stands tall and dark over the city like a silent guardian.

I spent many sick workdays there, trying to build some of my first frustrated sentences. I took many of my life changing decisions there, like the time I decided that I was going to buy a sailboat and live a more meaningful life.  I shared many philosophical dinners there with dear friends, trying to understand the puzzles of our lives and desires.  I was even robbed there once, precisely during one of those intense philosophical dinners, when I was too deep into my friend's newfound past life regression therapy and my tortilla soup to notice that someone was grabbing my purse.

I don’t recall the cashier ever recommending one of their books - she probably didn’t speak English well enough to read the novels and paperbacks that the travelers left there to lighten their loads.  But her passiveness was actually liberating, because I could take as long as I wanted to look over the books and take as many as I wanted to my table to inspect them more carefully.  I loved the feeling of exploring through other people’s books, the fact that they were worn down by their travels only added to their charm and I was always full of expectation and certainty that I would be able to find a quiet and unpretentious gem calling my name.

Recently I went to visit Rainbow Café after 10 years of living abroad (my childhood dreams of far away travels did come true).  I took a bag of thriller paperbacks that a friend had given to my mom, excited to see what I could exchange them for. But the lady behind the cashier was new and did not recognize me and did not deem my booty worthy of their selection (even though she had a couple by the same author on display). I wasn’t too disappointed, mainly because the scarce selection she did have did not seem as well travelled as I recalled it being, and there was nothing that caught my eye.  I was also in a hurry to meet an old friend who wanted to show me a new wine place so I wouldn’t have had time to look carefully.

Still I popped my head inside the indoor patio and was happy to see a full crowd sitting by candlelight listening to a group of foreigners giving a presentation about their educational work with the children from the local dumpster.  I couldn’t help smiling – only the gringos, would come from so far and fall in love with our country and people.  I was relieved to see that despite their thinning book selection, Rainbow Café was still a place for special changes and encounters.

I can’t recall one particular book that I chose or read there.  But I can recall as if it were still today, the immense relief I felt every time I walked inside.  The excitement of crossing a threshold into a space where everything seemed possible and the stories of faraway lands grew over the humid corners like thick mold.  To me it was a drug that I needed to use frequently to restore my faith and put up with the pointless musts and airs of every day life.  And just the fact of knowing that it still exists and is still busy with foreigners gives me hope that despite all of our technological advances we still need these special (and physical and real) places to nourish our souls.