Day 11

2/27
I’m up early again. I turn the TV on. It’s not even 7 o’clock. I lie in bed for an hour watching shows. I take my time getting up and moving around. An interesting thing happens next. An episode of Seinfeld is on. I almost pass it by, as the channel is fuzzy. It’s about the BubbleBoy. I enjoy the Seinfeld shows, but I don’t have every episode memorized, so I watch it nonchalantly until George gets involved in an aggressive game of Trivial Pursuit with the obnoxious BubbleBoy.
“I’m sorry, but the correct answer is ‘The Moops,’” George tells him.
Wow! What are the odds of that? I think, “How often do I have a random conversation about something, then do something that I don’t normally do, and there it is again?” My trip is coming around full circle on this last day here in Guatemala.
The Christmas movie “Prancer” is on—in English with the Spanish subtitles—as I get cleaned up. I shower then go to breakfast with the hopes of eating a big meal to get me through my long day. I end up having cereal, some rolls and a banana. Surprisingly, I have coffee again. Even more surprising, I have some pineapple juice. I thought I would be sick of the taste of it after the pineapple-flavored Pedialyte.
After breakfast, I go back up to the roof one last time to read my book. I end my afternoon in the sun with one last look out at the city. How fitting that the last thing I see is an airplane lifting off from the airport off to my right at the edge of the city. It’s another sign to me that my journey has come full circle.
I check over my room about ten times, finally satisfied I’m leaving nothing behind, and I move into the lobby. There are some other folks in the lobby waiting for the van to the airport also. Just because they’re white, I don’t make the assumption right away they are American or speak English. It’s not until we’re in the van do I learn they are from Kentucky, although the husband is originally from England. They are here to adopt a baby.
We get to the airport, and it’s as small as I remember it. It’s still very busy. I am thinking the three of us might go through the check-in process together since we’re on the same flight and none of us has taken a flight out of here before. But, it seems they’re even less sure about what to do than I am, and I lose them in the lines. There is one long line for the major airlines and walk-up service for the smaller local ones.
I check one bag and take my backpack and extra bag that is now filled with souvenirs along with me. After I go through the main security checkpoint, I’m in a shopping and eating area. If this area is only for passengers, it’s very crowded. I find the bank window where I need to pay the Q20 departure tax. A Q20 bill has been tucked in my badge wallet for some time now just for this purpose. I wanted to make sure I didn’t accidentally spend it.
I look for my gate instead of looking in the shops. It’s a good thing too. There is another checkpoint I have to go through to get to the gates. My shoes come off again. I look for Gate B2 and see a gate with yet another checkpoint right in front of it specifically for Delta and this flight. I should have just carried my shoes after the first time I took them off. My backpack has all my gizmos and electronics in it, and Security wants to go through it. I have to demonstrate that the camera actually works. I have no reason to be nervous, but it still takes me a little longer than usual to turn it on.
I sit in the gate area, which is filling quickly, and read my book while listening to my I-pod. It soon gets too distracting as my surroundings are noisy and full of people. There are two families bringing little babies back to the states. There’s a young woman who looks like she probably hiked all across Guatemala—a real outdoor, athletic type.
My final moment when all seems to come full circle and my journey is complete arrives when I board the plane right behind a young native girl of about thirteen. She’s wearing a huipil and a richly embroidered blouse. She looks like she could have been one of the scholarship students we connected with so well. Even the style of her blouse looks familiar. She’s alone and the only one in the long line dressed in the same manner. What a statement it makes to me, whatever the reason, that this girl is going to America.
The flights go smoothly. I’m sitting next to the only other person about whom I made an observation—the woman hiker. Actually, she’s a swimmer and spent most of her time in neighboring Belize. She tells me she takes American Literature books down with her, stocking libraries and working with the schools in that predominately English speaking country.
Atlanta airport is always a fun place. It’s huge. I get to see how even more huge it is as I go through Immigration. The hallways go on forever. It’s a relatively painless process, except for a moment when I’m confused where to re-check my luggage for my connecting flight.
I take the tram to my next concourse and prepare to wait two and a half hours. I turn on my cell phone to call Dad to make sure he’s still coming to get me in Columbus. The phone rings right at that moment. I see on the display that it’s Becky calling from her cell phone. Then, the phone dies. It won’t turn on again at all.
I try the payphones with my credit card. What an ordeal! Since I can’t turn on the phone to check my phonebook to see what Dad’s number is I have to call Information. Apparently calling Information with a credit card is impossible. Finally I get an operator who helps me make it happen. After all my work, I end up leaving a message. Calling Becky back was a lot easier. We talk for a few minutes then I sit and wait for the agents to call my flight.
Almost at the last minute, I decide to use my credit card, as I’m really hungry, and buy a large fruit smoothie with a protein powder booster. It’s pretty good, and I take the rest of it on the plane with me.
The flight to Columbus is only one and a half hours. Wow! That’s shorter than any of our shortest road trips in the COED vans. I spread the word about COED’s good works again to my “next door neighbor,” but have an otherwise quiet flight. We touch down at 11:50 p.m. I have my jacket on, and I can feel the cold air through the gangway as I walk into the airport from the plane.
Columbus is a lot quicker getting through, and part of me wonders if I’ll see Becky and the kids waiting for me. That would be a nice homecoming, even though it wouldn’t be very practical for them, as they all have to get up early the next morning for work and school. I keep thinking maybe Becky was faking it during our phone conversation about where she was and that it wasn’t a good idea keeping the kids out that late. I arrive at the checkpoint and am relieved to see Dad standing there. No Becky or the kids. I understand. I give my dad a hug, and we wait for my luggage, which comes pretty quickly. I’m telling him all about the trip as I think of things, and he’s asking all kinds of questions. I’ll be getting used to that over the next few weeks, I’m sure, as I share my experiences.
My journey is officially over as I leave the airport in the thirty-degree weather of Ohio in late February.
Lights out at 12:15 a.m. on day 11 in Guatemala.