Blinking, and home

I'm washing Guatemalan dust off towels.  I'm shaking El Salvadoran sand from tee-shirts.  I'm shedding that reality for this one-- a small suburban plot with fruit trees and relationships and the decision to call it home.  With the shedding, I still find the markings.  Sun streaks in my hair.  Spanish vocabulary surfacing, unprompted.  The internal clock set to scan for sunrise and sunset.

We took a crazy Spirit flight home from San Salvador, El Salvador.  The flight was crazy because it left San Salvador at 2 am.  There were multiple lines, security check points, and much waiting.  In addition to normal metal detectors we had to open up all carry-ons for personal inspection.  I never saw so much perfume and cologne thrown away.  No shops were open at that hour, so there was no hope of purchasing water after security.  Dry mouth, crying babies, a delayed flight.  Eventually, we boarded for Ft. Lauderdale, Florida, USA.

While waiting in these multiple lines, I became fairly familiar with my fellow travelers.  I spied that the group of men staying close to one another held Honduran passports.  Two of the group sported cowboy hats and boots.  They reminded me a bit of Argentine gauchos, though that look isn't uncommon in Central America.  I wondered if they were traveling to the US for work.  I wouldn't want to make assumptions, but we all start developing stories.  For these men to travel without partners nor children it seemed likely that they may be going for a stint of saving money or mailing remittances.

A grandmother was distraught to learn that she had to pay by weight for her luggage.  She tried to argue with the attendant to no avail.  Everything is systematized.  I think the attendant would have worked with her, but it was out of her control.  Eventually, brow furrowed, the grandmother dug into her bra for the additional money.  I was sad to see her patting her chest again as later security check points took her perfumes and potions.  I wondered if she was visiting family.  She pushed her hat against her brow and delved into a conversation with a beautiful white-haired woman sitting next to her.

There was one other couple recognizably not Central American.  I say recognizably due to several markers, the main one being the scuffed backpacks with French Canadian patches.  An El Salvadoran man spoke to them during one line wait and shared that he had moved to the US in the 90s.  This was his first time back to visit his ailing father.

When we arrived in Ft. Lauderdale we were obligated to clear customs and baggage claim before moving to our connecting flight.  Kevin and I moved to the customs line for US citizens and watched the majority of our flight gather there as well.  The group of Honduran men were in front of us in line, all with their residency cards.  People who had seemed so El Salvadoran (what does that mean, exactly?) or Central American (and what constitutes that identity?) now seemed so recognizably of the United States (?).  We now heard English.  Cowboy hats were packed into backpacks.  Even the expressions and demeanor seemed changed.

I found myself wondering how much the setting impacted my perceptions, or the late hour of night when we all gathered.  Were my assumptions prejudicial, or simply the act of trying to make sense of your environment?

We moved to the terminal to await our final flight home.  We were certainly in the United States.  Expressions were bored, wary, world-weary.  A child played with a video game-- loud.  All eyes were studiously down, on phones and devices.  I remembered a retreat participant commenting on his early perceptions of Guatemala-- "people here have clear eyes."  I was grateful for my reprieve from computers and phones.  And also grateful to be back in such familiar environs.  I watched a kiosk attendant smack gum and flirt with Kevin.  I do love the swagger and attitude of so many in the United States.  But I love parts of the world with less to distract us from the sunset, the sunrise.

This river marks one border between Guatemala and El Salvador.