Fletchie the Payaso

When I was 18 I spent a year in Paraguay as an exchange student. I remember fumbling over new Spanish words and expressions, using my hands and facial expressions to compensate for my poor vocabulary and grammar in an attempt to communicate. This display never failed to make my host mother laugh encouragingly, and she would affectionately call me a 'payasa'. Flicking through my dictionary, I discovered that she was calling me a 'clown', and no doubt my flailing arms and desperate mime acts I performed to express a phrase as simple as, 'Where is the shower?'or 'Do we have milk?' was quite comical for anyone watching.

Fast-forward 10 years, and I am strolling with my husband down a scenic street in La Antigua, Guatemala. It is late afternoon and we are headed back to our guesthouse, with the promise of an ice-cream on the way home and the hope of a scenic sunset from our rooftop terrace. As we turn the corner to 5a Avenida, the street which boasts El Arco (The Arch) - one of La Antigua's tourist drawcards - we see a crowd milling on the sidewalks, pointing at a commotion going on in the middle of the street. Intrigued, we head over to see what all the fuss is about.

The man attracting the attention is a Guatemalan payaso - a mime artist busking in the centre of the street.  He oozes charisma; tourists put down their maps and pick up their cameras, and local Mayan women dressed in their traditional colourful skirts flash their gold-toothed smiles as they find a spot to settle in the gutter with their children, already engrossed by the payaso. Dad, wearing his guacho sombrero, riding boots and tight jeans, relaxes alongside and forgets about his macho image as the clown's trance washes over him. The shoeshine boys and street vendors selling bubblegum,  Mayan handicrafts and icecreams take a break from their work as they, too, are drawn to the performance. All eyes are on the payaso as he juggles firesticks, wobbles on a unicycle and flips a yo-ho diablo into the air, precariously close to the local kids who remove the lollipops from their mouths just long enough to 'oohh' and 'ahh' over his tricks.

Suddenly, the payaso puts down his tools and scans the crowd. Through the lens of  his camera, Fletchie sees the payaso's finger pointed at him.

"Yo?" Fletchie asks. The payaso nods. Fletchie smiles. "Okay!"

Fletchie passes me the camera and makes his way to the centre of the street. The excitement in the crowd grows as we realise that the gringo is going to join the performance - Fletchie the Payaso! The routine - thankfully - does not require the juggling of firesticks or the balancing on unicycles. I'm not entirely confident that our travel insurance would cover such activities, should an accident occur.

Instead, the payaso and Fletch perform a skit that involves Fletchie attempting to flick a hat from his foot to his head and catch coloured balls in said hat. Such a simple trick that brings so much laughter to a crowd of people on a little Guatemalan street! Fletchie the payaso has just as much charisma - if not more - as his tutor, and the kids finally forget about their lollipops. Instead, their mouths fill up with giggles and gasps at the funny gringo. The language and culture barrier shatters as Fletchie mimes and gestures his way through the performance, to the delight of the crowd - much like the way another payasa fumbled her way through the communication barrier in a little Paraguayan town 10 years ago. Around ten minutes pass as Fletch and the payaso clown around on the cobblestones. Fletchie comes tantalisingly close to catching the hat on his head and the crowd goes wild with laughter and applause. Approximately 100 Guatemalans have just joined the Fletchie fan club.

The original payaso is not stupid, and he knows that a gringo payaso - especially one as talented as Fletchie - is going to bring in more money than he ever will. The hat that almost landed on Fletchie's head is given back to him and the payaso gestures that he wants Fletch to pass the hat around. With a grin, Fletch obliges, and makes his way through the crowd. People reach deep into their pockets and purses for spare change, and both Fletchie and the payaso seem delighted at the amount of quetzales being thrown into the hat. Small children chase him and shyly tug on his shirt for the chance to give some money and get a 'gracias' from the gringo payaso.

Slowly, the crowd disperses. The kids pop their lollipops back in their mouths. The Mayan women hoist baskets and bundles back on their heads and continue on their way. The street vendors go back to pushing their icecream carts and searching for shoes in need of shining. The tourists pick their maps back up and discuss which part of La Antigua town they will wander to next. And I'm the lucky one who gets to wander back to the guesthouse with my payaso, to watch a beautiful sunset.