Welcome To My Country

I flew over and into a city nestled between endless mountains and low laying smoke that cushioned the many rows of inadequate housing along the runway in Guatemala City. Nothing has changed and yet everything has changed since the last time I was there 3 years ago. The airport was brand spanking new, polished, and clean. Did I get on the right plane? I expected to be mobbed by begging children and frantic families once I walked out the front doors. Instead it was clear and only one taxi driver confronted me and from a friendly face I received the words "welcome to my country."

The drive to the hotel was smooth and I had an intriguing conversation with a new friend. The streets were clear, sidewalks were empty, and the air smelt oddly fresh. Was it a lazy Friday afternoon, quiet day of the week, was I used to the stiff air of the plane, or were my senses calmed by being back in a country I love to be in?

I was happy to be alive and in Guatemala. I got a comment on my blissed out grin that never seemed to leave my face. Guatemala is a country that constantly calls my name and maybe I really was that excited to be there and it was written all over my face.

That night, after a re energizing nap and filling dinner, I camped out on the 12th floor balcony of the hotel. With a lollipop in hand as my dessert and a sister for company, I sat and listened to the cool breeze, the honking of traffic, the cat calls from neighboring construction workings, and the whisperings of lovers below. I was back in Guatemala and was reassured that all was right in the world.