Memoirs from a Collectivo


Our time is wrapping up, and I find myself writing less– trying to take everything in, racing to the final places I feel I have to see. I start posts, and never finish them– find them a week later and then never upload them. This is one of those posts…

I’m savoring things I wouldn’t normally enjoy; such as the 20 hour journey stuffed into a minivan-a Collectivo- on our way back up to northern Guatemala. We were told the trip would take six hours. At one time I would have been frustrated by this. Staring out the window at tiny thatched huts, family farms carved into the dense tropical hillsides, and wooden street side fruit stands. Everything has a familiarity to it now. The inconveniences of long travel days are taken with stride. I question less, I accept more, and generally I welcome this pulse– it is a signature of Central America.


It’s with this rhythm that I find myself taking more time for myself to sit and contemplate what has been collecting dust in the attic of my subconscious for so long; this uneasiness that comes hand in hand with the pending end to this big journey of ours. We have reached the finish line of sorts, and it’s these last few weeks that I have strived more and more to cherish every second left. I question what I’ve learned, whether I got everything I could from each instant..I wonder what my reintegration will be like… And most of all, I wonder how it’s going to feel to close the doors on this journey that has occupied so much of my life for the last 4 years– from planning and saving, to traveling and wandering.


I cannot begin to imagine myself back in the US. It’s as if I have forgotten so much about where I came from– left in it’s place is nothing but clouds. So for now, I let myself feel that way and take advice from the pace of my current home in the hills of Guatemala. It reminds me to not take my worries too seriously, to dance to the street drums, take life as it comes, and leave the rest to oblivion. Beautiful little Guatemala.

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