I landed in Guatemala City on an excessively windy day on Sunday, March 4th. After a fitful night’s sleep at a mediocre airport hotel I was ready to leave Houston and finally continue my way south to Guatemala. I had the usual feelings of excitement and anticipation which I always get before I land in a new country and enter into the mayhem it brings. The whole bag of usual mixed thoughts raced across my mind.
What would it be like? Would I enjoy my stay there? Would I understand and be able to communicate in my broken Spanish? Would I be safe? Would I get sick? Would my ride be there as expected, waiting for me outside the baggage claim? Would the bus ride suck?
You would think that a seasoned traveler would get over these worry wart antics but it never seems to fail. I’m always a worrier and I also go through this kind of strange mixed up, emotional nonsense. At least now I am fully aware of it and try my best to take things as they come. That is the best advice I’d ever received about traveling in different countries: Just let go, and go with the flow! Yet words can mean more than actions for a type A person who is normally as organized and orderly as drill sergeant.
I exited the plane and felt the warm air flow through my Minnesota veins. It felt great to finally be there and to be somewhere warm! I grabbed my mighty red suitcase, stuffed to the rim, and quickly passed through immigration and headed out the door. I was ready for the flood of people waiting frantically outside of the airport doors, with signs and smiles and searching looks across their faces. Of course I was an instant attraction as it isn’t every day a tall, blond-haired woman walks out of the doors, completely alone and searching the crowd as well. My eyes scanned the horizon and sorted through the mass of chaos until thankfully I quickly located my name on a white placard. My ride was there.