Tales from the Banana Republic.

9 o'clock,Christmas Day. The world slumps, soporific into sofas strewn with wrapping paper, the presents opened, the food consumed the merriment over for another year. But in a hostel tucked in the outskirts of Antigua, I sat accompanied by Steve from room 9 and an overwhelming odour of the eggs which he had cooked up for his dinner. Not quite the magical Guatemalan Christmas I had imagined.

Antigua had seemed like perfect place, we arrived at night and I immediately fell in love with the romance of the city. Trees strung with lights, cobbled streets and huge medieval doors. I woke up the first morning to the sun blushed sides of the volcanoes, throwing up puffs of ash that gently melted in the sun.

Waking up on Christmas Day however, the streets were sparse with travellers like me. It felt a bit like being caught in the rain without a coat, everybody is not sure what to do, and it's soggy. The plan to find revelry and mirth at The Terrace Hostel Christmas dinner was un expectantly set awry by a singular gelato. Events unfolded involving nuts, breathing difficulties, epipens leading us to a poorly lit hospital where the nurse tried to pretend we weren't there.

We got our Christmas dinner but, by then the drama had taken its toll though, and the decision to head back to our hostel was unanimous. After abrupt conversation with egg scoffer Steve from room 9, I changed into my pajamas. Just then, I heard distant drums and music and decided to investigate. Before I knew it I had been assigned a job as petal scatterer. The procession, they said, was coming sooner than scheduled and they were frantically getting a carpet ready. A trailer carrying a cramped brass band turned up and before I could say "Feliz Navidad" I was being twirled by a jolly Guatemalan man intent on teaching me how to dance. Soon, all the carpet makers on the street were dancing and swapping partners as the cheer diffused through the air along with the first hints of the incense of the procession.

As I sat in the pews listening to the service a rush of a smile ran through my body. I was in a church, in Guatemala, surrounded by people who I had just met feeling that warmth of a family Christmas that I had been missing all day...and I wasn't wearing any underwear! Even after this realisation, it was not the glares of strangers that I felt, but the glow of friendliness and goodwill and all things Christmassy...just when I stopped searching and started seeing.