Antigua and Guatemala City, November 21, 2006

I awoke feeling nauseous on the last day of my trip. I took some antacid tablets and, just in case I developed more symptoms, some Pepto Bismol tablets. I dreaded the thought of being sick on the bus or plane. I moved about slowly, packing what I would take home and putting the rest in a large plastic bag. I finished reading Revelation in my parallel English-Spanish New Testament and decided to give the Bible to the desk clerk. He had always been so friendly and smiling, even when I had been upset about the room and asked for another one. Besides, he had asked me how to say several words in English. This direct translation would help him learn English, as it had helped me with Spanish. I wrote a short note to him on the inside cover, in Spanish.

After an hour I didn’t feel any better. I left the room in search of a pharmacy, taking the plastic bag and my birding chair along. The only doctor’s office I’d seen in Antigua was an ob-gyn clinic. The pharmacist I found asked my symptoms (only nausea) and sold me two pills for about a dollar, one to take immediately and one the following morning. I continued walking along the streets looking for a likely recipient of the contents of my plastic bag. Soon a Guatemaltecan family passed me, several young children at the front followed by their mother and older siblings. They were dirty and certainly looked needy. Bringing up the rear was a very old and wrinkled woman, doing her best to keep up with the rest. I caught her eye and pointed to my bag and then asked, “Quieres?” (“Do you want?”) She eagerly took the bag. Before she could continue on, I took the folding chair off my shoulder and showed her how to set it up. Then I gave it to her as well. I imagined it would be a joy to sit in a chair throughout the market day instead of on the stone curb. I hoped that her family would let her keep it.

Returning to my room I met one of the workers in the courtyard. He asked how I was and I explained my malady (the pill the pharmacist gave me hadn’t helped). He asked if I would like some Alka-Seltzer. I was ready to try anything. He disappeared and soon returned with a glass of water, two tablets, a spoon, and a lime. After the tablets had dissolved, he squeezed the whole lime into the liquid. I had never liked Alka-Seltzer, but with the lime juice it was quite palatable—even tasty! I had to insist three times that the worker take my tip before he reluctantly agreed.

By 10:55am I was standing outside the hotel, having paid my bill, waiting on the minivan to arrive. It was right on time. There was only one other passenger, a young man from Australia. We talked all the way to the airport, in English. His accent was so thick, and he had so many unique expressions, it was about as hard to understand him as it was those who spoke rapid Spanish. He told me there was no poverty in Australia—that the government made sure that everyone had food and housing. He and his brother had graduated from college and worked for a year to save money. Now they were traveling around the world on an airline pass (about $4000) that allowed stops in, I think, eight countries. His brother had flown on ahead to Europe, and he was now going to join him.

Talking to the Australian made me forget about my nausea for a while. I was sorry to see him leave for a different flight at the airport. The departure side of the Guatemala City airport seemed much more modern than the arrival side, although there were still no benches in sight. I went to the rear of a long line waiting to check in (no pre-check in at this airport). We were all given documents to fill out while we waited in line. I soon got into a conversation with a man who had arrived after me. He had been visiting his family for a month. When he went to the U.S. to school, he had met an American who was now his wife. He showed me pictures of his little boy on his cell phone. He spoke very fluent English, although he’d never had any formal lessons. We talked and waited, and waited, and waited. Finally, we were told that the computers were down, due to the high winds. Forms had to be secured and handwritten, and everyone would have to reclaim their baggage in Charlotte, NC, and then recheck it there for their final destination. I sat down on the floor, and the man soon joined me. Might as well be comfortable.

After a very long time I got to the front of the line and checked my one remaining bag. Then I went upstairs to the boarding area, making sure I had ready the email stating that the Guatemala departure tax had been prepaid with my ticket. I showed my passport and ticket to the woman at the gate and found a chair (there were chairs in the boarding area!). There was a good view of the area surrounding the airport from the large, second-story windows. The man I had been talking to in line soon joined me and we continued our conversation. He had lots of pictures of his family and his vacation that he shared.

I’d had nothing to eat all morning, and still felt nauseous, but I knew there would be little, if any, food served on the long flight and that I might want to eat later. The man was hungry for lunch, and left to buy a sandwich at one of the cafes down the hall. He didn’t get past the woman at the desk. She said once passengers were in the boarding area, they weren’t allowed to leave, for security reasons. Great. Nobody had mentioned that handy tidbit of information on the way into the area. The man, resigned, sat back down. I wasn’t so ready to accept such treatment. The woman told me the same thing she had told the man, but I asked to speak to her supervisor. I explained to the supervisor that it was a long flight and that I’d had nothing to eat all day. He readily allowed me to go buy some food. I bought sandwiches and cookies for myself and the man.

By the time we boarded we were an hour late. The man, and others who had tight connections, were concerned about making their flights. I had a longer layover in Charlotte, so I had no reason to be concerned (yet). I had a window seat. A Guatemaltecan businessman had the aisle seat, with an extra seat between. Nice, but it didn’t last long. Another Guatemaltecan, traveling with his wife and children, decided it would be nice to talk with my seatmate, who scooted over next to me to make room for him on the aisle across from his family. They talked pretty much nonstop in Spanish (loudly) the whole trip. They would talk through the English announcements and listen to those in Spanish (which I couldn’t understand). When I would ask them not to talk during those times, they would happily oblige; but the next time they would forget again, lost in their conversation. At least I hadn’t been seated next to the man who reeked of cologne. That would’ve been too much to take, being already nauseous.

After an hour or so into the flight, we were informed that the plane didn’t have enough fuel to make it to Charlotte (the high winds requiring more fuel). We would have to stop in Florida to refuel. Interestingly, those whose final destination happened to be the Florida city where we landed were not allowed to deboard there because of some regulation. They had to continue on to Charlotte, where they would miss their connecting flight, and then find some later flight back to that same city or stay overnight in Charlotte. I wondered if the airline would make arrangements for them and pay their expenses.

By now, the chances of me making my own connection to Ohio weren’t good. Charlotte was fogged in from torrential rains. We were in a holding pattern to land. The only good news was that other flights were also being delayed. I hoped my flight was one of them. As soon as the plane touched down in Charlotte, passengers were allowed to use cell phones to contact their families. One man was nice enough to loan his phone to others, including myself, and I was able to call home. I couldn’t offer any advice as to when to pick me up—just to keep monitoring flight arrival times by phone or Internet.

As soon as we were allowed to leave the plane, I dashed through all the necessary lines. Returning citizens were able to go through several quick lines. Foreigners had to wait in long lines and show documentation. I will admit it felt good to be given an advantage after two weeks of having it the other way. I reclaimed my bag and then went to recheck it. The man behind the desk told me my connecting flight had also been delayed, and that I would be able to make it if I hurried. I ran down the halls, ignoring the slower-moving, automatic ramps. When I reached the boarding area, I found I would have a 45-minute wait. It would be after midnight when we departed.

Might as well find a water fountain, I decided. On the way, I blew my nose. Blood spurted out. I made my way to the ladies’ room for a wet paper towel. I sat down and tipped my head back, but as soon as I stood up it would start again. I wasn’t used to having nosebleeds, and this one was really a gusher. I had to hold paper towels to my nose continually for almost an hour.

By the time I boarded the small plane, I was exhausted. I was seated in a row of single seats by the window. As soon as possible, I inflated my travel pillow, inserted my earplugs, put on a sleep mask, and slept most of the way home. When we arrived at the terminal, I was one of the first at the baggage claim area. I was also one of the last. My bag had not arrived. I gave the attendant the lost baggage claim information and finally made my way outside to the pick-up area. It was good to be home!